The 10 Year Legacy of Barry Jenkins’s Triumphant Coming-of-Age Story ‘Moonlight’

In moonlight, black boys look blue. 

When Moonlight beat La La Land for Best Picture in 2017, it became not only a moment of virality and shock, but also solidified the film’s iconicity for years to come. The talk of the town that night was, of course, the egregious Oscar misfire. The photo of La La Land producer Jordan Horowitz holding the winning card remains incredible. 

Through all the noise, there lies the micro-budgeted film from a young A24 and a talented Barry Jenkins, who told a tale of Black, queer identity in the South and in the hood – a story never told before. In an era defined by the impending doom of the Trump era (which we are unfortunately still in), Moonlight’s success at the Academy Awards was a testament to the film’s strength, and it served as a response and resistance to what was to come. 

I remember my first watch of Moonlight like it was yesterday. I sat in my room during COVID, working on a class assignment. I’d heard about the film, but it had escaped me – and of course, I knew about the Academy Awards’ mishap. Moonlight was one of the final films of our semester, and as I pressed play, I knew I was in for something special.  The blissful notes of Boris Gardiner’s song and calming waves lapping against a shore filled my ears, a noise that would soon mean something entirely new for me, forever. 

It’s a story split masterfully into three parts, all about Chiron, a boy who is desperately trying to find himself in the unforgiving environment of Florida’s hood. Moonlight handles masculinity, race, homophobia, poverty, and drug addiction with a tender hand, while refusing to obfuscate the harsh reality of Chiron’s life. It’s a story that is worth watching over and over, letting it wash over you like the calming waves of the ocean. Jenkins shoots Florida with such care; Moonlight is like a love letter to his hometown and upbringing. It is vibrant and bold; I don’t know if Miami’s ever looked better on film.

Because of how Jenkins shoots it, Moonlight feels authentic and lived-in; you see a connection to Chiron’s story and the people in the world. These are human moments, a stillness in the quiet, and there’s a camera there that we just happen to be watching. While we are privy to Chiron’s story, who is to say this story is something that’s never happened before? This is our first representation of it on screen, but Jenkins taps into something so truthful, yet concealed from mainstream audiences. It’s why Moonlight still feels so present and radical. 

Moonlight’s Academy Award run also came off the tail of the viral #OscarsSoWhite campaign, and while the industry is trying to make strides in terms of diversity in film and television, representation in Oscars categories and Academy members, there is still a way to go. The film doesn’t feature a main white character; there may be some in the background during Black’s visit to Kevin, but other than that, every person is Black in this film – which is another reason to highlight its impact and legacy. Jenkins was committed to creating this film without the presence of whiteness, omitting it entirely, and when you think about what was happening politically and socially, this was monumental. Chiron as the leading man, as a dark-skinned character, is critical to highlight as well, as colorism is rampant in the industry and our society. 

The film also highlights an issue that still plagues our existence: the unlawful discrimination by police and judicial systems of Black people, and the higher rates of incarceration. According to the NAACP, if you’re Black, you’re five times more likely to be incarcerated than white individuals. Both adult Chiron and Kevin (André Holland) have been through the system, forced to do what they must to survive in a society that rebukes their existence. They talk about their experiences as if it were bound to happen to them, and unfortunately, this is rooted in reality.

All of this is to say that Moonlight transcends just an individual story shot beautifully on film. Jenkins captured reality and transcended just one point in time. Since the commercial and critical success of Moonlight, Jenkins has worked on quite a few projects, notably If Beale Street Could Talk (2018), a TV adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad (2021), and he is signed on to direct The Natural Order starring Glen Powell and Be My Baby, a Ronnie Spector biopic starring Zendaya. He’s also co-produced acclaimed films like Sorry, Baby (2025) and Aftersun (2022). His unique style and approach to filmmaking solidify his continued status as a brilliant auteur, and it is Moonlight I am excited to revisit this week. 

Part I. Little

In Part I, he goes by Little (Alex R. Hibbert), for his tininess but also for his quiet, reserved demeanor. Paula (Naomie Harris) is a single mother, and as she battles with drug addiction, Little is left to his own devices – he’s alone and lonely, almost all the time. 

Our introduction to him comes in a masterful shot, as he runs away from boys chasing him and calling him homophobic slurs. As Little escapes, the camera moves frenetically, trying to keep up with him until he finally finds solace in an abandoned drug hole — the irony is astounding. Little holds up an almost-empty needle to the sliver of light coming in, the needle’s brown liquid shining beautifully in the sun. Juan (Mahershala Ali), the neighborhood’s drug dealer, finds him and invites him to eat. As Little devours his food, Juan realizes the dire straits he’s in, and he takes him under his protective wing. 

Ali’s characterization and performance of Juan are beyond incredible – he is the emotional linchpin of this first act, and his presence is felt throughout the rest of Moonlight. Juan is not only a father figure for Little, but he’s also his first trusted adult, the first adult who listens and talks to him and not at him. He accepts Little as he is, but also emboldens him to be who he really is – whoever he wants to be, at his core. He is a beacon of masculinity, one unlike Little had ever seen before. Juan’s girlfriend, Teresa (Janelle Monáe in her first film appearance!), is also a key part of his journey, but more on her later. 

One of the most extraordinary (and my favorite) scenes in Moonlight is where Juan teaches Little how to swim. It is an act so simple in concept, yet it is strikingly religious – similar to a baptism. 

Nicholas Britell’s score swells transcendently as Juan holds Little up against the waves surrounding them. He implores Little to trust him, “I got you.. I promise you. I’m not gonna let you go.” We become a wave around Little, as the camera slips in and out of the water, struggling to stay afloat – symbolic of Little’s struggle with his identity. Juan never leaves his side, and as he shows him how to swim, Little gains the confidence and swims by himself, to Juan’s joyful cheers.

Jenkins broke down the scene to The New York Times, calling it a pivotal shift in the film and “a moment of spiritual transference.” It is a scene that sticks with you forever, in its symbolism, emotional beats, and in its beauty – I mean, it is stunning to look at, just like the rest of the film is. The water becomes this character in and of itself. Ali was also actually teaching Hibbert how to swim, because he didn’t know how – and he’s patient, loving, and encouraging. 

It’s a refreshing portrayal of Black men, as Juan is vulnerable, understanding, and tender. It’s a subversion of this stereotypical role of the drug dealer, and while Juan is still enacting violence to his community, he is also healing Little through his tender actions. It’s paradoxical, but it shows that his character is flawed, showing the reality of what it is to be human. The performance came at a time when Black boys and men were under attack, and Ali’s approach to it is what makes Juan so significant as a character. In an interview with Deadline, Ali talked about how he felt playing a stereotypical role like Juan and that it was the way Jenkins handled his arc that made him less trepidatious to play him.   

Juan, like many characters in this film, is complex by nature. He does what he must to continue living, and as a dealer, he unknowingly enabled and created the addiction in Little’s mother. This becomes a moment of catharsis when he confronts her about her drug use. Paula eventually screams at him, “You gon’ keep selling me rocks?!” Paula is a product of his actions, and she notes his hypocrisy; she used to be another transaction for him. 

When Little eventually confronts him about this, it’s heartbreaking. As he storms out and Juan can’t even meet his gaze, it’s gut-wrenching, and I am sure this is what got Ali that Oscar win.

He went on to win another Oscar, and even though it was through vapid source material, Ali is still incredibly talented and deserving. Since Marvel did him extremely dirty with Blade, I’m excited for this year’s Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother, Ali’s own version of Blade, with much more creative control and direction from Bassam Tariq. From the trailers, the film looks fantastic. He will also appear this year as Brendan, the Bandit King in Laika’s Wildwood.  

Part II. Chiron

Chiron (Ashton Sanders) is still relentlessly bullied every day; he lingers at school, watching out for the same boys who chased him around when he was little – the threat of violence never subsiding. Terrel (Patrick Decile) is his main bully, and Terrel is so awfully evil to Chiron that his eventual revenge is cathartic. 

Sanders’s portrayal of a somber and still painfully awkward teenager is phenomenal. He’s incredibly lonely – lacking any real connection, he stands alone and separate amidst a crowd of classmates. Even his clothes are different from what the other teenage boys wear. The isolation of queerness is excruciating and tangible, and Jenkins portrays it quite accurately. 

The only person he regularly talks to is Teresa, and she provides him a safe space to talk, a bed to sleep on, and a hot meal. She is kind and funny, and she fills the void for Chiron’s lack of a mother. It’s unknown how Juan passed, but it’s clear that this deep loss lingers across the community and in Chiron’s mind. Paula’s drug use has only gotten worse, the height of her addiction skyrocketing into tension, resentment, and violence between them. 

Following her acting debut in Moonlight, Monáe has made quite the splash, as she’s starred in popular films and gained critical acclaim, in films like Hidden Figures (2016) and Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (2022), and a favorite of mine from this year, Is God Is. She’s also set to play real-life con artist Tanya Smith in an upcoming heist film called Never Saw Me Coming based on the memoir. 

Chiron has one close friend, Kevin (Jharrel Jerome), who calls him “Black,” and there is unmistakable tension between them. While Chiron is quiet, he is full of yearning for connection, especially the ability to act on these desires – which eventually lead to a sexual dream about Kevin, the sounds of the waves populating our ears once more. The waves act as a direct motif for Chiron’s sexuality, just out of reach and impossible to express.

Chiron and Kevin finally share an intimate moment on the sandy beach. It starts with smoking weed together, and eventually leads to Kevin providing Chiron with his first sexual experience. It is a beautifully vulnerable moment. Kevin holds Chiron close, willing him to trust him through this, and because Chiron is so broken, he struggles to let himself go. In moonlight, Chiron receives the connection he wanted for so long – at the place where he had found himself with Juan so long ago. 

Along with the swimming scene, this scene is breathtaking – to look at, but also to experience. Only the moonlight illuminates them, and darkness surrounds them. As Kevin touches Chiron, we see them in intimate shots from behind – never their faces. While we do hear some moans, we are not privy to anything else, and this decision by Jenkins solidifies this scene’s beauty and his integrity as a filmmaker. There is even a tenderness to the end of the sexual act, where Kevin wipes his hand on the sand. It’s so human and adolescent; it is the epitome of what it’s like to feel this for the first time. It’s one of many reasons this film stands the test of time. 

The next day, Terrel forces Kevin to beat Chiron up as part of an initiation. As the crowd gathers and the camera circles round while Kevin punches Chiron, begging him to stay down, you feel the world shattering underneath you. Eventually, the beating stops, and it all culminates in Chiron’s final blow to his life and everything he knew before. 

Sanders has had success following the explosion of his career after Moonlight. He starred alongside Denzel Washington in The Equalizer 2 (2018), and has had notable roles in Native Son (2019), Judas and the Black Messiah (2021), Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody (2022), and a recently recurring role in Invasion. For an actor as talented as Sanders, I want him to get stronger, leading-man-type roles – films that must be anchored by his presence, like Moonlight is. 

Part III. Black

Enter Black (Trevante Rhodes), post-juvie, hyper-masculine, extremely buff, grill-wearing Chiron; he’s the exact opposite of who he was before. The sweet, shy boy has been repressed, and now he has to be tough and have zero vulnerability. In his best imitation of Juan, Black runs the block now, sporting the nice ride, wearing chains and earrings, and even has the same crown on his dash like Juan had. His childhood trauma haunts him nightly; his mom calls him constantly, and he avoids it like the plague, his resentment for her lingering.

One night, his phone fatefully rings, and the voice he had been holding out for says his name; it was Kevin. He never thought he’d hear that name again. In minimal words, they catch up. Kevin even apologizes for everything that happened to Chiron, and it’s such an emotionally charged moment of relief and reconciliation. All those pent-up emotions – his resentment, his anger- fell away with Kevin, and as they keep talking, Chiron’s shy and kind demeanor returns. Kevin tells him he’s a chef now, and the next time he’s around town, to come see him. 

Black/Chiron visits his mom at her rehabilitation facility, and she is a shell of herself. They make small talk, with a lot of tension brimming between them – and she’s furious he’s a drug dealer. Throughout their meeting, it reaches a point of emotional release: Black gets up to leave, and Paula finally tells him she loves him and apologizes for everything. 

After years of neglect, he finally hears that he matters to someone – it was something he had only felt a few times, but never from his own mother. This scene is incredibly impactful, and both their performances always move me to tears. His mother’s love and acceptance were the final push he needed to go after what he wanted: to be himself.

À la Chiron fashion, he drives straight to Miami to Kevin’s restaurant. In the stillness, he sits at the counter, waiting for Kevin to approach him – Kevin always being the one who made the move, the one who reached out to him years before. He cooks him a special meal, another representation of care for Chiron. As they catch up, in a few words once more, Kevin finds out that he’s selling drugs, and he asserts to his friend, “That is not you, Chiron.” 

Black retorts to Kevin, claiming he doesn’t know him, and with an almost bewildered look, Kevin responds, “I don’t know you?” questioning Chiron entirely. Every word they utter holds such gravitas over the last. The concept of “less is more” really works for Jenkins’s dialogue here, because so much is professed in what they can’t say. 

This tension between the two is so pronounced, and it is obviously due to their shared history, but also because of the performances of both Rhodes and Holland. Rhodes brings the character of Chiron to this beautiful crescendo of an ending as he’s beautifully still and broken. Holland is an embodiment of charisma, subdued by his history, but he’s found peace – and he hopes to bring that to Chiron.  

Finally, Black asks why Kevin called him. And as he’s lost for words, Kevin gets up and plays “Hello Stranger” by Barbara Lewis on the jukebox. As Lewis’s entrancingly romantic voice sings “It’s been so good to see you back again, how long has it been?” Kevin stares at Chiron, hoping he will understand. In just a glance back, Black says everything he wanted to say – reciprocating Kevin. It’s one of the most romantic scenes ever put to screen, and not a word is spoken. 

Kevin and Chiron end up at Kevin’s apartment, and they talk about life some more – still beating around the bush, avoiding conversations about their past, repressing it all. In a moment of vulnerability, Chiron finally tells Kevin he’s the only man who’s ever touched him, and he hasn’t touched anyone since. As the waves return, Kevin smiles at Chiron, and the weight has finally been lifted. They embrace in the penultimate, deeply affecting shot of the film, where they’ve both finally accepted themselves. The waves are all you hear. Little stares out at the ocean, and then looks back at the viewer. 

And fade to black. 

Moonlight was named No. 5 on The New York Times “100 Best Movies of the 21st Century,” and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Jenkins created one of the most touching, quiet, and vulnerable portrayals of Black boyhood and adulthood – he deserves that spot just for sheer ingenuity and commitment to this story. 

In retrospect, it remains clear that Black filmmakers deserve more than they’ve ever received in this industry. Jenkins created this masterpiece on a micro-budget, and he beat all the odds stacked against him. Imagine what he and other Black filmmakers can create with a blank check. We’ve seen it before, and I hope we will continue to see the industry put their money where their mouth is for Black creatives. There will never be another Moonlight, but filmmakers out there will forever be inspired by Jenkins and his little film that could. 

Retrospective Courtesy of Mariana Fabian

Feature Image Credit to A24