Last weekend, I went to see The Last Black Man in San Francisco, and it just does so many things so well. But of all those things, its sharpest feature is its ability to tell big stories in a small way, and it does that again and again.
My fiancée compared the beginning of the film to the beginning of Up, telling essentially the complete story of the movie in a succinct, beautiful, heartbreaking few minutes. It’s such a stunningly confident intro, too, that you go into the movie with an immediate sense of awe and wonder.
My favorite instance of this kind of storytelling, though, is a brief gag in the middle of the movie, where a naked man sits down beside the protagonist on a bench. We see him as a weirdo at first, but the film flips it…
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