Are black folks not allowed to dislike ‘Luke Cage’?
Look, y’all. Netflix’s newest original Marvel series “Luke Cage” isn’t on my list of things I’ll watch again. I tried not to admit that, or at least not publicly share my thoughts. But after spending 13 hours of my life watching Mike Colter try to convince me this series was good, I figured I earned the right to speak my piece.
So, why do I feel so much shame for outwardly disliking it?
The modern version of Luke Cage’s character was first introduced on “Jessica Jones,” a Marvel series (also on Netflix) about a superheroine turned private investigator. Now, first let me say that I’m no comic book enthusiast. The extent of my knowledge begins and ends with the fancy, new Marvel blockbuster films. Beyond that, I’ll phone a Blerd friend for additional facts on a character, and that’s if I care enough to inquire. With Luke, though, I was instantly intrigued by how a black man found himself at the center of the Marvel universe. I had high expectations for a show centered on the revival of a seventies superhero and explained how Cage acquired impenetrable skin. A black superhero fighting honest-to-God Harlem gangsters to the beat of Wu-Tang’s “Bring Da Ruckus”? What’s not to love?
Luke Cage’s hoodie worn in series is a nod to Trayvon Martin
Despite all odds being in favor of me digging this new arc, the story created by Cheo Hodari Choker was about three episodes too long. It dragged at times almost exhaustingly. Stretching to include two supervillains and Cage’s Bible Belt beginnings, the meat of Luke Cage’s history doesn’t get good until about episode six. And even then, some episodes are still unnecessary or painfully predictable. There’s some really poor acting every now and again, too, which I’ll charge to the touches of blaxploitation throughout. There was no nail-biting suspense or enthralling edge-of-my-seat moments. I didn’t feel compelled to cheer from my living room when Cage recovers from Judas bullets or during the big dance between Cage and Diamondback. In fact, I was relieved the series was finally winding down.
Thankfully, exceptional performances by Mahershala Ali (Cottonmouth), Alfre Woodard (Black Mariah) and Simone Missick (Misty Knight) save what’s great about the series, including dialogues about the true definition of power, the nuances of black women and exposure of systemic corruption in black communities. Not to mention its warm cinematography truly brings Uptown’s melanin-heavy beauty to life. “Cage” is unapologetically immersed in black culture, from real-life Harlem legends like Dapper Dan to boldly confronting race in America through the use of hoodies and cops. It all works for those who can stomach the corny one-liners and overdose of biblical allusions interwoven into the messaging. Because come on, using coffee as a code word for sex is juvenile as hell, and you know it; even Rosario Dawson’s Claire Temple thinks so. It gets a little endearing by the series’ end, but, sweet Christmas, it just wasn’t my style.
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With any other show, I would’ve read it better than Moniece takes Princess to task on “Love & Hip-Hop Hollywood.” Instead, I tweeted out bits of appreciation, since “Cage” quickly came under fire by white folks for its blackness. Who am I to add insult to injury when black actors are clawing to gain the right to inclusion in Hollywood? Plus, you know us black folks are sensitive about our shit. And for those reasons, even though I dislike this superhero show for valid, sane and non-racist reasons, unlike many of its detractors, I feel the need to protect it from harsher critics. It’s like your thot cousin whose hoe tendencies you don’t necessarily approve of but you’ll be damned if you let another person give their two cents.
the underlying harlem history lesson is one of my fave things about #lukecage
— niki (@missjournalism) October 1, 2016
For its length and tinge of campiness, “Luke Cage” just isn’t my cup of tea, but non-blacks who hate the sight of brown faces better sip slow, because this is only the tip of the iceberg in terms of blackness in mainstream art. But I digress.
Can I love Marvel’s latest for its all-black cast squarely centered on black experiences in one of the blackest cities in the world? Of course. I simply prefer a really good, perfectly paced story in addition to great pro-black messaging (and a strong, sinfully attractive lead). If you love it, love it a little extra for those of us who don’t.
But don’t get it twisted: just like with any family, I’ll champion it in front of mixed company.
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