2022 SXSW FILM FESTIVAL REVIEW!
September 13, 1996. It’s a normal, dry day in Las Vegas, Nevada, and all seems to be going as usual. That is until the famed Tupac Shakur is gunned down in the streets. His death startled the world, and the world of hip-hop was never the same again. For one girl, Tanisha (Mikayla Lishae Bartholomew), and her father, Nate (Garland Scott), the death of the all-star rapper means more to them than they could have imagined. As this death affects everyone differently, the father and daughter must come to terms with their emotions, and they must deal with the after effects of a loss of their own. Dear Mama… is the duo attempting to come to terms with their reality.
Not too long ago I had the pleasure of viewing director Winter Dunn’s Junebug. The film was emotionally trying, but incredibly relevant–and it seems that Dunn has found a formula for filmmaking that allows her stories to find success and reach her viewers appropriately. The same amount of vigor and attention to detail that exists in Junebug makes its way into Dear Mama… as well. The sometimes rocky dynamic between a father and daughter is the centerpiece of this emotion-filled drama, and the film’s leads are incredible.
Bartholomew takes hold of Dear Mama… and all that it entails early on, and she is able to create a connection between her character and viewers. Sitting in a room with a person as they grieve or deal with other emotional plights can be awkward, as bystanders aren’t always sure how to approach the situation–and Bartholomew allows that same sentiment to come to life in Dear Mama…. I’m not sure how often while watching a film that I feel awkward or even embarrassed, but I know that it doesn’t happen often. Dunn’s film, as a result, in big part to Bartholomew’s performance, touches me as if I were really there. Tanisha’s pain and agony feels almost tangible, and her emotion fills the room like heavy fog–making it difficult to breathe, but impossible not to understand what she’s experiencing. Scott seems to have two purposes–the first being to thicken the emotional load that exists in Dear Mama…, and the other is to help facilitate Tanisha’s emotion and make it even stronger. He is brilliant, and Nate’s struggles–while slightly different than Tanisha’s–feels just as real. The emotion never relents as a result of what these two talented actors bring to the table, and the toll that it takes on viewers only adds to the significance of Dunn and writer Charmaine Cleveland’s masterpiece.
The lighting that Dunn and gaffers Danny Kim and Megan Lau create together is unique, and not something that I’ve come across often in cinema. The lighting is almost always behind the film’s protagonist, Tanisha, making it difficult to make out her facial features–and on paper this seems like a horrible decision. However, making it difficult to see Tanisha in her entirety is reflective of the character, and it adds to the sophistication of the character and the emotional pull of Dear Mama… as a whole. Such a seemingly simple decision of having the visibility of the main character poor throughout the course of the film speaks volumes regarding Dunn’s prowess as a filmmaker–and her decision to slowly darken the hue of the film as a whole as it drives forward just adds to the depth of the film and Dunn’s talent.
Dear Mama… is riveting, and from the opening seconds of the film Bartholomew takes the world by storm and helps to invent a character that resonates with everyone. If you can’t connect emotionally to Dear Mama… and either of its main characters–Tanisha or Nate–you’re simply not human. As the darkness and the vivid emotion emanates from the screen, viewers have no choice but to feel present in the father-daughter’s dilemma. Dear Mama… is incredible in so many ways, and it appeals to so many facets of human emotion. Winter Dunn hits the nail on the head once again in this brilliant story of grief at its worst.
Directed by Winter Dunn.
Written by Charmaine Cleveland.
Starring Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew, Garland Scott, Maleena Lawrence, Perry L. Brown, & Jennifer Lauren DiBella.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/10
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