Seven months ago, the Oscars ceremony once again demonstrated that stories about straight white men tend to go down well with groups mostly populated by straight white men. It was the second year running that no acting nominees of colour were nominated and, as ratings fell and the call for diversity mounted, the Academy resorted to radical measures. At the end of June, an unprecedented number of new members were invited to join, 40% of them female or from minorities – and, sometimes, both.  Things were looking up. An industry-wide increase in films centred on ethnically diverse protagonists were greenlit. Also, there was immediate hope on the horizon: The Birth of a Nation, Nate Parker’s acclaimed Confederacy biopic, which had premiered to wild applause at Sundance. An uncompromising take on racial politics, it was picked up by Fox Searchlight for a record $17.5m (£13.5m) on the presumption it would be the next 12 Years a Slave.  But lately, eggs have been removed from the Birth basket. Despite renewed calls for people to judge the film on its own importance, the distressing accusations of rape against Parker – its star, as well as writer and director – have meant its red-carpet-to-awards glory is looking considerably less assured.  So no movie was perhaps ever more sorely required to prevent another #OscarsSoWhite than Moonlight: Barry Jenkins’s drama tracking a black gay man at three stages over his life.  The film has had an extraordinary embrace on the autumn festival circuit; its brilliance has left few stumbling out of the cinema unmoved. “The reaction has been amazing,” says the 36-year-old Jenkins in Toronto. He is visibly thrilled – and relieved – to be receiving such acclaim for only his second film. “I’ve had a 65-year-old straight white man literally bawling in my arms.”  Loosely based on a play by Tarell Alvin McCraney, the film focuses on Chiron, whose troubled life is split into three distinct sections, showing his struggle to define, disguise and ultimately accept his own sexuality in the deprived neighbourhoods of Miami. It is both acutely specific and easily relatable, touching upon issues of identity, coming of age, family and romantic attachment.  Jenkins is fresh in town from the film’s monumental launch at the Telluride film festival. But while the movie is yet to receive a negative review from critics, he is fending off a small but vociferous backlash online. “I didn’t tell anybody this,” he says, “but I received hate on Twitter when the trailer dropped. Maybe it was naivety on my part, but it became a discussion that I didn’t anticipate.”  The vociferous reaction in some quarters – also visible on YouTube – claims the film poses a threat to black manhood. It is a sentiment that, oddly, echoes that of Parker, who claimed he would never play a gay character because of the need to “preserve black masculinity”.  “Growing up, you’re told that being a black man, you have to be that much better than your counterparts,” says Trevante Rhodes, an ex-athlete turned actor who makes a haunting impression as the twentysomething Chiron.  “You have to be stronger, more masculine and the most dominant force in the room at all times. So that automatically puts up that block and you don’t think it’s possible to have any kind of vulnerability about you.”  Jenkins concurs: “I think American society forces black men to fortify themselves to have to go out into the world and provide for themselves and survive. Again, the more you fortify, the deeper you’re pushing that vulnerability. I think it’s all connected.”  It’s a theme that runs throughout the film as we see a boy, who likes dancing, turn into a teenager, who is afraid of liking anything, to a man, who gives off the impression that he likes being a criminal.  “We all have masculine and feminine within us,” says British actor Naomie Harris, who delivers a ferocious turn as Chiron’s neglectful, crack-addict mother. “We’re just human beings and I think that’s such a powerful message. Because, ultimately, we want people to break out of all those boxes. And being human means being vulnerable.”  For co-star Andre (The Knick) Holland, who plays the object of Chiron’s affection, in certain situations, showing a softer side can also be a survival technique. “I grew up in Birmingham, Alabama,” he says. “It was an all-black neighbourhood, really rough and tumble, and there was no space for any kind of vulnerability. At the same time, I ended up going to a high school that was across town which was all-white and where vulnerability was actually very valuable. I say vulnerability, but what I really mean is being non-threatening. You have to straddle the fence.”  In the film, Chiron regulates his behaviour in order to prevent people from knowing he’s gay, but the bullies at school and his cruel mother are aware of his sexuality and persecute him as a result. The experience of being a minority and self-censoring to fit into the world is one the cast find easy to relate to.  “There’s a dexterity you have to have as a black person,” says Mahershala Ali, who plays a local drug dealer who becomes a father figure to young Chiron. “If I’m shopping somewhere nice or I go to a nice restaurant or I’m working in a city where there are not a lot of black people, I’m careful about how I walk and about how loud I talk or what I’m wearing. You have to edit yourself in order to try and not draw attention. I’ve been on the subway, dressed really nice, and seen women turn their ring over or cross the street and when you get that message over and over again that you’re something to be feared, it’s toxic.”  Even today, they say, when they were doing press in a nearby building filled with residential apartments, they were told by an elderly white woman to vacate the elevator so she could take it.  “We get lulled into thinking that there’s equality and love,” says Ali, “and that discrimination isn’t something that’s still around and when that happens, it jars you and it’s painful.”  The cast are conscious that the film is launching at a time of heightened violence by police against young black men in the US – and heightened consciousness of such prejudice. It’s a situation that persists, they say, because of the same stereotypes they too constantly encounter. “Recently I was shooting a movie in Virginia and I was approached and stalked by officers because I had a hoodie on,” Rhodes says. “It was the most surreal thing. It was unsettling to think that still exists.”  For Jenkins, this makes bringing a character such as Chiron to as wide an audience as possible yet more crucial. “We don’t get to see stories about these people so we don’t really get to humanise them and see how they get this way,” he says. “To me it’s groundbreaking that people are responding to a character like this. You walk past someone like him all the time. You see the grills and assume all these things. Fifteen years ago, that kid loved ballet but the world has beaten it out of him.”  And as for the Oscar buzz? Jenkins is trying to look at the bigger picture. “I try and compartmentalise myself from the awards stuff,” he says. “We did the best we could and that’s what matters the most to me. It’s really about making a statement that we are all human beings and we feel the same things.”  Yet such buzz translates into publicity, ticket sales – and, potentially, change. Moonlight manages to justify (for those who still require it) an increased call for diversity within two hours, as well as to provide a reflective experience for audience members who rarely get to see anything loosely resembling their lives on screen. Given the past year of violence against both people of colour and the LGBT community in the US, the importance of Moonlight’s plea for tolerance is hard to understate.  “I feel like it’s an idiotic thing to assume that loving a man is different to loving a woman,” Rhodes says. “You’re born a certain way and loving somebody is loving somebody. If you strip away gender and skin colour, we’re all the same and, ultimately, love is the driving force.”  Moonlight premieres at the London film festival on 6 October and opens in the US on 21 October
Barry Jenkins’ highly acclaimed new film follows one boy as he grows into manhood, hiding his sexuality. Here, the director and cast talk about the future Oscar contender