Barry Jenkins, the humanist filmmaker behind the vulnerable portraits of the black American experience Moonlight and If Beale Street Could Talk, recently saw the release of his latest mammoth undertaking; The Underground Railroad, based on a novel of the same name by Colson Whitehead, which envisions the Underground Railroad as a literal railway helping slaves escape.
Jenkins rose to prominence following the unprecedented wave of critical acclaim Moonlight received in 2016, for which attention was boosted by the infamous Oscars flub, and immediately following victory.
Moonlight was truly a wrecking ball, coming, to most, out of nowhere and capturing the attention of the public and resulting in critics paying more attention to the writer and director who would continue to demonstrate his ability to adapt material into personal, beautiful and beloved films. How is it that he got to where he is now, after working for so long before Moonlight truly gifted him the career he enjoys today?
In this extensive Q&A session (video below), at the Rotterdam International Film Festival, Jenkins appears before an audience of mostly aspiring filmmakers, answering a long line of punchy and practical questions, basically giving his own Masterclass. Many focus on Moonlight, but many more come from audience members eager to ask sensible questions to a writer/director who worked on a shoestring budget to produce pure gold.
Among the topics: Why is it that Moonlight stood out so much more than his previous efforts, like Medicine for Melancholy, despite it largely remaining a collaboration with the same core crew. The answer: Scope of story, and therefore, budget.
Why having a voice and talent is not enough to avoid having your vision be swallowed by a lack of understanding of the mechanics of films and filmmaking, a vastly complex skillset. These being informed by his experiences as a complete novice upon entering film school.
Whether or not Moonlight was made with the intention to read as ‘universal’, and why creating films with specificity in mind results in stories the audience will more readily be involved with, as well as be able to reflect on the similarities of with their own experiences. This leads in to a discussion on how Jenkins’ heterosexuality managed not to be a buffer when creating such and honest portrayal of the repression and isolation of Chiron’s, Moonlight’s main character, experiences.
How the creators of Medicine for Melancholy managed to will the limited success of that film into existence, via making an effort to contact individuals with important voices, despite no one showing up for initial festival screenings. This particular tidbit is especially valuable and, moreover, inspirational.
And, interestingly, a moment where Jenkins stops to recall the making of an early short film of his centered around Arab Americans washing flags for free on the nightshift at a laundromat, written after 9/11, revealing insights into Jenkins’ approach to cinema: as an engine for empathy, a perspective that has granted him the ability to make powerfully-affecting films.