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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So I have no idea why I’m calling this the Q list. Q for Quality, Q for Quick, Q for Queen, you take your pick. It just came to me and I liked it so we’ll go with it for now. It’s a list of my favorite films. I’ll attempt to publish one every month.
This is the loooooong awaited list of Nigerian films I highly recommend because I’ve shown them at previous festivals/screenings and they’ve really hit. Warning: these are not aspirational stories, as they do depict tragedy and probably wouldn’t make it to a NOIR FEST, but they are classics and do feature many aspirational characters.
As great as these films are, no one I meet outside of the small bubble of African film buffs or New York African creatives seems to have ever heard of them. Which is a travesty. They’re all online.
I’ll also quickly explain my rating system. For a film to get an overall 10, it has to be a Godfather or Malcolm X. Life-changing, unforgettable shit with a perfect script, perfect cinematography, perfect acting. The closest second I’ve been able to come up with is Veer Zara. I give that a 9.
I rate films on very specific criteria, but won’t necessarily rate each criteria in each film below. For me a 5 is a solid effort. A 4 means I cringed but got through it.
The below films were shown at NYU at my second Nollywood event—as mentioned in Black Genius #1. I’ll write another post about the Yale Africa Film Festival selections soon.
Half of a Yellow Sun
(2013. Dir. Biyi Bandele) – 10 for performances, 9 for Script, 10 for historiocity.
Half of a Yellow Sun is based on Chimamanda Adichie’s book of the same name, and recounts the unfolding of the Biafra War through the intimate lens of a middle-class family. It’s hands-down the best-executed Nollywood film of the Nollywood 2.0 era, and features Chiwetel Ejiofor, Thandie Newton, Anika Noni Rose, John Boyega and other talented actors. I once wrote a detailed review for Applause, I’ll update this when I find it.
If you’re Igbo and you haven’t experienced this critical part of your historical identity, fix that now. It’s worth the fee and much more. Trigger warning: Genocide.
(2014. Dir. Kunle Afolayan) – 9 for historiocity, 9 indigeneity on the Yoruba language and cultural exposure, 10 for cinematography…
October 1 was the first Nollywood film to be purchased by Netflix. It’s a historical thriller set to the period enclosing Nigeria’s independence from Britain. The story follows an investigator trying to solve serial murders. Though it’s a thriller, it didn’t leave me horrified because of the rich cultural influence in the story and the radical ending. I also closed my eyes during the rape scenes. The violence is not nearly as gory as what we are accustomed to from the West. Trigger warning: sexual violence.
If you’re Yoruba and you haven’t seen this rich depiction of our culture, textiles, language, fix that now.
(2014. Dir. Andrew Dosunmu) – The cinematography is an 11, the acting also quite high at an 8.
Andrew Dosunmu is a visual artist so his films are more of an art exhibit than they are a writer’s joy. In this film about a newlywed Yoruba couple who struggles to conceive a child, you’ll see the most magnificent Yoruba wedding on camera anywhere. The film has minimal dialogue, and I’m a writer, so I’d give the script a 5. But the story is moving and memorable. The accents are profoundly imperfect but the cinematography and Danai Gurira’s melanin makes up for all of it. Trigger warning: Nigerian mother in law.
(2014. Dir. Joanna Lipperman) – 6 for cinematography, 10 for historiocity.
Abiola was Nigeria’s most beloved elected president. He was murdered before he could take office by a poisoned apple allegedly handed to him by Susan Rice. It’s a terribly depressing story, but one that every Nigerian should know, and that’s what this film takes care of. The story is told from his family’s perspective and absolutely gut-wrenching, but it should also make you hopeful to see that his daughter has entered politics to uphold her father’s legacy. This was definitely a solid film, with a 6 for cinematography, 10 for historiocity, 8 for the story.
Watch the trailer below. This film is not on Amazon or Netflix, but you can access it through the distributor here.
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
