Based on J.C Lee’s play of the same name, “Luce” (2019) is a gripping and ambiguous psychological thriller that explores the complexity of identity from the lens of a young Black man in America. Director Julius Onah hones in on intricacies that often go unaddressed and does so with enthralling intensity.
Having been adopted from Eritrea as a former child soldier at the age of seven, Luce (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) now finds himself an all-round overachieving and celebrated student at his American high school. A superstar athlete, renowned debater, and seemingly loved by all (especially his well-meaning and politically conscious adoptive parents), Luce’s life appears to be overflowing with potential. This makes it all the more disconcerting when history and government teacher Ms. Wilson (Octavia Spencer) raises concerns about Luce’s expression of violent ideology in a written assignment and discovers illegal fireworks in his school locker. When Luce’s adoptive mother Amy (Naomi Watts) is informed of these concerning discoveries, she is forced to re-evaluate how well she knows Luce and takes it upon herself to understand the inner turmoil that lies beneath his faultless exterior. Meanwhile, a psychological power struggle ensues between Luce and Ms. Wilson, who aims to expose Luce’s behaviour to the oblivious faculty.
The core themes of the film are carried across by the lead performance of Kelvin Harrison Jr. and his portrayal of Luce’s tragic identity crisis. Luce is thrown into a system that praises Black men for not living up to a pre-defined stereotype, creating an unspoken ultimatum in which they must either perform as a model minority or be abandoned. The latter fate is presented by the character DeShaun (Astro) who has been disgraced and shunned by the school after being found with marijuana in his locker, even despite this not yielding the same consequences for other students. Luce laments being used as a poster child to uphold the façade of “up by your bootstraps” meritocracy and the undue responsibility that comes with the position. It also spawns tension between himself and those who are neglected for not fitting this social desirability and even leads Luce’s white peers to put into question his identity as a Black man for not meeting stereotypical notions. Despite these tolls, relinquishing the rewards of his esteemed position would cost Luce his future, forcing him to feign gratitude for this same system that he resents instead.
There is a duplicity that permeates the film and there is an exigent layer of tension in every verbal exchange between the characters that often makes taking lines of dialogue at face-value feel like a mistake. Luce is torn apart from the inside by the pressure of having to be all things to all people and this begs the question of which of his tactically juggled personas actually belongs to him. On top of this, he is also suffocated by the sense that people are waiting for him to screw up to confirm some tacit theory that they’ve had about him all along—that he does, in fact, fit their stereotypes. Together, these forces give the character an unhinged and sociopathic quality. Luce strategically code-switches and adapts himself in order to appease different people with his different identities. The character is multifaceted to the point where nothing he says feels entirely authentic and there is always the sense that he’s playing an elaborate game of chess using everyone he interacts with as his pieces.
Octavia Spencer and Kelvin Harrison Jr. in a scene from “Luce” (Dream Factory Group, 2019).
As these are traits that he has developed in response to the many pressures in his environment, it becomes difficult to simply dismiss Luce as the cold and calculating villain that he clearly is on the surface, even despite his twisted and antagonistic actions towards Ms. Wilson. There is an increasingly electric tension between the two characters as Luce continues to ruthlessly gaslight Ms. Wilson, who grows increasingly desperate to bring him down. Yet, the film presents another quandary in their deceptively simple conflict. Ms. Wilson initially appears to be only a victim here however, she is also a big source of Luce’s problems. Ms. Wilson is vocally aware of the unjust system that tokenises select Black people who meet a specific criteria; however Wilson is perhaps also guilty of perpetuating this herself by holding Luce and his peers to these same standards.
Onah’s use of ambiguity is appropriate based on the themes addressed in the film regarding the danger of confining things into boxes however this has mixed effects on how the story resonates. For example, a subplot involving the sexual assault of a girl at a party is hurt by this open-ended morality and the lack of closure here feels more frustrating than fitting. The film winds to a conclusion that offers no clear resolutions and is likely to vary in its interpretations between audiences, leaving room for discussion. Nevertheless, this ambivalence prevents the film from using its momentum to leave a distinct lasting message as opposed to one that is muddled and shapeless. Although this may be an apt approach, seeing as the many problems touched upon have no easy fixes, there is an unshakeable sense that this was also a relatively safe decision.
“Luce” is thoughtful and immersive, excelling in its nuanced examination of identity and the social forces at play in shaping it based on race. Kelvin Harrison Jr. gives an incendiary central performance that is well met by a cast of complicated characters. Though narratively sparse and at times unclear in its intentions, this film is captivating and rich with food for thought, providing timely and insightful social commentary.
