We casually toss around the phrase “star of stage and screen,” but few thespians have earned both a Tony and an Oscar. (Never mind the Herculean EGOT.) By one count, only twelve men and women have ever competitively nabbed those twin honors. One such legend has filmed August Wilson’s Pulitzer-winning 1983 play, the revival of which garnered several brass medallions in 2010. The actor is Denzel. The production is “Fences.” The result is the very definition of a mixed bag. I am happy to report, though, that the film’s central performances blaze despite the mise-en-scène nearly extinguishing its oxygen supply.
The third entry in Wilson’s famed Pittsburgh Cycle, “Fences” examines African-American life a full decade before Jim Crow’s de jure death. Wilson’s eye first delicately scans and then gawks with resolute disapproval upon the figure of Troy Maxson. Troy isn’t just a washed-up former Negro League ballplayer; he is nearly swimming in the bottles of gin he enjoys every Friday. At the production’s outset, he recounts past glories and current exploits with equal braggadocio. Troy’s primary audience numbers one, fellow garbage collector Jim Bono (Stephen McKinley Henderson), but his words also lasso dutiful wife Rose (Viola Davis). Weekend tranquility dissolves once the children come calling. In succession, we meet the grown Lyons (Russell Hornsby) asking for a $20 loan and the teenaged Cody (Jovan Adepo) requesting permission to play football. The half-brothers share two fateful truths. Rose supports Lyons as much as her own flesh and blood, and Troy cherishes any opportunity to humiliate and debase his progeny.
“Fences” is painfully domestic with its drama. Nearly every second of screen time takes place in the Maxson household or in its spare backyard, where Troy plans to build a wooden boundary. If he spent less time cultivating his unapologetic misogyny, Troy could have hammered the final nail by the first hour. But then we would be denied the marvel of Mr. Washington chewing every corner of the scenery with a slap of his palms and flash of his megawatt grin. Troy’s girth adds figurative weight to this literal beast of a man. Stomping across the property, he debases almost everyone in his wake and decries any perceived ingratitude for all that he has “given” to the family. Troy marries self-aggrandizement with selfishness so well, he might have had a shot in 2016.
The titular divides are, of course, more than just residential markers. Troy absolutely knows what he is walling in or walling out, but he doesn’t care to whom he is like to give offense. He attempts to erect separate fences around each family he sired. He wants to design another one to separate his collective brood from the rest of the world. And then there’s the final barrier intended to keep death at bay. Most midlife crises beget trophy cars and partners. Troy Maxson prefers audible tirades against the Grim Reaper along with his extramarital affair. Whether the actual fence is completed doesn’t matter when so many gauntlets are thrown.
The metaphor, so crucial to the theatrical production, seriously hobbles the film version. It requires static focus on that backyard and practically invites the audience to imagine a stage where there is none. 
Plays are arguably more difficult than novels to translate onto the screen, and Wilson’s own decades-old adaptation doesn’t quite fail. It just doesn’t succeed. That Washington and Davis, reprising their 2010 Cort Theatre performances, appear in the film doesn’t quite rescue the words either. We willingly sacrifice emotive authenticity for garish physical tics, unnatural dialogue, and ear-splitting vocals in the repertory theater. The multiplex counterintuitively demands greater concession to reality. And so the blame, if any, lies with the actor-director who hasn’t sat behind camera since 2007’s “The Great Debaters.” Not everyone can hit home runs like Mike Nichols’ seething, anxious landmark debut from fifty years prior. Washington at best gets a base on balls, to borrow a metaphor his character would appreciate.
Thankfully, the audience is treated to a performance of marital display as toxic and enthralling as George and Martha’s. 
Washington and Davis are simply resplendent. Make no mistake: Davis’ role is not at all supporting. In fact she forces the audience to stomach every emotional laceration that Rose suffers from Troy’s indignities. Lesser talents would act when crumbling after receiving shocking news or screaming from behind a mask of tears and mucus. Davis convinces. Adepo does a fine job matching wits with Washington in a baseball-inflected version of The Great Santini. The less said about the unfortunate, unnecessary characterization of Troy’s brother Gabe (Mykelti Williamson), the better.
True to Wilson’s ten-part canvassing of 20th Century African-American life, “Fences” is a proudly black film. Washington and his cast deserve credit for offering mainstream audiences an honest picture about marginalization, strife, and heartache—both racial and familial. But “Moonlight,” another unwaveringly African-American piece of art, achieved a patina of humanity that this movie sorely misses. Frost suggested that good fences make good neighbors. These “Fences”, however, do not always make a complete film experience.
[If you came looking for a review of “Hidden Fences,” we are still searching for a release date. See this film instead.]
CLGJr Verdict: Although never quite feeling like “a real movie,” the marquee actors are too stunning to miss. Davis gives the performance of her career, while Washington regales with his commanding, charismatic presence. It might not be the adaptation Wilson would have wanted, but it’s the one we’ve got.
Fences opened everywhere Sunday December 25.