If you’ve ever had a conversation with Yetunde and I about content, then there’s a 99.9% chance ‘Gilmore Girls’ came up.
I am Lorelai, Lorelai is I. But somehow she has been able to overcome her parental trauma in order to have a thriving life. In order to be proud of herself. To enjoy true emotional intimacy with her daughter.
There are very few shows which open my heart chakra like ‘Gilmore Girls’ does. ‘Queen Sugar’ is the only neck-and-neck.
I’m watching the episode right now in which Richard, Lorelai’s father goes to the hospital. Season 1, Episode 10.
Her mother is screaming at the hospital staff about how her uncle built the hospital and Lorelai comes in sweet and cheery. She convinces the Nurse to do exactly what Emily—Lorelai’s mother—has been trying to get the Nurse to do all along: to find out what is happening with Richard.
You know I can’t help but think about the British monarchy when I think about the Gilmore family. The way the monarchy’s been able to export their colonial ways of being across the planet so swiftly and so powerfully.
Emily and Richard are just as upper-class Hartford as they are British “nobility” as they are African parents. It’s mind-blowing for me to feel like I’m watching my parents while immersed in a story about a rich white girl who ran away from home when she had a baby at 16.
The family she’s been able to build in her faraway town of Fantasyland characters is as African as any village you can name. Everyone has their own unique identity. Everyone—for the most part—takes care of each other. There are rituals and customs and rules and you must abide by them if you are to remain in the Village.
They all help look after Lorelai’s daughter, who is the crown jewel of the town—and the show—as though she were their own child.
It’s amazing to me how Gilmore Girls can traverse a plane of identity variations and speak to every single type of American—almost—and speak to so many African characters. I watch it every chance I get. Every time I want a pick-me-up and a hug. And when I want to be in great company.
I invite you to watch it with me on Friday, May 12, in anticipation of our Mother’s Day Brunch on May 13. This show also is profound medicine for the Colonial Mother Wound, which I’ll talk more about in a future post.
Sending much love.
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In one of my late night Twitter scrolls, seeking a soothe through the biting comedies of Nigerian and Black Twitters, I somehow magically came across Residue, the greatest film I’ve ever seen. Yes. It’s better than the Godfather and Malcolm X and I’ll tell you why in a bit.
The first thing I came across that fateful night was a clip of an interview that ReelBlack did with Haile Gerima, film legend and director of Sankofa–a film which Hollywood execs refused to distribute, and which went on to gross three million dollars independently. In the clip, Gerima stated that he hated film because it had been used against him, and that Latin Americans consider the film to be “the new hydrogen bomb.” I was now wide awake and sitting at full attention. If you know anything about my philosophy on film and media, you know that these words for me were sweeter than the syrupy flesh of a Haitian mango.
“The most important audience member has been deeply changed by this film, which is me.”
Merawi Gerima on ‘Residue’
Introducing… Residue
I dug further, and saw that Haile’s son, Merawi Gerima was also active on this recently posted thread. And then I found out about Residue. My raving reviews of Residue are acutely biased because of not only Haile’s interview, but because of Merawi’s introduction to the film. Knowing the psychology of the filmmaker’s father, knowing that he came from such a warmly radical philosophical lineage, I watched Merawi’s introduction to Residue with the excitement of a traveler finding an oasis in a desert.
I’ve transcribed the introduction here because it is a tome that must be amplified. It must be carved into stone and placed as a monument wherever Black people thirst for Liberation. These words must never be forgotten. This is a poem that must be taught to school children all over the world–Black school children especially. But I highlight one section for you here:
“When I finished this film, I thought I had gotten the rage off my chest
I thought I had found peace
But now, here in the summer of two thousand twenty
I find myself overflowing with a rage that cannot be contained
And so I present to you Residue
Which is not a film
It is a weapon in every sense of the word
It is a blade that we fashioned to the best of our ability
And which we fully intend to use against those who seek to destroy us.”
The Viewing
The stare to end all stares. Dennis Lindsey as Delonte in Merawi Gerima’s ‘Residue’ now available on Netflix.
And the night got better. I saw that Slamdance and Array were hosting a live-tweet watch party with the centerpiece of, you guessed it, Merawi Gerima, the director (and writer and editor) of Residue. In a half hour. Which meant it would begin at 1am my time (BST…Cambridge, UK). So here I am overdue to sleep and I can’t because I’m too excited for this film and the force and meaning behind it and I couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity to watch it while in dialogue with the filmmaker. And so I didn’t. I watched it in complete awe while fangirling the Gerimas on all fronts.
Overall, I’ll say that Residue was the first time that I saw a Black film–or any film–with such effortless acting that I thought I was watching a documentary. It felt like I was watching my neighbors in Brooklyn just live their lives. I truly had to double check that it was indeed a narrative feature, which means I can never watch any scipted content the same ever again.
Effortless performances. Effortless agency. Black agency. Black characters who were motivated by the force that drove them–love for each other, for their community, for Liberation, for power. Their power was in their innate connection to each other, a connection that came across as effortless on screen.
“Gentrification is one small thing that Black people face. It just falls into a massive congealed experience of oppression that Black people face on a daily basis because of our lack of economic power.”
Merawi Gerima on Gentrification and racial capitalism.
There is a softness to the Black power that Residue exudes. It’s in the poetry of the scene in which Jay visits Dion in prison. In Jay’s conversations with his parents. In their comforting of Mike’s mother. In the prison scene, we’re shown what could’ve been in a more humane society. In Mike’s passing, we’re shown the fabric of Black society, and how fiercely we care for one another.
Gerima depicted Black death without violence, Black pain without feebleness. Instead of making Black lives disposable and Black joy fleeting, he centered our joy, our desires, our intimacy, our strength.
Full Review on Unprecedented
I could go on and on, but instead, I’ll leave you with the below clip of Unprecedented, in which Evan calls Merawi a prodigy. I know that prodigy doesn’t begin to describe this filmmaker who has, in his first film, surpassed the work of the legends who have defined cinema for a century. If you haven’t watched the film yet, if you haven’t watched it at least twice, you’re certainly not making the best decisions with your life.
Watch our detailed review of Residue on Unprecedented below.
Insightful Interview with Merawi in Rome
In addition to his impeccable filmmaking, Merawi appears to be quite the sociologist. Watch his interview at Giornate degli Autori below in which he eloquently discusses the plight of Black people. Some of my favorite quotes:
“Gentrification is a symptom of a much larger problem of our powerlessness in these areas…We don’t have the power to determine our own cities, to maintain our own culture… We don’t ever have enough time in one place to accumulate such history, to have a record of our existence over the course of hundreds of thousands of years…”
“Everything that we experience, economics is at the core, but we also know that (especially in America), economics falls along racial lines. It’s no accident that Black people by and large have nothing in the country, and white people have it all. Economics, capitalism, it’s all racialized.”
“The most important audience member has been deeply changed by this film, which is me… [Residue] has been the best film school, the best life school …”
“Gentrification is one small thing about what Black people face. It just falls into a massive congealed experience of oppression that Black people face on a daily basis because of our lack of economic power.”
Ok, go watch the film ten times and then tell me what you think. If you’ve already seen it, share your thoughts below. And also, join me and 1000 film lovers at NOIR FEST this December. xo
So I’ve watched Blackish since it came on air. Not because it’s the best thing since television, but because I grew up watching happy Black families and I will try out anything once which fits this premise. The social commentary–which picked up over time–was the spice I needed to keep on watching. And Tracee Ellis Ross’s wardrobe, my GAWD.
BlackAF was initially attractive to me as a parody of Blackish, but then I saw all the negative feedback, most of my vocal friends hated it and I thought it was over between the show and me. And then a few faves told me they loved it. Now I was intrigued. How could this one show be sooo polarizing for Black people? I could write a dissertation about #BlackAF, but instead I’ll keep to what I hated and loved about it, the major issues the show raised for Black audiences, and how it could improve for Season 2.
I definitely hated episodes 1 and 2 enough that I wanted to crawl out of my second story bedroom window in order to escape them. The acting, the scripts, none of it worked for me. But midway through episode 3, I was sold. I understand this happens with a lot of shows, but I think it can still be avoided.
You must note, this is not a show to watch to understand what Black people are like. Or a show to teach Black children how to treat their parents. Or how to spend your money. This is not a show you watch for guidance.
“#blackAF” is a messy show about the mess of making television… [Barris’ creative choices] gives “#blackAF” a television-for-television-writers appeal.
Warning, I’m biased. Barris, as himself, demands more honest Black critique of Black art. For me, anyone who genuinely welcomes solid critique is good in my book, because, like me, that person acknowledges their limitations as an artist or creator and accepts that they’ll never please everyone, but they need to do what is true for them in the moment. Here I am building a movement to help Black consumers engage critically with Black films and then the Black creator of the moment says exactly what I feel for all the world to hear: WE NEED MORE CRITIQUE OF BLACK ART. We need to be rigorously honest, even if lovingly, so that all our shit can improve. How do we accept critique and give critique in order to produce more flawless, visionary art?
Here’s a reminder for everybody that Black folks 1- don’t have to all like the same things. 2- don’t have to all like what other Black folks create 3- don’t need any shows or films to capture the full Black experience, or be a monument to universal Blackness. Since we all know that there are as many ways to be Black as there are grains of sand, it actually doesn’t matter if this show captures my Black experience. The fact that it doesn’t is more reinforcement for us to find and distribute more of our own unique and global content, and not to wait for some old white Hollywood gatekeeper to determine whether or not our stories are worthy of distribution.
Now, the Name
Is he saying that the characters of Blackish aren’t truly Black? Is he saying that the characters of Grownish aren’t really grown? Is he saying that his family is as Black as it gets? Or is he referencing the ownership of these terms and these “statuses” and the complexities that go along with them? Is he telling us what it means to be BlackAF? Or is he asking us as viewers to raise these questions and interrogate them and the characters he’s brought into our lives?
Comparisons to Blackish
I don’t see BlackAF as the same thing as Blackish, at all. BlackAF is much more rigorous in interrogating the status quo, in unseating white power. It takes risks that ABC could literally never afford to allow. All of America would be up in arms if Broadway had said “a face you like to shoot” on network television. Or if Kenya talked about how white people can’t survive being in the sun.
Casting
If our freak outs over Rashida Jones’ casting has shown anything, it’s that there is a contentious debate about who gets to be Black, and of course, moreso, who gets to be BlackAF. I don’t think Barris meant literally to communicate that he or his family are the epitome of Blackness.
Some people felt excluded by that label because they didn’t see themselves in his story, at least not in a positive light. Just like he didn’t mean half of the script to be taken literally. The show did an incredible job of raising questions. Those are the questions we should be debating.
Who gets to be Black AF? As a Nigerian-born, Missouri-raised, Brooklyn-formed eternal immigrant, I don’t ask permission to claim my Blackness, and I don’t think anyone else should. The kind of Black people I love are those who are consistent in identifying with their heritage, their people, have deep pride in their hue and ancestral heritage, and are committed to the upliftment of all Black people. I wish this could be Webster’s definition of Blackness. But I don’t get to decide that. Because I’m one of 1.4 billion Black people on this planet.
I have many thoughts on the additional social commentary in this show, but in the interest of space and spice, I’ll save those for our Netflix & Chat.
Barris assembles a superstar panel to discuss the need for more Black critique of Black art.
Room for improvement
Other than episodes 3 and 4, the funnies were minimal. I was consistently screaming through episode 4 such that I feared the neighbors would knock on my door. But there was a downhill slope in the comedy after that, as the show veered into drama territory. This may have been intentional. I’m not someone who’d say a show can only be comedy or drama. In fact, I liked the fact that it transitioned between the two. But because the good funnies were so hard-hitting, I just want more of them.
I’d love to see a richer engagement with other types of Blackness. I’m not sure that Barris is ready to dig into intra-racial friction, ie that between Africans and African Americans, but it’s clear from hints at the issue in both Blackish and Black AF that it’s something he thinks a lot about.
Overall, I think #BlackAF is not for everybody. It’s for those who like radical dry humor, self-examination and who can appreciate satire. And if you’re looking for strategies on how to apologize to your wife, this is one hell of a way to do so.
xo,
Lolade
PS: Please watch this TI interview with Barris, it’s one of the most honest interviews I’ve ever seen.
This article talks about Barris’ trauma and why he writes about his life so much.
Here’s some peppeh from Black Twitter!
If y’all don’t like #blackAF you might just be the problem
— Kolby Listenbee ™️ (@List10bee_Swagg) May 2, 2020
Why are yal normalizing black kids being disrespectful and cursing at their parents WE DON'T DO THAT… ugh so much is wrong with this show #BlackAFpic.twitter.com/bwRowwliqQ
In the earliest scenes of Self-Made, we watch a pre-millions Sarah Breedlove suffer a health crisis that causes her hair to fall out, endure abuse and abandonment by the man she loves, and face insult and rejection from a light-skin for her “slave features”. As someone who’s experienced all three circumstances at different times along my journey, Self-Made had me hooked right away. Each of these traumas send her down into spirals of depression that would ultimately catapult her to astounding success. Like probably every self-made Black woman millionaire ever, she turned her pain into her profit.
As someone on my own self-made journey, and who fully intends to leave an empire to my daughter, this depiction of an audacious, headstrong, fearless woman founder meant the world to me. Had I been exposed to such images of Black women founders growing up, my long and windy road to entrepreneurship may have been a bit shorter. This is why it was so important for me to watch it with my eleven-year-old mini-me.
Prior to this film, I knew very little of Madam CJ Walker’s story. As a historical Black woman, it’s no surprise her story wasn’t taught in American history classes, nor that it is often glossed over during Black History Month. All I knew was that she was the woman who made it easier for Black women to straighten their hair with chemicals–a detail that was conspicuously missing from the film. Even though Netflix calls this a limited series, it felt like a film to me–I watched it almost straight through–and I’m calling it that.
It’s important to note that this project is not a true biopic. The film is heavily fictionalized, and in such a way that it reinforced many tropes. I link to historical articles at the end of this piece to which you can refer for the more accurate histories. But I’d like to analyze the project as a fictional work of art.
Lelia
I loved Tiffany Haddish in this film. I see the controversy about her as a casting choice as quite valid, but I still enjoyed watching her in a role that wasn’t slapstick. That was classy and honest. I think she did all right. Perhaps a deeper emotional connection with the character would have helped us forget that we were watching Tiffany Haddish and fall deeply into a character who had the most compelling journey throughout the film. Stuck in a marriage to a questionable character, limited by her mother’s hopes for her, beloved and adored thoroughly and gently by another woman, finally choosing to uphold her dying mother’s legacy, Lelia was far more relatable than Sarah Breedlove for me.
Sarah
This depiction of Madam CJ Walker did not make her likeable as a character. Her triumphs were inspiring and her business philosophy mostly aspirational, but this portrayal had her lacking the compassion that I believe is necessary to win at life. I’m still wondering why the film glossed over her stealing of Addie Munroe’s recipe. If indeed she transformed the recipe, can it be called stealing? If she built an empire on such a secret, wasn’t that worthy of further exploration in the film? Also, where was her soft side? This depiction certainly reinforced the strong Black woman who can do it all by myself trope. She always knew better than everybody else and had no patience for anything. Not aspirational.
CJ
Disclaimer: I’m old school. I like having doors opened for me and men carrying my bags and changing my tires and I always will. I’m a woman. I give life, I carry babies, so I’m not interested in carrying much else more than that I delight in.
In the beginning, I saw Sarah’s relationship with CJ as couple-goals. A man wholeheartedly throwing his weight behind his woman’s dream? It wasn’t explicitly shown, but I assumed he invested in the business, and the affection and adoration were beautiful to see. However, I did keep waiting to see him build his own separate empire. The trajectory of his emasculation was a bit predictable, but it was believably portrayed. And of course he has to cheat on her with her light-skinned employee. Insert eye-roll here.
Unforgettable Quotes
“Never get your money where you get your honey.”
Cleophus, CJ’s father advising him to carve his own path.
“It’s my duty to make money and to use it for the benefit of my neighbors.”
Sarah’s business philosophy.
“Take one more step and I’ll blow the black off you.”
Sarah’s threat to her attempted rapist.
“Female enterprise is good for us all.”
Sarah’s–and this film’s–most important message.
Wrap-Up
Overall, I loved the visuals, the mommy-daughter love, the period details, the wigs (except for that horror they put on Octavia Spencer’s head to imagine what hair loss might look like), the dance numbers. But this film should not have been promoted as Madam CJ Walker’s life story due to the countless inaccuracies. It’s greatest value is in anchoring us in the golden era of Black women’s entrepreneurship, just over a century after two of the world’s greatest Black women founders, Madam CJ Walker and Annie Malone, paved the way for millions of Black women to build their own empires.
It’s our time, Black woman founder. This film is a timely reinforcement of this glorious truth, and I’m calling on all Black men, and everyone else, to invest in us with reckless abandon. Like the fictional and the real Sarah Breedlove, when given the right resources, we always find a way to win.
If you’ve seen the film and have thoughts on it, please rate it here.
Great Twitter Threads on Self-Made
Had #SelfMade told the real (non colorist) story of Annie Malone IMO it would have been far more interesting. Madame CJ DID work for her before going solo, but Malone was ALSO a millionaire (born to slaves). They were similar, and bitter business rivals. https://t.co/GackT9CEK1
It’s interesting that #SelfMade shows CJ (Blair Underwood) having sex with fair-skinned Dora, but only alludes to his sex with Madame Walker (Octavia Spencer). In a movie making a heavy-handed statement about colorism, why resist showing a voluptuous, darker woman in bed?
Iont like this fued between Annie + Madam CJ in #SelfMade —Annie had an entire school + beauty empire. Madam CJ Walker attended Annie’s beauty school, Poro College, + sold Poro. That’s entirely left out.
— Shelby Ivey Christie (@bronze_bombSHEL) March 20, 2020
Yeah, and in the movie they even minimized the fact that she stole the formula like plagiarismis nothing. It was sad to know how inaccurate it was because I even thought it was an inspiring show, but it's all lies. I will do more research about Annie.
I guess the Netflix algorithm has figured out that I only really watch high-quality Black content with aspirational characters that make me feel good and hopeful about the Black world. Every time I log on lately, there seems to be some new content that fits my criteria so I’m eager to share with those who have similar taste to mine, or are looking for better Black content on Netflix.
The below are new in the US, but some may be streaming in the UK and parts of Africa as well.
My favorite high-quality, aspirational Black shows and films on Netflix for this week are:
1. Siempre Bruja (Always a Witch)
Everybody knows I loved season 1 of this show, it was such an adventure! Just seeing a breathtakingly beautiful Black Colombiana sold it for me. But then she was intelligent and honest, with some of the same superpowers I’m trying to master? Slam dunk. I get what people are saying about her romance with her owner, but for me, her character is worth watching in spite of that. I don’t pay that white boy no mind.
If you’re a sucker for stunning chocolate heroines with superpowers, Siempre Bruja will certainly leave you thirsting for more. Watch it with me this weekend then tell me what you think in the comments.
Black woman kicking ass all over town? I’m with it. The trailer is fire! Here’s the boilerplate description from Google: “A highly trained South African spy takes on her most dangerous mission yet while facing changing relationships in her personal life.”
Watch Trailer:
3. They’ve Gotta Have Us
A three-part series on the history of Black cinema. Very eye-opening as it highlights great films that most of us would never have heard of, details the many behind the scenes movements that got us to our current Black film renaissance. Robert Townsend and Harry Belafonte made the series for me, but all the subjects gave us so much wisdom and energy.
Watch Trailer:
4. Love Jacked
Corny but cute, a lighthearted Saturday-afternoon watch that you can re-watch any time you want to forget about your problems and holler laughing. Read my review here.
Watch Trailer:
5. Kasala
Kasala is a dope Lagos-based comedy; we screened at Yale back in 2018. I couldn’t confirm which countries it’s streaming in other than Nigeria and South Africa. Tag Netflix if it doesn’t show up for you and you’d like to see it in your country.
Watch Trailer:
Been on Netflix:
She Did That, the landmark documentary on Black women entrepreneurs, is a recent add from earlier this month. It’s still on Netflix, so watch it if you haven’t. Hell watch it again if you have, it’s worth a rewatch! Trailer here.
Also, in case you missed it, Netflix has also picked up Coming to America, Bad Boys, Rush Hour II and the Pursuit of Happyness.
Not a Black show, but definitely Black-adjacent and a seemingly fun watch, Gentefied.
We’d love to better track Black content on Netflix, so please post and hashtag #BlackonNetflix if you see high quality content that you think more of our people need to see. Netflix cancels shows based on viewership, so it’s super important that we support the content we love. As a general rule, make noise about any Black products you love.
If you’ve watched any of the content in this post, please let us know what you think in the comments. If not, go watch them this weekend and come back and tell us here. You can also chat with us on IG.
First of all I have to say that I loved the movie. Yes the premise was a joke, but Shamier Anderson kept me hollering and kept my eyes glued to the screen. I’m still trying to remember when last we had such eye candy and charisma on screen from a brother. The line in which one of Maya’s relatives refers to him as a “young Denzel Washington” was incredibly apt. I know that given the chance to shine with rich, textured roles, Shamier could definitely give Denzel a run for his money.
Contrary to some other reviewers, I did feel the chemistry between Anderson and Amber Stevens West, who plays Maya. It was easy to root for them. The casting was expertly done and I love to see the behind-the-camera collaborations between Canadian, American and African filmmakers. Love Jacked is not a landmark film that changes us, but it is a special little treasure to return to for a good laugh and a feel-good Saturday afternoon.
I’d love to see more films like this but with a richer context. One thing that was missing for me was an authentic African character who could inject some indigenous knowledge into the film. If Uncle Rufus had been someone who’d actually spent time in Africa, and who could be regarded as an “expert” on at least one African culture, or if Malcolm had simply spent some time on YouTube learning Yoruba, these details could have taken the story from a lighthearted, low-depth knee-banger to a much more valuable classic. The continual references to Africa as if the continent of 2 billion people is a country were grating–especially knowing that the director Alfons Adesuyi is Yoruba. But I get that in the context of Maya’s family, African Americans who are not familiar with nor have they been to any African countries, it was accurate perception..
If you haven’t seen it yet, and you’re anti-spoilers, then watch the trailer below then go watch it on Netflix. Everything below the trailer is spoiler territory.
Trailer
More critique and major SPOILERS:
The writing could certainly have benefited from more depth. If Maya had called off the wedding to her South African millionaire for reasons other than just the usual infidelity (tired trope), we could’ve learned much more about their characters. I really thought the father, who seemed to be suspicious of everything all along, would out them. This could’ve been done in a loving way since the fake “Mtumbie” was growing on him. Something like “I know you’re not a real African, but I’d still love to have you as my son-in-law.” Then helping him get the girl for real. Maya’s family chemistry really worked for me, which is why I would’ve loved to see them regarded more intelligently than they were. Everybody knows Black folks be extra suspicious and love to call out a fake. Even if they were desperate for their daughter to get married, they could’ve shown a little more discernment.
There was definitely some of the usual lightskinned shenanigans–a Chocolate Sister could never get away with that big ole lie bullshit. Don’t come for me, lightskinneds, y’all know I love you. But truly I did love Stevens West’s acting. The scene in which she changed up and told her dad that Mtumbie was indeed coming was the one scene that I felt was unconvincing, but otherwise she did a stellar job. Their characters’ lack of chemistry–as two people who truly didn’t know each other and who weren’t comfortable with each other–was so obvious that I thought someone in her family, if not everyone, would call it. Naomi almost did, but as the most deplorable character, her challenging the validity of their relationship wouldn’t have likely gone very far.
The ending was messy, but the final scene was my favorite, them taking Maya’s entire family to South Africa (we assume since it wasn’t stated) for their honeymoon. Definitely reinforces some traditional African values and drives home some of the most powerful underlying messages from this film–look out for each other and stay rooted at home 😉
