‘Jimmy’ Review: Woozily Seductive Mood Piece Wanders Europe in Pursuit of James Baldwin’s Spirit
“If not me, who?” said actor Billy Porter in a 2024 Guardian interview, explaining the rationale for his plan to direct and star in a biopic of Black...
Key points
- “If not me, who?” said actor Billy Porter in a 2024 Guardian interview, explaining the rationale for his plan to direct and star in a biopic of Black queer author and activist James Baldwin.
- Its depiction of Baldwin is shimmery and largely silent, alternating between ambient portraiture and first-person perspective, yet it feels keyed into his experience of the world in a way a more completely (and conventionally) dramatized film might not.
- Owens shoots in monochrome on a Bolex 16mm camera, making no attempt to disguise the present-day backdrop to his subject’s midcentury wanderings, which occasionally lends “Jimmy” the sense of a cinematic walking tour, chasing the spirit of Baldwin rather than attempting to embody him outright.
- It’s only after this enigmatic Turkish prologue, when Baldwin relocates to Paris, that he becomes a physical presence in the film — with Arthur’s resemblance to the author assisted by the bleached-out, ink-blotted graininess of Owens’ lensing.
What happened
“If not me, who?” said actor Billy Porter in a 2024 Guardian interview, explaining the rationale for his plan to direct and star in a biopic of Black queer author and activist James Baldwin. Its depiction of Baldwin is shimmery and largely silent, alternating between ambient portraiture and first-person perspective, yet it feels keyed into his experience of the world in a way a more completely (and conventionally) dramatized film might not. Owens shoots in monochrome on a Bolex 16mm camera, making no attempt to disguise the present-day backdrop to his subject’s midcentury wanderings, which occasionally lends “Jimmy” the sense of a cinematic walking tour, chasing the spirit of Baldwin rather than attempting to embody him outright. It’s only after this enigmatic Turkish prologue, when Baldwin relocates to Paris, that he becomes a physical presence in the film — with Arthur’s resemblance to the author assisted by the bleached-out, ink-blotted graininess of Owens’ lensing. Even at a little over an hour, “Jimmy” risks stretching its impressionistic conceit: Compared to, say, Raoul Peck’s rigorous, textually engaged Baldwin documentary “I Am Not Your Negro,” it’s a film that doesn’t aim...
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