Jesse L. Brown was the first African-American aviator to complete the US Navy's basic flight training program. His time spent in both the segregated and desegregated factions of the United States Navy was marked with moments of hardship, setbacks and ultimately triumph. He broke barriers and personified sacrifice, and was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Purple Heart and the Air Medal. A beacon of dedication and perseverance, he would become the first African-American naval officer killed during the Korean War.
Though Jesse walked the straight and narrow, not socializing much with other wingmen and following the officer rule book to the letter, was he really deserving of such a by-the-numbers and dull cinematic retelling as this?
While J.D. Dillard's Devotion is inspiring and heartfelt at times, it's an experience that is slow to take off, cruising at low altitudes on a tried-and-true formula, never reaching the soaring heights of emotion and memorability its real-life figure is synonymous with. Only when its true story elements take precedence does the film begin to fly high, but those moments are too few and far between. Inevitable comparisons to Top Gun: Maverick do the film no favours, with its aerial sequences lacking the dynamism, tension and bravura that made that movie so electric. Shot almost entirely in flat mediums, with a filter that zaps images of colour and texture, Devotion offers an experience that stays in neutral all the way to the credits. Moreover, the film's repeated cuts to mission briefs bring the pace to a halt, as the clichéd dialogue full of vapid, cloying statements of encouragement and valour numb more than rouse. Chanda Dancy's overly familiar score only serves to heighten this effect. On a purely technical level, Devotion never rises above "Top Gun lite".
Where Dillard's film excels is in its two central performances. Glen Powell's knack for playing airmen — as seen in Hidden Figures and Top Gun: Maverick — is on full display. Both suave and steadfast, Powell's rendition of Lieutenant Tom Hudner moves and entertains in equal measure. But it's Johnathan Majors's layered and poignant take on Jesse that occasionally elevates the film into soul-stirring territory. Painstakingly mining every facet of Brown's life and his unwavering love for his wife (Christina Jackson), Majors transforms this symbol of courage and honour into a living, breathing person battling his own demons to stay high in the air, above a sea of intolerance and prejudice.
In a compelling scene, Jesse speaks to himself in the mirror, hurling all the racial stereotypes and hate speech he has heard his whole life as a form of self-therapy, readying himself for imminent test missions and active combat. It strangely works, echoing the scars that many African-Americans carry with them en route to proving themselves as capable men, soldiers and, above all in this film, Americans. Majors captures this with pure force while never relinquishing a subtle grace. At once, he exudes an aura of conviction in one breath — remarking, "I'm tired of people helping me while looking down at me" — and in the next, a heartbreaking level of acceptance in the face of death. It wouldn't be surprising to see Majors honoured come Oscar season.
Yet, Majors alone can't make up for Devotion's aversion to risk. Relying too heavily on the wind of formula, it blandly cements itself as another inconspicuous entry into the canon of American biopics. Extraordinary people are deserving of extraordinary storytelling, and while Jesse L. Brown's filmic retelling won't be remembered, his story will stand the test of time regardless.
Though Jesse walked the straight and narrow, not socializing much with other wingmen and following the officer rule book to the letter, was he really deserving of such a by-the-numbers and dull cinematic retelling as this?
While J.D. Dillard's Devotion is inspiring and heartfelt at times, it's an experience that is slow to take off, cruising at low altitudes on a tried-and-true formula, never reaching the soaring heights of emotion and memorability its real-life figure is synonymous with. Only when its true story elements take precedence does the film begin to fly high, but those moments are too few and far between. Inevitable comparisons to Top Gun: Maverick do the film no favours, with its aerial sequences lacking the dynamism, tension and bravura that made that movie so electric. Shot almost entirely in flat mediums, with a filter that zaps images of colour and texture, Devotion offers an experience that stays in neutral all the way to the credits. Moreover, the film's repeated cuts to mission briefs bring the pace to a halt, as the clichéd dialogue full of vapid, cloying statements of encouragement and valour numb more than rouse. Chanda Dancy's overly familiar score only serves to heighten this effect. On a purely technical level, Devotion never rises above "Top Gun lite".
Where Dillard's film excels is in its two central performances. Glen Powell's knack for playing airmen — as seen in Hidden Figures and Top Gun: Maverick — is on full display. Both suave and steadfast, Powell's rendition of Lieutenant Tom Hudner moves and entertains in equal measure. But it's Johnathan Majors's layered and poignant take on Jesse that occasionally elevates the film into soul-stirring territory. Painstakingly mining every facet of Brown's life and his unwavering love for his wife (Christina Jackson), Majors transforms this symbol of courage and honour into a living, breathing person battling his own demons to stay high in the air, above a sea of intolerance and prejudice.
In a compelling scene, Jesse speaks to himself in the mirror, hurling all the racial stereotypes and hate speech he has heard his whole life as a form of self-therapy, readying himself for imminent test missions and active combat. It strangely works, echoing the scars that many African-Americans carry with them en route to proving themselves as capable men, soldiers and, above all in this film, Americans. Majors captures this with pure force while never relinquishing a subtle grace. At once, he exudes an aura of conviction in one breath — remarking, "I'm tired of people helping me while looking down at me" — and in the next, a heartbreaking level of acceptance in the face of death. It wouldn't be surprising to see Majors honoured come Oscar season.
Yet, Majors alone can't make up for Devotion's aversion to risk. Relying too heavily on the wind of formula, it blandly cements itself as another inconspicuous entry into the canon of American biopics. Extraordinary people are deserving of extraordinary storytelling, and while Jesse L. Brown's filmic retelling won't be remembered, his story will stand the test of time regardless.