NYFF Review: Passing

As Hollywood and the artists within and surrounding it continue to (slowly) make strides in creating a more equitable industry for all, there’s a certain subset of period pieces that are made less as reflections for what cinema is today, but where cinema should have been when their story takes places. First-time director Rebecca Hall’s debut, Passing, an adaptation of Nella Larsen’s 1929 novel of the same name, is a prime example of that. This melodrama about two mixed-race Black women who have the ability to pass as white in public feels like the more thoughtful version of the most progressive conflict in the then-groundbreaking 1959 film Imitation of Life.

Hall’s direction, while not exactly at the level of commitment as, say, David Fincher’s Mank, is seemingly designed so that this film could have fell out of the 1930s or ‘40s, albeit as it explores racial themes with a clearer 21st century mind. This approach has its advantages and disadvantages. For the former, the novel approach feels like a chance to, at least in spirit, rewrite cinema history a little. The latter comes when you realize that the exploration happening in this 2021 film isn’t that much more sophisticated than it might have been had more progressive minds had a crack at such a story 80 or 90 years ago.

When we meet our lead, Irene (Tessa Thompson), she’s shopping outside of Harlem, her neighborhood of residence, and passing as white everywhere she goes. Sitting in a quiet restaurant for lunch, she’s recognized by a childhood friend, Clare (Ruth Negga), who is even more successful at this con than Irene could ever hope to be. An uncomfortable interaction with Clare’s racist husband (Alexander Skarsgard) sets up the divide between these two women. One has chosen a world where her true nature is downright hated, while the other treks back up to Harlem to her husband (Andre Holland) and two kids.

But after their happenstance reunion, Clare suddenly finds herself interested in reentering the community Irene inhabits. Eventually, they find themselves circling the same man while also starting to question their own racial identities. Hall’s slightly expressionist style (the film is shot in black and white) lends just enough aesthetic intrigue that thematic comparisons to Ingmar Bergman’s Persona might be visually justified. What Passing is missing in enigmatic storytelling is partially made up by the script’s modern racial consciousness. But only partially.

Behind it all, the performances are largely up to snuff. Negga starts stealing scenes right from the start as a complex, self-hating mirror to Daisy Buchanan and Lady Brett Ashley. She brings much of the film’s energy while Thompson’s performance is more of a slow burn that reveals its true strengths in the film’s last third. And then there’s Holland, who feels like he’s just one starring role away from being crowned People’s Sexiest Man Alive. He moves through his scenes here with a combination of honesty and confidence, all with his signature charm on full display.

But for all these working pieces within Passing, there’s a sense that it doesn’t go quite as deep as it needed to. Though the script delivers a twisty drama, this is a very surface level exploration of the idea of passing and the dark ramifications it might have on the psyches of those that succeed at it. If you already empathize with the plot description or even just hearing the title, there’s not a much richer conversation being had here. As a result, the under 100-minute film feels long, as its melodrama moves too slowly and its characters ruminate on issues that the film’s likely audiences will come in already with an inherent sympathy for. By proxy, Passing fails to ring true in a 2021 context. With such a subject at its center, there’s no coming back from that.