Rachael Abigail Holder: How a Failure in Communication Influenced the Concept for Love, Brooklyn

      Rachael Abigail Holder is a writer and filmmaker hailing from New York. As a first-generation Guyanese-American, she holds an MFA in playwriting from NYU Tisch and has directed both television shows and short films before making her feature film debut with Love, Brooklyn. The movie stars André Holland, Nicole Beharie, and DeWanda Wise, portraying the lives of three Brooklyn residents as they navigate love, careers, and friendships within a changing borough. In the following piece, she discusses her journey to establish a collaborative creative language with the film's cinematographer, Martim Vian.—M.M.

      Love, Brooklyn stands as a testament to the notion that the most beautiful creations emerge when one relinquishes the pursuit of perfection and embraces the chaotic, human experience of collaborating with someone you believe in.

      The process of creating my first feature, Love, Brooklyn, was an exercise in trust and a rapid-learning experience in communication. I aimed to craft a film with a calm and inviting rhythm, serving as a deliberate counterbalance to the often relentless tension showcased on screen.

      From our very first meeting, I sensed a kindred spirit in my Director of Photography, Martim Vian—we quickly became fast friends. Our shared passion for authentic storytelling united us in our goal to create a film about Black individuals that felt both relatable and distinctly original.

      However, we encountered a fundamental issue during our early pre-production stages: our creative languages were completely different.

      As a director, I tend to sketch out my shot lists, filling my notebooks with drawings of characters within frames. I express my visions using poetic metaphors, depicting a scene as akin to "stepping on an exposed nail resting in a pool of honey."

      Conversely, Martim is a lighting expert whose approach is grounded in artistic and technical terminology. His language revolves around lumens and color temperatures.

      Additionally, I was crafting a film predominantly featuring Black characters while he, a white man, had not previously worked on such a project. This posed a challenge that went beyond mere communication; we needed to discover a visual vocabulary that could respect an experience that wasn't his own.

      During the pre-production phase, we faced several miscommunications. I would point to certain examples of lighting and coloring that I wanted to avoid, saying, “I don’t want them to appear muddy or engulfed in darkness, yet I still want to highlight the beauty of their skin tones.” Martim would patiently nod and inquire about soft keys, while I only thought about music.

      Though we both made efforts, our words often felt like they were hitting a brick wall. The initial spark of our creative connection was put to the test by the intense pressure of the approaching shoot. In those moments, I learned an essential lesson for any filmmaker: your ego is a luxury you cannot afford.

      How a Break in Love, Brooklyn Led to a Breakthrough for Rachael Abigail Holder

      André Holland in Love, Brooklyn, directed by Rachael Abigail Holder. Courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.

      The resolution did not arise from a singular, grand idea but came about due to an unexpected delay. I had chosen Nicole Beharie as my first choice for one of the lead roles; she was a significant talent but faced a scheduling conflict with her Apple series, The Morning Show, which consequently impacted our production timeline.

      Ultimately, it was worthwhile—she was our ideal candidate for the role. With filming postponed, the pressure lessened. Martim and I ceased attempting to translate each other's language directly and simply engaged in conversation. I created several decks with visual references to convey the warmth and ambiance I desired, and Martim reciprocated with his own decks to ensure he understood.

      During that pause, we committed to a visual language defined by strict principles to realize my vision. One core principle was to refrain from intruding on the characters’ spaces; we were there to observe, not invade. Additionally, I wanted Brooklyn to be present in every shot, avoiding reliance on anamorphic filming or city cutaways for it to act as a character in our narrative. By the time we resumed preparations for the film, we were fully aligned, and our collaboration on set was effortless.

      The outcome was transformative. The camera became an active participant in the city, perpetually keeping Brooklyn in view, allowing the environment to function as a co-star rather than a mere backdrop. Together, we not only illuminated our film's spaces; we infused them with a gentle warmth reminiscent of cherished memories, crafting a distinctive visual language that made a contemporary story feel both intimately familiar and refreshingly new.

      In the end, our collaboration mirrored the film itself. We didn’t just create a movie; we fostered a bridge. We developed a unique visual language derived from two disparate creative dialects, learning that beyond the technical discussions and metaphors, the essence lies in trust.

      Love, Brooklyn exemplifies that some stories are not about grand adventures, but the significant weight of daily life. It asserts that softness is not insignificant, and that