Fall has come to Texas, which means the days are shorter, the air is colder, and our theatres will soon be filled with releases whose Oscar prospects have already been analyzed half to death. Rustin, George C. Wolfe’s biopic treatment of civil rights leader Bayard Rustin, has already put Colman Domingo on countless shortlists for 2024’s Best Actor nominees. Yet while the film itself struggles to marry the weight of a man to the weight of the movement he helped grow, Domingo’s performance is certainly as promised.
For years, Bayard Rustin (Domingo) and Martin Luther King Jr. (Ameen) have worked to reframe the Civil Rights Movement around nonviolent social change. But not all members of the movement share King’s respect for Rustin, and a smear campaign spearheaded by Rep. Adam Clayton Powell Jr. (Wright), a Black Democrat, leads to a falling out between the two men. Cast out of the movement, Rustin busies himself with mentoring the next generation of activists even as he nurses a grudge against the members of the NAACP who turned on him.
And then Rustin has an idea. Rallying influence within the organization – including a passionate romance with Elias Taylor (Ramey), a rising star in the NAACP – Rustin is able to convince civil rights leaders that now is the perfect time for a signature march on Washington. But to pull off the biggest peaceful protest in American history, Rustin is going to need to work with friends and enemies alike to gather resources from everywhere he can.
As a film about the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, Rustin offers an important piece of historical context. Hollywood’s continued unpacking of the Civil Rights Movement through films like Selma and Judas and the Black Messiah draws important parallels to modern activism and shows how diverse coalitions found uneasy common ground in competing ideologies. And by centering on an openly gay figure in the movement, Rustin also shows the hierarchies of prejudice that need to be navigated to achieve true equality. These period details – such as the neighborhood bar that quietly caters to Washington’s gay community – help rewrite cinematic history to put queer characters at the heart of politics.
But the historical framework used to understand the march sits awkwardly with the story of Rustin himself. Domingo is dynamic in the titular role, offering both passion and pragmatism in a political movement that struggles to accept its dependence upon him: However, more conventional story beats of love hidden and love lost fail to add to the broader narrative. The emotional heart of the film is the broken relationship between Rustin and King; Domingo and Ramey may share excellent moments together as a pair of uncertain lovers, but the more powerful conflict of homophobia is that which pits two pillars of the movement against each other when their alliance is needed most.
And if the challenge of any biopic is to create the foundation for iconic moments in history, then one can only wish that the filmmakers had found a bigger moment to build toward. The film rushes through its own climax, ending on the steps of the Washington Monument as Rustin’s staff gaze at him in naked admiration. The message of the film may be that no one person is bigger than the movement, but the conventions of the biopic require neater closure to a man’s life. Rustin is filled with powerful performances and compelling speechifying, but it never quite manages to balance the onscreen potential of both man and mission.
This article appears in November 10 • 2023.