In the Heights (2021)

 Score: 5 / 5

It's an overwhelming experience determined to shoot you up to cloud nine. Floating along up there, you'll be privy to the wash of sensations in this joyous, impossibly massive celebration of life, love, and belonging. For two and a half hours -- but feeling like a hurried walk through the park -- you'll be taken in by a thickly populated section of diverse Latinx community in Upper Manhattan, the titular neighborhood of Washington Heights. And for the love letter Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote to this specific locale, the film speaks to anyone who feels the pull of nostalgia for their home, the sense of loss as its integrity is threatened, and the desire to escape even as they settle in for life.

Firmly fitting within the grand tradition of "New York movies," In the Heights nevertheless glories in the unique flavors of its particular community: one that definitively makes up the city but is so often left out of major cultural products about the city. And, interestingly, the film begins with its leading character, Usnavi de la Vega, on a remote tropical beach; as he recounts his memories of one fateful summer to the kids around him -- and to us -- throughout the film, we cannot help but feel a sense of displacement. He no longer lives in the city, and so we're primed for a cathartic moment of him leaving in some emotional climax. This is made all the more dramatic by infrequent on-screen text reminders that a blackout is about to strike the city in the middle of a particularly hot summer.

"The streets were made of music," Usnavi begins his tale before we're launched into one of the most peripatetic and complex opening numbers in all of musical theatre. Played by Anthony Ramos, who is certainly preparing himself to be Hollywood's newest leading man, Usnavi is an immigrant orphan from the Dominican Republic who watches his community through his store window with a mixture of awe, love, reflection, and wishing for something else. His sueñito, his little dream, is indicative of everyone else's in the movie: less tangible, but not unique, he longs to return to his Caribbean island home, and to ask the beautiful and intimidating Vanessa on a date. Vanessa (Melissa Barrera) wants to leave her job in a salon and move downtown to pursue fashion; the gossipy and show-stealing salon women want an upgrade, too. Disillusioned college student Nina (Leslie Grace) wants to drop out of white-dominated Stanford, much to the disappointment of her self-sacrificing and demanding father (Jimmy Smits) and her crush Benny (Corey Hawkins) who works for him. And then there's Sonny, Usnavi's cousin (Gregory Diaz IV), whose dream is the most tangible and timely of all: he is a Dreamer, the kind of undocumented child so vilified by the recent presidential administration.

There is less story than character development, but that doesn't mean there's no substance. Screenwriter Quiara Alegria Hudes, who also wrote the book for the stage musical that launched creator/composer/lyricist Lin-Manuel Miranda to fame, changed a fair bit of her own material in the transition to screen. I confess not being knowledgeable at all about the musical before having seen the film, but others will surely debate the efficacy and implications of these changes. I am of the opinion that if the creator adapts their own work, the changes they make should be celebrated rather than decried. And it's hard to want to criticize this film because of director Jon M. Chu's work. Seemingly determined to make the biggest movie musical ever, he helms this jubilant movie with an eye for kinetics, excess, color and light, and fantasy. Of course, he's no stranger to sophisticated, fun storytelling (Crazy Rich Asians) or intense choreography (the Step Up movies and Justin Bieber filmed concerts). His assembled team of artists -- including choreographer Christopher Scott, cinematographer Alice Brooks -- create a dazzling world that is sure to seduce even audiences who don't usually like musicals. Glorious costumes and an utterly transcendent production design are captured by swooping, swirling cameras that make you feel weightlessly free and transported to another time and place. Everyone works in tandem, through the tiniest details to the largest ensemble numbers, to realize the apparent dream of Chu: honoring self-worth and love of community in any and every way you can.

I can't wait for Chu's next movie. But in the meantime, I'm going to go watch this one again.