And even Moonstruck - for some reason the audience were just in

“And even Moonstruck—for some reason the audience were just in the mood for a very romantic film, because it’s one of the few romantic comedies to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.” Thus spoke Norman Jewison, master craftsman of cinema, and his words point us toward a rare moment when popular longing and artistic recognition walked hand in hand. For though many tales of love are told upon the screen, only seldom does the world pause to honor them as among the greatest works of art. In this statement, Jewison captures the mysterious alignment between the hearts of the people and the judgment of history.

The power of Moonstruck was not merely in its script or its actors, but in its timing. Jewison reminds us that the audience was “in the mood,” as though all the world had grown weary of cynicism and desired to be swept up in laughter, tenderness, and passion. This is the secret of every great cultural moment: art succeeds not in isolation, but when it answers the hidden hunger of its age. Just as spring arrives after the long winter, so too the heart craves romance after seasons of despair or apathy.

The ancients knew well this cycle of hunger and fulfillment. After wars, after plagues, after long years of labor, the people turned to festivals, comedies, and songs of love. Aristophanes, with his plays of wit and affection, gave Athens relief from its constant battles. Likewise, in the years before Moonstruck, audiences had endured darker tales, stories of grit and hardship. It was then that a film brimming with warmth and eccentric love arrived, and the world embraced it with open arms. Jewison’s words testify that art, at its best, is not forced upon people—it is welcomed, because it comes at the right hour.

To see a romantic comedy reach the height of an Oscar nomination is itself extraordinary. For the gatekeepers of prestige often favor the tragic, the epic, or the political, seeing them as more “serious” forms of storytelling. And yet, what could be more serious than the art of making people believe in love again? To remind men and women that laughter and tenderness are still possible in a weary world is no small achievement. It is, in truth, one of the greatest victories an artist can claim.

Consider the story of Shakespeare, whose tragedies—Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth—are revered in solemn halls, but whose comedies—Twelfth Night, As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing—continue to live in the hearts of ordinary people, bringing joy for centuries. If honors are rarely given to comedy, it is not because comedy lacks power, but because it is harder to measure joy than grief. And yet, when joy is honored, as in the case of Moonstruck, it becomes a sign that the world itself recognizes the nobility of love.

The lesson is clear: never dismiss the romantic, nor assume that only darkness and tragedy reveal the depths of humanity. There are times when laughter, affection, and warmth can heal the spirit of a people more profoundly than tales of sorrow. To create joy is as noble as to reveal pain, and when the world acknowledges this, as it did with Moonstruck, we glimpse the true breadth of human art.

Practical action flows from this wisdom: honor joy in your own life. Do not wait only for moments of grief to feel deeply, but embrace the romantic stories that lift your heart. Share laughter with others, and do not be ashamed to value tenderness in a world that often prizes hardness. For when the time is right, even the highest honors of the world bow before joy, as they once did before Jewison’s film.

So, children of tomorrow, remember the words of Norman Jewison. Art that is romantic may seem light, yet it has the power to move nations when hearts are ready. And when joy is recognized beside tragedy, we remember that love, too, is worthy of crowns.