Review: Loving

Loving (12A)

UK/USA 2016  123 mins  Dir: Jeff Nichols  Cast: Joel Edgerton, Ruth Negga, Marton Csokas, Nick Kroll, Michael Shannon

“I’m pregnant,” whispers Mildred (Ruth Negga) to Richard Loving (Joel Edgerton) in the opening scene of Loving. “Good,” he replies, warmly. The adoring twosome hotfoot it to Washington D.C. to get hitched, becoming an aptly named Loving couple, and move in to a secluded home in rural Caroline County, Virginia, that Richard built with his own horny hands. Then they’re abruptly rousted from their marital bed in the middle of the night by the local sheriff (Marton Csokas), who bangs them up for violating ‘God’s law’.

Yep, it’s 1958, Mildred is black and Richard is white, and the local bigots are having none of this kind of funny business. Worse, the county court judge takes an equally dim view of ‘miscegenation’. It’s enough to make you seethe with righteous indignation at the injustice of it all. Except that Richard and Mildred do no such thing. Sure, Richard is clearly distraught that his pregnant wife remains behind bars after he’s bailed out. But when the judge hands down his grotesque verdict – that they must dissolve their union or leave the state for 25 years – the couple meekly acquiesce on the advice of their lawyer.

The perfectly reasonable point that Mud and Midnight Special director Jeff Nichols is making is that not everyone who finds themselves at the centre of a ground-breaking legal battle is a brave, driven and impassioned crusader. In some ways, it’s refreshing that there are no big grandstanding speeches or spirited declarations of defiance here. But as drama, it just feels a little too restrained and underpowered, despite excellent performances from a strong cast.

Edgerton’s Richard is an ordinary, decent, blue collar Joe who’s been raised among black folks by his midwife mother. He’s clearly comfortable in his drag-racing buddies’ company and oblivious to the disapproving glances of their white opponents as he smooches with Mildred. After the ACLU gets involved in the case and pushes for it to be taken to the Supreme Court, he becomes more surly, taciturn, suspicious and withdrawn, clearly wishing to be left alone to live his simple life in peace – although he must have known this would not be permitted to happen. Justly Oscar-nominated Ruth Negga’s sweetly charming Mildred is the more interesting character. She’s the one who initiates the legal battle by writing to Bobby Kennedy, who in turn passes her letter to the ACLU. In contrast to her husband, and despite the distraction of squeezing out several more sprogs during a montage, she emerges from her shell to embrace media attention as she comes to recognise the wider significance of the nine-year struggle. But even the big courtroom finale proves to be rather muted, despite its rich potential for adversarial theatre in which the Lovings have no direct role to play.

There are also a couple of jarring oddities that stick in the mind. Early in the film, the question is raised of how the racist cops came to know about the Lovings being shacked up together. It’s suggested that someone must have grassed them up. But having raised this possibility, the film chooses not to pursue it and the issue remains unresolved. Secondly, if you’re wondering when Nichols regular Michael Shannon is going to appear, he eventually shows up as an affable Life magazine photographer who takes an iconic snap of the Lovings curled up on the sofa together. The actual photograph is shown over the closing credits and there’s one rather noticeable difference: the real Mildred Loving is holding a cigarette. It’s a small detail, perhaps, but an interesting one given the director’s clear commitment to accurate depiction of these characters and events. The casual period racism is depicted unflinchingly, but virtually no one is seen to smoke – certainly not anywhere in the family home. Was it feared that modern audiences might be less sympathetic towards them if they were shown puffing away like most Americans in this era?