NYFF Review: The Inspection

The evolution of queer cinema has long meant a stronger sense of authenticity coming into films about queer people and queer issues. With The Inspection, the rousing debut feature of Elegance Bratton, it means a necessary update on a classic from cinema’s queer canon: Beau Travail. It’s been 23 years since Claire Denis’ subtle military examination ended with its celebratory expulsion of pain and oppression in the form of a dance. Now, such instances of pride and love work their way throughout the story of a homeless gay Black man who joins the marines simply to survive.

Set in 2005, in the heat of the Iraq War, we see Ellis French (Jeremy Pope) visit his estranged, dismissive mother (Gabrielle Union) in Jersey City to tell her he’s enlisting. Ellis is trying resurrect a nonexistent relationship here, but she scoffs at his plan, assuming the military will throw him out because of his “lifestyle.”

Pope’s carefully calculated, multi-layered performance tells so much of The Inspection’s story practically on its own. He’s more effeminate when he feels safe, but pulls over layers of restraint like a coat depending on who he’s talking to. With his mother he’s not quite as hidden as he has to be once he gets to boot camp, but still far less himself than we briefly see him be with his friends. In an early scene at the boot camp, he fakes calling “his girl” in front of an officer, Lawrence (Raul Castillo), that he almost immediately starts to fantasize about. But when one such daydream leads to a noticeable arousal in the crowded communal shower, his protective hyper-masculine façade fades as suddenly as the beat drops in “The Rhythm of the Night.” It’s not a full-blown outing, but the hiding unquestionably stops, as he stops fighting his fellow recruits’ assumptions as he is forced to meet them at an often violent level of understanding. Now, Ellis must learn how to navigate their personalities, and any prejudices their leaders might be carrying for others in the ranks, to create a more accepting kinship between the recruits.

Bratton, directing this version of his own life (he served active duty from 2005-2010 a title card tells us as the end credits roll), is able to inject a genuine queerness as the film plays within the military genre. Moments that live in Ellis’ head allow The Inspection to be sexy in a way queer men will easily identify as their own. The camera isn’t afraid to linger on Castillo’s bare chest, for example (and even the Looking alum’s casting might feel purposeful to anyone on so-called “Gay Twitter”). In an era where so many straight filmmakers, and some queer ones, outright fail to capture the specificities of queer sex appeal, The Inspection is a refreshing splash of cold water (one audiences of certain orientations may need before, say, getting up to go to the bathroom).

But Bratton’s reach doesn’t extend only as far as Ellis finding acceptance in the military. His fellow recruits undergo discriminatory hardships as well, especially one practicing Islam at the peak of post-9/11 Islamophobia. More often than not, The Inspection is a human-first look at the military and how the most toxic version of masculinity pervades how boys are turned into soldiers. Ellis’ training instructor (Leland Laws) at one point tells Lawrence he plans to turn Ellis into a monster. “Just like me,” he finishes his speech.

This is not to call the film a critique of the military, as there are moments in its slightly too murky third act that go so far as to flirt with recruitment propaganda. Stripping both sides away, one feels the agenda here is merely to show Ellis’, and thus Bratton’s, personal struggles in a specific time and place and how they shaped him into being able to better accept himself. The few ending scenes stumble as the script’s various arcs come to a head, with a final conversation between Ellis and his mother, as well as its resolution, feeling lifted from a different sort of film.

But by keeping Ellis’ journey at the center of the story, The Inspection still reaches the other side having earned its emotions, and quite possibly its own place in the queer cinema canon. That victory belongs to the creative marriage of Bratton and Pope, who together bring a fresh experience and a fresh voice to the big screen with an inspiring cocktail of poise, steam, and intent. Now Hollywood just needs the courage to let them do it again.