Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B+
Special Effects: B+

Neptune Frost is an Afro-futurist musical directed by New York-based slam poet Saul William and his wife Anisia Uzeyman, and it is dense with African musical roots, metaphor, and meaning—in a way that it’s practically impossible for me not to describe it in an embarrassingly “whitey-white” way. I mean, just moments ago I mentioned to a friend that calling this movie a “musical” is kind of a technicality, at least in terms of traditional American perceptions of musicals: “It’s all African drum stuff,” I said. Is that “whitey-white” enough for you? I think it qualifies. Also, of course, it’s a lot more nuanced than that. It fuses traditional African drum beats with an infectious kind of industrial electronica, in a way that made me wish its soundtrack were a lot more accessible than it seems to be.

I will freely admit that I found Neptune Frost largely difficult to follow, much of it like an extended, abstract music video. I’ve never done this before, but I think we can all live with it: I’m just going to let Deadline do the synopsis work for me:

The film takes place amid the hilltops of Burundi, where a collective of computer hackers emerges from a mining community, the result of a romance between a miner and an intersex runaway.

There’s even a lot more than that going on, with narrative threads connected to everything from colonialism to worldwide internet connectivity. This is a particularly unusual movie with one of its primary characters being intersex—a biological condition that, depending on the person, may not even qualify as on the “queerness” spectrum, with no representation among the letters GLBT, although it clearly fits into the sex and gender conversation.

This character’s name is Neptune (hence the title; Frost is a bird—what the bird signifies, I was unable to discern), and Neptune encounters many other characters with poetic names: “Memory,” “Innocent,” “Psychology,” even “Matalusa” which eventually gets spelled out as Martyr Loser. Neptune encounters each of these other people in turn on a kind of dreamscape version of Homer’s The Odyssey. Except eventually Neptune finds the aforementioned hacker collective, and Neptune’s arrival becomes the power source for the collective’s many computer parts and motherboards. I took it to be a metaphor for powering community, but I have no idea how close to the mark I am there.

Because, indeed, most of Neptune Frost is abstract, in a way that leaves the viewer little choice but to surrender to its well-rendered, complex and mysterious quasi-technological universe. There is one line of dialogue so refreshingly concrete that I had to write it down: after asking if gender is “so crucial” in someone’s desire for intimacy (for many people, indeed it is), this follow-up question is asked: “Are you justified in attacking strangers who do not fulfill your unwarranted desires?” A great question that needs to be asked of many, but also, not the primary point of Netptune Frost—but a crucial component of it.

These lines of dialogue are after a sequence in which the ironically named “Innocent” attempts to seduce Neptune, but is shaken by unexpected anatomy. This but one of many threads in a vast tapestry of beats and vocalizations, and occasional, subtle but seamlessly integrated digital effects. Neptune Frost is a visual accomplishment that belies its clearly limited budget. I may not have been able to understand its many narrative threads to their fullest, but the talents of its makers are indisputable, and I would still recommend it on the strength of its visuals and sounds alone.

*Just the abstract Afro-futurist musical you were looking for.*

Overall: B+