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In “Masc,” director Bertil Nilsson pulls off a nifty trick: He observes an observer. Usually a film’s protagonist has the dominant POV, but here, Robin (Joshua Griffin) is trying to find his personality by observing
other men in his orbit. He almost never initiates the action and is mostly reticent about his reactions, but he takes note of everything. This makes for a fascinating watching experience for the audience, as they find themselves in Robin’s shoes, trying to figure out how to behave. In the process “Masc” becomes a thoroughly unique experience.
Robin is queer, biracial and neurodivergent, so society forces multiple identities on him. In the span of a year, he changes his appearance five times and tries on different jobs, places and people to hang out with. He works as an apprentice handyman and lab assistant, tries to immerse himself within a therapy group and seeks camaraderie with different guys his age. In the process, he takes on their mannerisms and models his personality on them, tries to figure out why they behave the way they do. It’s an intense journey that’s also internal; the strength of the film, and of Griffin’s performance, lies in how tangible and visceral they make that progress.
Nilsson wrote “Masc” based on a story he crafted with Griffin, and it plays as an organic collaboration between filmmaker and actor. Whether or not they improvised the situations that they put Robin in together, those play so naturally that the film sometimes has the feel of an observational documentary, which is exactly as it should be with such a sensitive character study.
But “Masc” is also clearly a work of fiction. Not only does Nilsson place the audience in Robin’s purview, he also creates scenes that tell us how he imagines things, how he wishes situations would transpire. In one immaculately crafted and tenderly portrayed scene, Robin stays overnight with a friend, Benji (Tega Alexander). The audience is privy to his vacillating feelings about his friend, how he hopes the night will go, and what he fears it might become. It is a vivid portrait of his innermost feelings and anxieties.
Griffin is tremendous, carrying the film on his shoulders as he appears in almost every frame. He has amazing physical control, making even the solitary scenes captivating; his presence, both jittery and grounded, conveys the complexity of Robin’s constant observation and recording of other people. When he is alone, there’s clear relief in the easier, more rhythmic way he moves. In closeup, his eyes broadcast all that the character is feeling; always watchful, always taking note of everything and everyone. The performance makes a moving and empathetic endeavor of the character’s search for a blueprint of life and personality.
Griffin’s vulnerability is most pronounced in a long scene where Robin spends time with his father (Lincoln Conway) — finally, he is not observing and just being, even if he’s not entirely comfortable. He still has fears of being unloved, but he’s at his most unguarded. Perhaps this familiar form of masculinity is the one he’s been searching for all along.
What makes “Masc” compelling is the way Nilsson turns observation into a mode of self-construction. Robin studies the men around him as though they might offer a grammar for being, borrowing their gestures, routines and affect in an attempt to locate something stable within himself. Yet the film understands identity not as something waiting to be discovered, but as something continually negotiated through imitation, desire and rejection. “Masc” shows that for those who exist outside prescribed ideas of masculinity, becoming oneself can first require learning how to read everyone else.
