André Holland sits down with Where Is The Buzz’s Nakia Richardson, not just to promote a film, but to share a piece of his soul. The project in question is LOVE, BROOKLYN, a modern, layered portrait of Black love and resilience in a borough that’s as vibrant as it is vanishing.
“It’s hot as hell,” Richardson jokes at the start of the conversation, setting a relaxed, familial tone. “It’s too hot to even go to the beach.”
Holland laughs. The heat, like Brooklyn itself, is relentless but familiar. And as it turns out, so is LOVE, BROOKLYN, a film that feels less like a polished studio product and more like a love letter to a community, to a culture, and to the kind of storytelling that rarely gets space on the big screen.
“I Missed Seeing Black Folks Just Loving Each Other.”
“I really wanted to make a movie where Black folks got to be in love,” Holland says early in the conversation, his voice soft but firm. “I miss those movies. Love Jones, Love & Basketball. And sure, there have been others, but those stories? They shaped us. I wanted to make something that felt like it belonged in that lineage.”
In LOVE, BROOKLYN, Holland plays Roger, a once-successful writer stuck in the emotional purgatory of creative burnout. He’s also navigating two very different romantic dynamics, one with an ex (Nicole Beharie), and the other with a new partner (DeWanda Wise). Both women offer him glimpses of healing, but the journey toward self-understanding is his alone.
Holland sees echoes of himself in Roger’s uncertainty.
“He wrote something once that people really loved. And he hasn’t been able to get back to that place. That kind of self-doubt… I know it,” he says. “As an artist, you go through these phases where you ask yourself, ‘Do I still have it? Did I peak already?’ Roger’s stuck. And I’ve felt that too. Especially now, being in my 40s, trying to figure out what’s next. That hit close to home.”
“Brooklyn Is the Third Character.”
While LOVE, BROOKLYN is undoubtedly a story about personal transformation, it’s also deeply rooted in place. Brooklyn isn’t just a backdrop it’s a living, breathing presence in the film.
“I’ve lived in Brooklyn over 20 years. Most of the locations in the film are places I go to,” Holland says. “Some of the businesses are owned by friends. One scene we even shot at my house, literally in the backyard. We were out of money and had to get creative.”
That sense of making do with what you have, of leaning on your people, runs through every frame of the film.
“This was a labor of love. Everybody chipped in. It wasn’t a job it was a calling,” he says. “And Brooklyn made it what it is. The soul, the sounds, the sidewalk energy… it’s all there.”
But Brooklyn is changing, and Holland refuses to look away.
“When I first read the script, it wasn’t even set in Brooklyn it was the Upper West Side,” he says. “I said, ‘No, no, no. We’re taking this to BK. And if we’re going there, we need to address what’s happening. The displacement. The gentrification. The businesses closing. We can’t ignore that.’”
He talks about local landmarks like Bed-Vyne, Lover’s Rock, and Peaches some already gone, others on the brink.
“We can’t have nothing anymore. Even block parties feel like they’re on borrowed time. It’s heartbreaking.”
“The Chemistry Was Already There.”
One of the film’s strengths is the lived-in chemistry between characters. That’s no accident.
“Nicole and I were in New York around the same time she was at Juilliard, I was at NYU. Dewanda went to NYU too. Cassandra Freeman and I went to undergrad together. Roy Wood Jr. and I are both from Birmingham,” Holland says. “This cast? It was a family reunion.”
There were no awkward rehearsals or forced bonding exercises.
“I just called people and said, ‘Yo, I’m making this movie. Can you pull up?’ And they came. With love. With intention.”
He pauses, and then adds with a smile, “Also, let’s be real it’s not hard to find chemistry when you’re sitting across from Dewanda Wise or Nicole Beharie. They’re incredible.”
“The Music Had to Feel Like Brooklyn Too.”
The film opens with a soulful track by Addie Oasis, an artist Holland has known since his early days in New York.
“She moved here from France around the same time I got here. She told me, ‘I want to be a singer.’ And we supported each other over the years. Open mics, play readings whatever it was, we were there,” he recalls.
When it came time to find the film’s sonic heartbeat, Holland knew exactly who to call.
“I said, ‘Addie, I need you.’ And she delivered this song that just… it hit. It feels like today but also honors the past. That’s the energy of the film. That’s Roger on his bike. That’s Brooklyn.”
“We’re Still Here.”
Despite his love for the borough, Holland admits that in recent years, it’s been easy to feel detached.
“Sometimes you look around and wonder where is everybody? Did the Black folks leave and not tell me?” he says, half-joking. “It can feel lonely. And I’ve thought about leaving. Atlanta, LA… somewhere that feels more familiar again.”
But something changed recently.
“I threw this tiny cookout, last-minute, maybe invited 15, 20 people. But over 120 showed up,” he says, eyes lighting up. “We had a DJ, people were dancing till 1 AM. It was one of those classic Brooklyn backyard vibes. People kept saying, ‘We needed this.’”
That night reminded him why he stayed. Why he made this film. Why this story matters.
“We’re still here. And we have to take care of each other. That’s what this film is about.”
“Support Is Everything.”
As the interview winds down, Holland makes one final ask not as a performer, but as a member of the community.
“I just want people to show up,” he says. “These stories are hard to make. And the industry still doesn’t value our work the way it should. That’s not new, but I’ve felt it in my bones through this process.”
“This isn’t a demand. It’s an invitation,” he continues. “Come see what we made. Nicole, Dewanda, Cassandra, Roy these are world-class artists. And we’re still out here, still telling stories that matter. We just need each other’s support to keep doing it.”
LOVE, BROOKLYN is more than a film. It’s a meditation on love, place, and what it means to hold onto your identity in the face of erasure. It’s about art that comes from inside the house, not imported from afar. It’s about the people who stayed, who built, who held the block down.
In Holland’s words: “It’s Black. It’s beautiful. It’s Brooklyn.”
And if you listen closely between the bike rides, block parties, and backyard cookouts you’ll hear the heartbeat of a community that refuses to disappear.
