The film uses slow motion and stylized zooms to create surreal moments contrasting with an on-the-ground immediacy. Impressive as they are, mixing these tones sometimes distracts from the sublime lead performances.
Through a nostalgic blend of surrealism and emotional urgency, the film tackles San Francisco’s savage gentrification problem that continues to displace its communities of color.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco feels vacuum-sealed, full of pointed choices about what and whom to represent and what to leave to suggestion that feel miscalculated.
Much depends on Jimmie, who waxes and wanes, sometimes rises and then falls in a city that — with this ravishing movie — he insistently stakes a claim on, one indelible image at a time.
Elegies for a dead or dying San Francisco lie thick on the ground, but a ravishing new film made by two friends who grew up there offers a loving elegy for the city's black community.
Despite its banalized substance and plasticized surfaces, the film is well worth seeing for the strong and passionate core that it nonetheless contains—not because of but despite its director’s and screenwriters’ efforts.
Talbot is a striking filmmaker, giving his film both a lived-in authenticity — the location work is evocative, and he’s filled the screen with oddball locals — and a fairy-tale hermeticism.
That sincere affection comes through thanks to Majors’ and Fails’ involved performances. To balance out the more affecting notes of their work, they also bring a childlike playfulness that suffuses their interactions when luck intervenes in their favor.