Love in the Borough: A Reflection on Love Brooklyn

Brooklyn has always been more than a setting; it is a feeling, a rhythm, a collage of lives brushing past each other in coffee shops, on sidewalks, beneath fire escapes painted with memory. In Love Brooklyn, produced by Steven Soderbergh, directed by Rachael Holder, and led by Andre Holland, the borough becomes both backdrop and character, a romantic canvas upon which familiar archetypes of longing and connection are drawn.

The story is deceptively simple. Roger (Holland), a man adrift in his own uncertainties, finds himself caught between two magnetic women: the luminous Dewanda Wise, who steals every frame with the quiet gravitas of someone who knows her worth, and the disarmingly charming Nicole Beharie, whose quirk and vulnerability soften the edges of the narrative. Their lives intersect with Roger's in ways that remind us of the eternal dance of love in the city. It's messy, intoxicating, and at one point, unnerving.

Watching Love Brooklyn feels like slipping into a sweater left behind by a dear friend. The film carries a cozy, nostalgic hum. A warmth that comes not only from its glowing cinematography but from its pacing, unhurried yet deliberate, like jazz on a Sunday afternoon. The familiar beats of the plot, boy meets girl, then another girl, don't diminish its charm; instead, they are comforting, the way the skyline looks when you've seen it a thousand times yet still catches your breath.

Wise, in particular, is a revelation. I saw a new side of her. Her screen presence is arresting, a constellation of poise and allure. She's stunning in every frame. Beharie plays a delightful counterpoint, quirky, effervescent, grounding the film with a sweetness that never curdles. Together, they embody the film. Their every glance and gesture elevate it into a place where ordinary moments shimmer.

Yet, for all its warmth, the film strains in places. Comedy, when attempted, feels tentative, like an afterthought. A note from a producer that the filmmakers reluctantly slipped in. Roy Wood Jr., with his innate comedic timing, is left underutilized, his presence a whisper of what might have been. In a film so drenched in affection, the absence of laughter leaves a void. Small, but noticeable.

Then there is Roger. Holland's performance is restrained, even enigmatic, but the script offers him little to prove why two intelligent, radiant women would orbit his uncertainty. It left me, an otherwise willing witness, searching for the heartbeat of his appeal.

Visually, there are moments where the magic falters. Brooklyn, as captured here, is undeniably beautiful, but beauty can also feel rehearsed. The bridges, the brownstones, what I assume is Central Park (I'm not a New Yorker), it's a song we have heard before. Lovely, yes, but lacking a new verse.

Love Brooklyn is a film of tenderness, of warmth, of memory. It may not reinvent the language of romance, but it speaks it fluently. I left the theater both charmed and restless: charmed by the beauty of Wise and Beharie's performances, by the golden lens through which Brooklyn is shown; restless because, for all the film's affection, I longed for it to dig deeper, to let Roger earn the love bestowed upon him, to let humor lighten the weight of longing.

It's familiar, imperfect, endlessly magnetic, even when you don't quite know why.

7.5/10 "It may not reinvent the language of romance, but it speaks it fluently."