Once a menace came into presidency and signed a dangerous, very prejudiced Muslim Ban into order, this caused a great ruckus across America. Prior to and even after 9/11, films and television ostracized the Muslim community, always depicting them as the bad guy.
The amazing Jinn portrays the religion in a humanized light, weighing its pros and cons. It centers the significant journey that converting into Muslim religion presents between a Black mother and daughter residing in the Inglewood neighborhood of Los Angeles, California. Jade is a local meteorologist and Summer is a creative, outgoing high school senior and aspiring dancer hoping for acceptance into SoCal’s art program.
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| Jade (Simone Missick in maroon) is entranced by the words of Islam and hopes that Summer feels the same rapture. |
Firstly, the carefree Black girl will never be a tiring image. Summer riding her bike, dancing with passionate determination, expertly skateboarding, dying her curls, and even slyly flirting with girls are some authentic, rarely seen film components of a Black girl growing up, unafraid to let spirit and fluidity fly. This adds layers to a refreshing coming of age drama. Interesting parallels uniquely weave how Jade and Summer enter into this new chapter together, how it changes them, how it clashes and creates new boundaries.
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| Sometimes Jade (Simone Missick) comes off too strongly against Summer (Zoe Renee), who is still very young and learning. |
Jinn’s script illustrates a thoughtful, tender depiction of a religion that is often ridiculed and villainized in media much like that of Black and brown bodies. The writing lends itself to having a loving, tender care, analyzing each part with both a graceful hold and sharp critique. This nuanced treatment shows the beautiful side (the penmanship of Arabic language, the poetry in its words, the incredible headscarves) as well as its disturbing misogyny (that yes all religions hold women to some oppressive standard). For instance, Summer’s #HalaiHottie image causes quite a stir, reaching the mosque. She is humiliated in a stern, heavy handed manner by both the Muslim community and her mother. Jade is suddenly at a crossroads, forgetting too that Summer is still between childhood and adult womanhood. Thus, the storminess crashes down on this peaceful calm that the religion supposedly brings into the weatherwoman’s life. On top of trying to understand her daughter’s actions, Jade faces microaggressions at work, the disdain of mostly white peers unimpressed by her new “unAmerican” look.
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| Summer (Zoe Renee) having fun times in her bike with Tahir (Kelvin Harrison Jr.). What a joy! |
Love is explored between mother/daughter, father/daughter, father/daughter/father’s girlfriend, mother/religion/daughter, girl/boy. Summer’s parents are not together due to Jade’s compulsion to switch it up on short notice, changing routines like the seasons impacting her forecast. Religion has all the makings of a coupling— the magic of falling in deep and the pitfalls of how it hurts when identity comes into play. Jade has fallen head over heels with the religion, but also the leader of their mosque— which Summer notices. Meanwhile, Summer shows interest in girls in that pansexual, fleeing sort of way, but is drawn to the brooding Tahir, a boy in her class raised Muslim. She is utterly impressed by his parents, almost idolizing. Summer and Tahir’s love is that first burgeoning taste into the unknown. She is the embodiment of American culture and he is the testament of relegated faith. Their pure, innocent union softens the chaos of high school and critical surveillance.
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| After killing it on stage with an awesome dance routine, Summer (Zoe Renee) recites a bittersweet poem about her experiences since converting and her tense relationship with Jade. |
Jinn’s every intention from its eclectic music choices to the casting breathes in perfect symmetry. Nijla Mu’min’s soft, poetic narrative collides beautifully with the key saturated hues of Bruce Francis Cole’s cinematography— the light playing on Summer’s bike rides, the intimate close up of Tahir’s fingers untying her red headwrap, the eyes speaking volumes in the silence. The performances of newcomer Zoe Renee, seasoned award-winning Kelvin Harrison Jr. (of Waves, Luce, and The Photograph), and Simone Missick (who stars as Judge Lola Carmichael in All Rise, Misty Knight in all the Marvel Netflix series,’ and a great cameo in American Koko) memorably stand out, leaving behind the hope that Hollywood knows their names as well.
Jinn gives audiences the solemn promise that emerging Black director/writers are truly out there making must watch film. And we must champion their rise.
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