KiKi Layne and Stephan James in If Beale Street Could Talk (Tatum Mangus/Annapurna Pictures)

Music is the central player in Barry Jenkins’s adaptation of James Baldwin’s 1974 novel. It begins silently, though still with music, so to speak, with a quote from the book in which Baldwin points to Beale Street in New Orleans as the symbolic birthplace of African Americans, singling out the “beating of the drums” and Louis Armstrong. Picking up that cue, Jenkins goes on to wrap the rest of his film in a sumptuous and rhapsodic score infused with mid-20th-century jazz and R&B. Composed by Nicholas Britell, the original score propels the entire film, even when the onscreen energy sags.

The soundtrack traces the moods of a young black couple. Twenty-one-year-old Alfonso, who goes by the name of Fonny, and Tish, 19, have known each other since they were kids, and as the time-shifting narrative begins, they embark upon their first night out on the town as a couple. Through James Laxton’s richly saturated cinematography, nocturnal Manhattan of the early 1970s has never looked more aglow or intimate, while during the daytime, the autumnal colors pop out of the screen.

Jenkins jumps months ahead in time to Tish entering a prison visiting room, sitting down, and picking up the phone to talk to Fonny, who is sitting on the other side of the partition. She has an announcement: she’s going to have a baby. At this point, there are cryptic clues on why he has been incarcerated.

She’s already three months along by the time she haltingly announces her pregnancy to her mother, Sharon (a rock solid Regina King), who breaks out the good glasses and a bottle of cognac to warm up Tish’s father and older sister. The news is well received. However, Tish and Sharon believe that night is as good as any to reveal the news to Fonny’s family. The meeting does not go smoothly—in fact, acrimonious and raucous doesn’t begin to describe the friction between the two households: Tish’s working-class family and Fonny’s are of the same economic status, but his mother and two sisters place themselves on a higher pedestal and don’t attempt to disguise their disdain for Tish and her family.

The clash has enough conflicts and rancor for an entire film, and this sequence could have easily been stretched longer. As it is, the vitriol abruptly spews out. The cartoonish bickering between Tish’s sister, Ernestine (Chi-Raq’s Teyonah Parris), and Fonny’s sisters escalates and gets straight to the point in no time. It’s small wonder that only one person gets slapped. Fonny’s ultra-religious mother practically curses Tish, “I always knew you would be the destruction of my son,” and declares Tish and Fonny’s child was born in sin.

Because Fonny’s mother has given up on him, it falls upon Tish and her family to fight for his freedom. The story line eventually reveals why the budding sculptor has landed behind bars: he has been charged with rape, based on the actions of a racist cop (Ed Skrein). Trish’s family pulls enough money together to pay for a young white lawyer as his defense attorney, yet the legal case hits a wall: the woman who has accused Fonny of the crime has disappeared, causing a postponement.

Once his accuser (a strong Emily Rios) has been located, Sharon travels to Puerto Rico to beg her to reconsider the identity of her assailant. This section, which comes late in the film, is easily the most compelling. It’s the one subplot in which King holds the spotlight, although it is also the prickliest. In a 10-minute sequence, King and company distill a message that took Ben Is Back 100 minutes to tell: that a mother, no matter how well-intentioned, may not always know best.

As Tish, newcomer KiKi Layne has a soft presence to match her wispy voice. Under Jenkins’s direction, Tish’s scenes with Fonny (Stephan James) are studied and carefully choreographed. Compared to the rest of the cast, the actors are limited in their expressions (the abundant close-ups reveal few new facets to their personalities). As a result, Tish and Fonny remain reticent and become more representational. Their scenes are often so laid-back and restrained that they are overshadowed by others who let loose.

The pace, in turn, comes off as gangly. Certain scenes seem too short and others linger on for too long. It’s during these latter moments when viewers realize just how much the film relies upon the cinematography and music to energize Fonny and Tish’s interactions. It’s really only the trumpet on the soundtrack that hits the high notes.