November 27, 2022  

What Should Black People Watch?

Warning: Spoiler Alert!

What the Film?

After binge watching the last season of Blood & Water, I find myself conflicted on the question of what should be the parameters of good Black entertainment. Should everything really be positive? Aspirational? Or do we need a little violence and trauma to balance out the fantastical nature of “fiction”?

Blood & Water is one of the most beautiful pieces of visual art that I’ve ever seen. Visually and literarily up there with Queen Sugar. But the third season took a turn that seems to be consistent with a lot of Black episodic content distributed on major, white-controlled platforms. While the violence rampant in Season 3 of Blood & Water is not nearly as bad as the theatrical ratchetry that Empire became towards the end of its third season, or the slightly insulting storylines that took over Scandal in its last years, there seems to be an arc of Black shows that these exemplify so strongly: the unraveling of strong, semi-aspirational storytelling into a problematic denouement forcing viewers to ask WTF?

Blood & Water is not like The Wire, where there seemed to be almost no happy endings, but it went from primarily uplifting content–with a drama level that was manageable even for a utopian like myself–to leaning very much into the genre known as Black Pain Porn.

A Model for Black Television?

While Blood & Water appears aspirational in its first two seasons, the third season is a quite violent departure.

In case you don’t know, Blood & Water is a South African series produced by Netflix in which a high school student sets out on a quest to identify her sister, who has been missing since birth, as one of the most popular students in her elite high school. From the casting to the costumes, every detail has been carefully thought out and intended for intelligent audiences who will appreciate thorough and appreciable character development, valuable historical references and light but poignant social commentary. If you’re a sucker for gorgeous melanin, this one is a hard one to ignore. 

One of my favorite things about the show is its profound ability to render the nuanced dynamic at the intersection of indigenous African cultural practice and “westernization”. Unlike most of the Nollywood content I’ve consumed, Blood & Water is proudly South African, inviting a thoughtful understanding of the socioeconomic and cultural friction that defines daily life for many South Africans. Queen Sono does this nicely as well. Kunle Afolayan’s Anikulapo and other films, along with earlier films by Tunde Kelani tend to be the exception in a Nollywood too often consumed with the need for western approval; something that South African content appears to be less gripped by.

And So…?

Anikulapo, by Kunle Afolayan, depicts rich village life, with love and strife, in stunning visuals

So what’s my point? I’m asking us to think a bit more deeply about our content and how institutional forces may shape the content and stories that become part of our daily psyche and subconscious emotional environment in the Black world. We need to understand and analyze film and content with a bit more rigor–asking questions like:

  1. Why does strong episodic Black content seem to downturn so drastically around the third season or beyond?
  2. How do the cultural backgrounds of the people funding and directing our content influence the level of violence and trauma present in Black stories?
  3. Is there a need for ongoing bloody violence in shows that initially present as though they will uplift the Black race? Is there sufficient balance between mostly-positive and mostly-negative Black content allowing for Black Pain Porn to continue to be an essential ingredient in widely distributed Black content? 
  4. How can Black storytelling be more intentional about the emotional and psychological effect it has on Black lives without losing touch with reality?

So What Do We Do?

Lovecraft Country’s Afrofuturist storytelling is widely recognized as game-changing.

Many will say, If you don’t like it just stop watching. And Don’t disparage Black content no matter how bad because if we do the powers that be won’t let us have more content. Well these positions are flawed because they fail to understand the profound impact that media and storytelling have on the realities we experience as Black people daily. The more violence we see, the more violence we expect, thus the more violence in our reality. The more trauma we experience–even through “fictional” media–the more we program our genes with the belief in trauma as normalcy.

So what should we watch? From TikTok to YouTube to OWN to CNN, there is a constant conflict between aspirational Black storytelling and Black Pain Porn. If we lived in a world in which Black joy was a dominant experience for People of African Descent, these negative stories wouldn’t do such harm. Because the human trafficking and loss of lives rampant in Season Three of Blood and Water is actually the desperately tragic reality so many African people face, it’s almost as hard to watch it as it is to ignore it. I appreciate that in such stories as Blood & Water and Queen Sugar, the protagonists often win over their antagonists, even if lives are lost in the process. But I just wonder when we will create and produce primarily stories that show us how to eliminate these wicked possibilities, rather than how to deal with them when they come up, as though they must always be part of our reality.

Some of us are realists, some utopians. Ultimately, we will watch what gives us what we need in the moment. But I hope that more of us seek and create storytelling that eliminates the trauma of our oppression and chooses to help us collectively visualize what it could actually be like to be free. Forever.

If you’re making such films, please connect with NOIR FEST.

Obi Nwachukwu as Jay in Residue Merawi Gerima copy
September 27, 2020  

On ‘Residue’, and the Gerima Gang

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

Dennis Lindsey as Delonte in Merawi Gerima's Residue on Netflix
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

Merawi Gerima Filmmaker Residue Netflix
September 27, 2020  

Merawi Gerima’s Legendary Introduction to the film ‘Residue’

I thought this introduction was worth transcribing because it is one of the most powerful and poetic things I’ve ever heard, and I don’t want it to be forgotten in the wave of celebration of the artistry of his film, Residue. See the video below, followed by the transcript.

Hello, my name is Merawi Gerima

I’m with the team behind Residue

Residue is an imperfect attempt to capture the remaining pieces of my community before they disappear forever

It is an attempt to say “we existed”, and to say it with cinematography, instead of leaving it to archaeology

It is a film about not going extinct

It is about not being buried

It is about doing your best to not explode

About not becoming a statistic

About not falling for the decoys

About loving while we still can

About making it home to our families

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.

Kenya Barris and Drea meet with Tyler Perry in New York.
May 7, 2020  

Who Gets to be #BlackAF?

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. 

Doreen St. Felix, New Yorker

“Am I Trash?”

Kenya asks Joya, “Am I trash?”

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!

Madam CJ Walker Netflix
April 17, 2020 2 Comments  

On Self-Made, (not really) the Madam CJ Walker Story

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


Historical Articles

Madam CJ Walker: Her Crusade (Henry Louis Gates Jr., 1998)

Madam CJ Sarah Breedlove Walker: US’s First Black Female Millionaire (Jennifer Latson, 2014) 

Who Is Madam CJ Walker? – The True Story Behind Netflix’s ‘Self Made’ (Emma Dibdin, 2020)
Did Self-Made Base Madam C.J. Walker’s Rival, Addie Monroe, on Annie Malone? (Chloe Foussianes, 2020)

February 28, 2020  

Love Jacked Film Review

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 😉