For Black History Month, MovieJawn is celebrating some of our favorite up and coming Black directors and actors. See all of the posts here.

by Ashley Jane Davis, Staff Writer

 Love is a funny thing. I grew up mostly knowing only one kind of love–one based on principle, devoid of emotion, with many strings attached. Truthfully, the most important discussions I ever heard about love were the between-track discussions on Lauryn Hill’s album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. They are simple, yet profound, expressions made by students who I assume were younger than I was, that filled me with warmth. I know these words by heart, and over twenty years later, they still shape my understanding of love. Why am I telling you this? I have only felt that same significant warmth through art by watching the films of Barry Jenkins. 

Barry Jenkins is one of my favourite directors, easily. I think his films are beautiful, deep, and unforgettable. I recognize they mean so much to so many folks, in ways that I am not able to express. But that love. I can picture *looks* of love in his films with the same ease and awe that I remember those lyrics from decades ago. Barry Jenkins has taught me so much about love. 

In Moonlight, I learned so much from the relationship between Juan and Chiron. When we first meet Chiron (or “Little”), he spends his days being teased and bullied at school for being different, and goes home to be alone with his thoughts, as his mother doesn’t give him the love and care he needs. When Juan witnesses Little hiding to avoid being beaten up by a group of bullies, he steps in to help. Time after time, Juan and his girlfriend, Teresa, welcome Little into their home to share meals and talk in a safe space with no judgment. Juan wants to be the support Little is missing in his life. He is a boy that hasn’t done anything wrong. He doesn’t even fully understand who he is yet, or what his sexuality means, yet his mom is already angry with him about it. Juan is honest with Little, but never hurtful. In the memorable scene where Juan teaches Little how to swim, he assures him, “I got you. I’m not gonna let you go.” 

Sometimes parents aren’t the ones who give you the love you deserve as a child. Maybe they can’t, and maybe they just won’t. Or even if they do, sometimes you remember the love from someone else you trust – someone who doesn’t owe you anything, yet is still there. Many LGBTQ+ kids grow up in households and communities that don’t welcome them, but you never know who will be there, like Juan was for Little. Barry Jenkins taught me that about love. 

Less than two years later, I was lucky enough to hear Barry discuss his newest film, If Beale Street Could Talk, one rainy Monday morning at TIFF. In this film, we watch a beautifully romantic love blossom between childhood friends, Tish and Fonny, only to see them be torn apart by the horrible realities of the racist institutions that still operate to oppress Black people every single day. Rather than being able to grow together and start their family like many young couples do, Fonny is thrown in prison on trumped up charges and they are forced to live their lives apart – only seeing each other through glass. It’s heartbreaking. However, their challenges and trials has not extinguished their love. They are not physically together, but Tish tells Fonny, “I understand what you are going through because I am *with* you.”

Love is powerful. It can believe anything is possible and further, be strong enough to make the impossible happen. It can survive and even thrive through glass, worlds apart. You can feel the heartbreak in my original review of this movie. As I watched, I thought about someone I loved that I couldn’t be with – in the same room, but apart. But this movie gave me hope. Tish’s love was steady and patient, focused on the things she could control. Being separated from someone you love is not hopeless. There is always hope. Barry Jenkins taught me that about love. 

There are countless other truths about love in his films. Both A Young Couple and Tall Enough show how the differences a couple has can make things interesting, and that small annoyances don’t matter. Honestly, even his short King’s Gym choked me up, thinking about when we do what we love, it makes us a better version of ourselves. Everything I’ve seen that he has directed makes me think about love. I think about Chiron and Kevin *looking* at each other in the diner while Aretha’s “One Step Ahead” plays (one of my all-time favourite songs). I think of Tish’s parents stealing a moment together to dance to “Whole Lotta Your Love” by Lee Hurst. I think of Tish and Fonny under their umbrella, sheltered from the rain, and know that every time I am under an umbrella with my sweetheart for the rest of time, I will hear Nicholas Britell’s score play in my head (specifically: “Encomium”).

I get the feeling that Barry Jenkins loves love, like I do. His art makes me want to celebrate it and work harder at my love, not just for those close to me, but for the whole human race – especially those who need love the most. There is a lot of hatred out there in the world, but there is a lot of love too. It is worth truly fighting for, by whatever means possible. Barry Jenkins taught me that about love.