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wejetset films: Medicine for Melancholy

Written by Hanif O’Neil: There is no denying that Medicine for Melancholy is a cleverly crafted feature debut for director Barry Jenkins. Its rich cinematography and stylish tone convey a hue not so well known in today’s cinema. What this film does well is enter a film history with fresh depictions of an African American existence not widely represented, acknowledged, or identified with: the non-violent urbanite seeking intimacy. A character study spanning 24 hours, Medicine for Melancholy takes the delightful feeling of human connection, into the depths of complexity and uncertainty. Actors Wyatt Cenac (Micah) and Tracey Heggins (Jo) revel in this genre of film making, delivering natural performances as two unlikely lovers reconciling the ambiguities of love of intimacy.

Set in San Francisco, a city known for its rich cultural diversity and progressive politics, Medicine for Melancholy offers a sentimental approach to discussing relationships, race, class, and gentrification. Full of poignancy, warmth, and humor Medicine for Melancholy demonstrates the unspoken connections that link us to unlikely characters in our lives.

However, its sentimental exploration of the wonders of companionship does not transcend each character’s deep sense of lack. Moreover, the film manages to present race as a form of melancholy. Its depiction of Micah, an aquarium installer–carrying traces of a Justin Bua figure–give voice to an internal conflict regarding interracial dating in the face of rapidly declining African American community in San Francisco. Which begs us to ask: Is interracial dating in San Francisco a matter of circumstance [a default choice] rather than a desired choice? This “Venti” cup of lack reverberates latent effects of this nation’s first and largest publicly funded gentrification project—a history that continues to gain relevance for sympathizers of San Francisco’s declining 7%.

Intimacy and intensity hang against the progressive veneer of a cosmopolitan landscape. The story begins early one Sunday morning, the day after a house party whereby Micah and Jo first met and “hooked up.” These characters spend the day exploring an easily identifiable landscape of San Francisco. What lessons could they learn from each other and their tentative connection? Can Micah’s longing for a woman resolve Jo’s distance from her boyfriend? Is it only through the absence of their partners that Micah and Jo can see each other? This is not a fairy-tale. Micah sits, shoulders sunken, gesturing a greater weight impressing his existence; he is a native San Franciscan, who sees himself as a “Black-Man,” because in his words the world already conflates the two. Jo, a languid character, is often reluctant to express herself, and seemingly bogged down by Micah’s hyper-awareness of blackness. An active listener, Jo is neither directly affected by the realities Micah gives voice to nor fully convinced of them, yet her attraction to Micah lingers– uneasily. What could these two possibly discover about each other in such a compressed amount of time? How will they continue from here? After their day spent, there is no sense of what the future holds for Micah and Jo. Nonetheless, it is clear that they will continue on without us.

Unfortunately, Medicine for Melancholy avoids taking a direct stance on the unique misdeeds of its characters and/or the social ills lurking in the backdrop of present day San Francisco. However, it manages to weave in stand-alone scenes that reflect upon us a disquieted fear of loss, connection, and displacement. The film ends early on a Monday morning with Jo leaving Micah, who remains asleep in bed. Jo and Micah’s journey remind us that we will find ourselves intimately connected to strangers in unconventional ways that can alter us forever. And at times, these occurrences will provide medicine for melancholy.