Deconstructing The Fairytale Myth: That ‘Happily Ever After’ Means No More Stories Can Be Told About a Couple

 

Recently, when asked about Kate and Anthony’s future and requests for a possible spinoff based on the Netflix streaming series, award-winning Bridgerton producer Shonda Rhimes said the following problematic statements:

“I don’t know what story could be told. The beauty of this show is that we get to tell a complete love story from beginning to end with a happy ever after every season. We don’t have to manufacture reasons why a couple can’t be together, we let them have their actual happy moment. And so, there are no spinoffs to be had because we’d have to find some way to break the couple up, and that feels very artificial..... maybe we could just watch them sit together.”

As previously stated in essays Part 1 and Part 2, the second season of Bridgerton focused on a lackluster triangle rather than the leads themselves— Anthony Bridgerton and Kathani Sharma-Bridgerton. That in itself was terribly bad manufacturing on their part. Thus, fans deserve a deeper continuation on their couple’s journey of love, a love that does not stop at an unseen wedding or an implied six month honeymoon. If these writers can devote extra time to the Featherington drama purposely cuts into the main reason for adapting The Viscount Who Loved Me, then spare moments for those that the protagonists lost. 

A lot of excitement exists for Bridgerton’s first returning couple and so much can be built from Anthony and Kate’s union. 

This notion that “happily ever after” ends where a story could potentially go is absolute nonsense. Rhimes, so accustomed to having her couples experience short lived happiness anyway, obviously requires more lessons in discussing all factors of romance. In her previously produced shows, she always makes it seem that there only two phases— the loving buildup and then surprise death/breakup. Although she doesn’t write on certain shows, especially Bridgerton, her trademark is branded throughout. She thrives on drama as explosive and destructive as it can be managed. Perhaps adapting Julia Quinn’s novels offers her own personal tropes a challenge. Except, it seems such limitations cannot allot her the ability to expand beyond her normal storyline approaches. 

In these interviews, Rhimes cringes at this lack of authority, not being able to permanently hurt these fictional characters. However, she can have them experience pain in multiple ways. We saw Kate’s brutal humiliation over and over: Anthony setting up that nasty trick with Thomas Dorset at the races, Edwina being fine with it, Kate being cruelly sidelined as Anthony proposed to Edwina right in front of her, Anthony repeatedly speaking of his lust for Kate which rightfully confused her, and Edwina rolling out of character to viciously maul Kate and Lady Mary (supposed loving mother of both daughters) not doing anything about it. Also some members in Anthony’s family had the tendency to be either overly harsh with him or make unfunny jokes at his dispense. 

Furthermore, the “maybe we could watch them sit together” is insulting. Most of Kate and Anthony’s love story comprised of nonverbal interactions. She knows this. The audience knows this. To say that you would rather create more quiet moments between them and not necessarily work on giving them any dialogue is a huge red flag— a sign of lazy, uninventive writing. It is not smart or wise to backburn a charming, charismatic pairing that has yet shown us all that they can be. 

In Quinn’s The Viscount Who Loved Me, the story truly begins after Kate and Anthony are married. Lots of juicy tidbits can be taken from there. Room can be made for finally divulging Kate’s childhood traumas, Anthony apologizing onscreen for hurting Kate the way he did (maybe a pseudo moment triggers Kate’s memory of Anthony’s proposal to Edwina), Kate’s first pregnancy encouraging Anthony’s heartbreaking flashbacks to his grieving mother’s agony, and etc. The possibilities beyond “just breaking them up” are endless. Heck, a spin off has the promise to center Kate and Anthony’s growth, vulnerability, grace, and humility together. Bridgerton is not an adaptation acquired by Disney. The characters still have internalized issues to deal with, to channel through. That doesn’t end because they’re wearing wedding rings. Or have lots of great sex. Already, many women of color see themselves in Kate, especially South Asian women who rarely have the opportunity to have this kind of beautiful brown woman media representation on a popular series. Imagine how even more thrilling it could be with her leading a whole series and incorporating her heritage further— which should have been properly conducted in season two. 

Jonathan Bailey and Simone Ashley are incredible, top tier actors that can render scripts into gold (even when the scripts are not that). They deserve the opportunity to showcase the internal workings of a marriage, all its complex nuances in addition to the intimate pleasures and joys. If these show runners and writers still refuse to give them any more depth worthy of their talents, they will come to regret it. After all, both have big projects set for the future. It would be nice if the series appreciated them as others strike an otherwise very hot iron. 

So please, get a clue, Shonda Rhimes & Co. You’re all becoming increasingly out of pocket and out of line. 

The Trigger Warning Dangers of Gaslighting Bleeding Into Reality

 

Kiki Layne has three pivotal scenes as the troubled Margaret in Don’t Worry Darling.

Well, the critics were certainly right to dismiss Olivia Wilde’s second feature Don’t Worry Darling. Now that behind-the-scenes antics are finally dying down, let us unpack this catastrophic mess of a storyline failing both feminism and womanism perspectives. For starters, the small part that Margaret provides in this cookie cutter Stepford wives fantasy parallels real-life situations vulnerable Black women have placed themselves in. The all-smiling cult set in the always suspectedly sunny Victory, California promises to be nonthreatening, but they only represent great harm.  

We hear about Margaret before even seeing her onscreen because the vintage styled housewives are complaining that she didn’t show up to mandatory yoga. If that doesn’t sound like modern day gentrification conversational BS.... 

Interestingly, Wilde plays Bunny, a harsh, shallow character (who also may be racist) painting Margaret as a borderline psychotic. Alice is the simpering “do not speak ill” on the former friend, but does little service in defending, let alone understanding poor Margaret’s disposition. The most important thing to Alice is Jack and only Jack, the first key punch to feminism. Alice is obsessed with making Jack’s meals and making sure his horniness is fulfilled by any means necessary. So, who cares if her neighbor is a little on the fritz when Jack centers Alice’s life? 

Alice then spies Margaret standing robotically still on her lawn, gazing at nothing. Yet, the woman does not even speak, let alone acknowledge her neighbor’s silent presence. If this isn’t an example of “white silence is white consent,” other events bring that statement to light. Alice continues carrying on, living her idyllic dream with her dull, secretive husband, including feeding his endless sexual appetite. 

At a posh party that includes the whole small population of Victory, Margaret interrupts Frank, the eccentric, seemingly omnipresent leader, with her first spoken lines being, “why are we here? We shouldn’t be here.” 

Margaret is immediately escorted away. Frank laughs it off. 

Margaret is forced to remain silent. 

Alice immediately goes to a dazed Margaret who repeats her earlier refrain that none of them belong there. And where is the “there” exactly? What is Victory? Does anyone care? Before anything else could be stated or even explained, the curtain closes on Margaret (obviously drugged) and Alice wanders away, finding her husband who draws her in with public sex to shut up any curious thoughts. Things get creepier as Frank catches them. 

According to Bunny, Margaret is unliked because she took her son to the desert— a big no no. Later, we learn that despite all the couples trying for children and Bunny herself having two of her own, that children are not real in this strange concept. Perhaps Bunny’s great disdain for Margaret has more to do with her going to the desert with her son and that son mysteriously disappearing rather than Margaret’s perceived mental state. Bunny seems content with the housewife role even though her children much prefer Alice over her. Margaret presents a threat to that— a certain rule breaking independence. Bunny makes it her business to castrate Margaret, influencing the other women to ostracize Margaret as well. Although it is saddening that Bunny has lost her children in the real world, her treatment of Margaret is an appalling reaction that maybe involves self-hatred. 

Still, Alice doesn’t entirely write Margaret off— though she doesn’t talk to the woman. After staying on the bus as opposed to shopping with the other ladies, Alice sees a plane crash, but the driver cannot go up the desert mountains to feed Alice’s temperament. Alice knows that the desert is against the rules. Look how they treat Margaret— no one even wants to associate with her. The mystery begins to crack a little until Alice awakes to find herself back at home. Soon, all Alice thinks about is the desert and she asks questions much to everyone including Jack’s dismay. Yet, when Margaret calls, cryptically saying that she knows what’s happening, Alice practically calls her nuts and hangs up. It is pretty cruel that Alice decides to treat Margaret how everyone else does. Alice sees what Margaret has been going through and is starting to receive the brunt of that particular experience. Instead of standing by Margaret’s side, Alice casually dismisses the horrifying situation— eerily similar to telling folks the realities of racism, sexism, ableism, etc., only to be criminally told “it’s all in your head.”  

Suddenly, during yoga, Alice turns into Margaret’s mind reader, staring helplessly as Margaret repeatedly bangs her head against the mirror. No one else in the studio sees Margaret. Only Alice sees Margaret’s distorted faces among the shattered fragments. Alice quickly leaves to witness Margaret slit her own throat from the roof of her perfect house. The scene itself is trauma inducing, but it is Alice’s later flashbacks that pierces the soul. Margaret deserved better— better than this terrible Victory concept, better than white women neighbors like Alice and Bunny. 

This disturbing scene foreshadows Margaret’s suicide that Alice (Florence Pugh) will witness. 

A devastated Alice is haunted over and over by Margaret’s death— a death of someone she claimed an old friend but did not treat as such. Despite Victory’s people claiming that Margaret is indeed “okay” and “feeling better,” we never see her onscreen alive again. Then, Alice keeps seeing Margaret’s fallen bloodied body— a disturbing, unsettling picture that does something to a psyche so accustomed to televised Black demise. It seems almost as though a sadistic pleasure comes out of this phenomenon, both in real life and fiction. Dead Margaret drives Alice to further action. Earlier, Alice allowed herself to be stilted, mainly by Bunny and Jack. Now with Margaret gone, detective Alice seeks to uncover the mysteries of Victory and Frank. Unfortunately, Jack knows more than he pretends to. When Alice expresses her findings to Bunny during Jack’s pseudo weird job promotion dinner, a freaked out Bunny tells the woman to be proud of her husband’s accomplishments. Talk about setting feminism back a few decades. 

At last, Alice realizes she is really an overworked doctor and that Jack is a depressed loser who signed them both up for Victory’s virtual reality without Alice’s consent. He felt neglected— always hungry and sex deprived. Wow. The vicious twist that Bunny has known the truth is also very detrimental. Instead of helping Margaret in any shape or form, Bunny chose to bash this Black woman every time her name is spoken. Bunny instilled major verbal abuse on Margaret (out of earshot of course because Margaret is severely lacking screen time) and encouraged others to do the same. Yet, the moment Bunny realizes Alice is in danger, she rushes forth to rescue her fellow white woman, her mirror self from the horror dystopian society. This speaks volumes about the brand of feminism this film reveals— that women of color are not to believed, gaslit into isolation, told that their fears are purely a result of psychological illness. Thus, Margaret still retained hope that her former friend could see the breaks in the false perfection structure. Alice, however, becomes a disappointing extension of Bunny, ignoring the warning signs that Margaret insists upon until it is far too late. Furthermore, a person who dies in Victory, dies in the real world too. So sadly, Margaret has died twice. Did she know that? Did she discover that Victory was a simulation, a false world? Was that what she found out in the desert? Did she even volunteer to be there or was that her barely seen husband Ted’s doing? Who is Margaret and where is her body? So many inquiries and not enough smart choices. 

Whether it be the alleged abuser Shia LaBeoff originally being cast to the noticeable tension between Academy Award nominated Florence Pugh against director Olivia Wilde or the false feminist values that the storyline is supposed to accomplish, future Razzie Awards winner Don’t Worry Darling was a mess during production to the end. Katie Silberman’s screenplay written alongside Carey and Shane Van Dyke is altogether messy and complex, introducing more riddles than answering questions. Yet, another crucial behind-the-scenes backfire is Affonso Gonçalves’s preposterous film editing. Although this is Wilde’s directional effort, Gonçalves must be partly blamed for Kiki Layne and Ari’el Statchel’s scenes being cut. Layne, with already lesser film credits and awards nominations than the rest of her cast mates, deserved this opportunity to broadcast her talents, especially among the nearly all-white crew. However, with the red flags planted on the Pugh and Wilde controversy and even her name included in top billing, it should be noted that Layne wasn’t at all an active participant in the press junkets. Despite whatever personal feelings Wilde has in regards to Pugh, the clear message is that Pugh’s Alice is who matters more, who is ultimately saved from this gawd awful wreckage. Thus, where is the true solidarity onscreen and off? The inclusivity of all women? None to be found. 

Letterboxd’s demi adejuyigbe summed it best on Don’t Worry Darling with, “standing outside the theater telling every white woman that leaves ‘so messed up. I would never do that to you.’

‘Code Switch,’ A Poignant Short Film Gazing on the Black Femme

 

Code Switch film poster. 

Code Switch, likely the shortest short film ever reviewed at a length of five minutes, does not make it any less significant than a full-length feature running past three hours. From beginning to end, the experimental portrait presents a singular Black body situated in safe, nonthreatening spaces— spaces that hold historical significant symbolisms/ties to Black culture. 

Code switch by definition linguistically means “altering two or more languages.” In workplace environments or locations lacking a true inclusivity, Blackness (mainly Ebonics, attitude, style, etc.) must often be smoothed over, toned down to appease the masses. Yet, in this particular short film, this term is used to illustrate an aspect of a person’s appearance and identity, finding the balance in the authenticity of their gender. 

Pick out at the barbershop. DP: Hany Osman, Yojin Yohe, and Joe Cozza. 

Inside of a busy barbershop, a non-binary figure receives a fresh trim to their illustrious low cut Afro aka a tapered TWA (teenie weenie afro). Others come and go with their evenly toned and hydrated flesh, widened smiles— a beautiful, engaging people. The camera pans on these individuals who pay the protagonist no mind. Each engaged in conversation after conversation against the cool background R&B track that plays as crisp as a vinyl record. This particular experience in the barber’s chair is a familiarity expanding towards he, she, and they. These grooming tools have no gender roles, no gender expectations despite what society claims to be true, to be normal. The protagonist belongs there among the strangers receiving their own washes and haircuts, a place that doesn’t ask who you are or where you’ve been, just usually “how would you like to be styled today?”  

The split duality of finding allegiance to both dominantly male barbershop culture and the beauty that Black women possess. DP: Hany Osman, Yojin Yohe, and Joe Cozza. 

Later, the protagonist— in a powder blue durag and matching shirt— gazes upon pictures in their white walled bedroom. Scattered magazine images of iconic women celebrities celebrate unambiguous Black beauty from Aretha Franklin to Maya Angelou, Missy Elliott, Kerry Washington, and Lauryn Hill, a period of the 1960’s-2000’s, something alarmingly outdated as the culture of now shifts towards lighter complexions and looser hair textures. Yet among these voguish faces are outspoken queer individuals such as Da Brat and Janelle Monae— probably the most current. This scene certainly presents another dynamic altogether, that of dualism: two separate entities existing in one body. The natural, organic being who appreciates the media representation of the glamorous makeover while simultaneously embracing their true identity, bravely stating that “yes, these are beautiful historical figures holding high standards, but this honestly will never be where I stand.” 

The ending grants the first spoken words that are not song lyrics— kind, gentle vocals from the unseen mother on the phone entailing a much needed acceptance into the ears of the silent figure whose warm, pleasing face and shorn hair has captivated us throughout this timeless piece.  

Nothing more idyllic than the capturing of smoke escaping nostrils and lips. DP: Hany Osman, Yojin Yohe, and Joe Cozza.

Although we still live in troubling, violent times where people refuse to understand and acknowledge that there are more than two genders, Code Switch opens up a fresh dialogue. A film told through a caring, thoughtful lens offers a gratifying story in three hundred, twenty-two seconds. It shows the beauty of a deserving existence. 

Writer/directors Mx. Roti and Davis Alexander James’s must see Code Switch, a winner of the Frameline Completion Grant, has shown at various film festivals across the country including the 46th Annual Frameline in San Francisco, the 40th Annual Outfest in Los Angeles, the 5th Annual Black Femme Supremacy Festival in Baltimore, and the 24th Roxbury International Film Festival in Boston. It will then show at the 17th Annual LGBT in Dayton, the 9th Alphabet Festival in Chicago, and the 22nd Annual Indianapolis LGBT Festival in Indianapolis. 

I Recommend You Watch The Tearjerker ‘Till’ With Kleenex And A Clear Head

 

Till film poster.

I remember walking into the Whitney Museum and purposely ignoring the Biennial’s Dana Schultz’s Open Casket on several visits. I remember social media muting white professors and former white classmates on their defensive views of why this controversial artwork deserved to be made, that anyone could use history as the basis of creativity. I remember seething with rage when the artist in question made the excuse that she painted this through the eyes of a mother. Yet, let us be perfectly clear that Schultz’s work does not have the same moral, let alone emotional and psychological impact as Mamie Till-Mobley’s historic decision to showcase what racist hatred performed in 1955. 

Till, Chinonye Chukwu’s beautifully riveting biopic, reveals just what a Black mother is forced to endure in a prejudiced America. This ordeal is unlike any other struggle for the average parent. It is our history— the history of loss from the times of Africans being sold to various countries including America to slavery auction blocks permanently separating families to violent killings post Civil War and beyond. Trauma unfortunately weaves into Black generational legacy and no amount of joy can change that fact. There is no rewriting history to make one feel comfortable. We were not meant to have that luxury, that feeling that you can choose to ignore a story as chilling as Mamie and Emmett Till’s. This drama film packs a heavy emotional punch, something more visceral and powerful than any painting hung in an elite gallery space. 

Emmett (Jalyn Hall) gives his mother Mamie (Danielle Deadwyler) his watch at the train station. After his murder, the ring on his finger would be the one identifying factor. DP: Bobby Bukowski.

It opens softly on Mamie Till driving with Emmett on the passenger side. Her eyes are watering, seeming elsewhere as though this whole sequence is a frozen, suspenseful dream. Perhaps she is a clairvoyant already knowing what will happen to her precious son soon. Their sweet camaraderie as mother and child evokes pleasant relationship vibes: protective, nurturing, and so much care. Sweet, affectionate Emmett has a minor speech impediment, but singing songs helps him smooth over his stuttering. Mamie looks on Emmett with elevated pride and happiness, reserving certain motherly glances for him alone. He too adores her immensely as though no other woman in the world could ever replace his compassionate, resilient, beautiful mother. Like Mamie, however, we all wish that Emmett would not be so excited to leave the love and safety nest Chicago, Illinois provides. A cruel fate awaits in Money, Mississippi. When they have their final moments at the train station, Mamie takes as much extra time as possible before Emmett departs. It becomes emotional devastation. The exchanged “I love you” and the crushing embrace between them sets up a heartbreaking foreshadowing. 

Down South, Emmett is introduced to backward conditioning. While racism exists in Chicago through other discrete tactics, Money blatantly displays segregation. From his family cotton picking in the field to the Bryant’s store mishap to the kidnapping— each sequence has key importance to the tragic consequences befallen to Emmett. Slavery may have ended nearly ninety years prior, but cotton remains a commodity and only certain folks are out in the hot sun plucking its worth. Naturally, Emmett finds no pleasure in the humiliating task, joking around to the annoyance of his serious cousins. In Money, Black boys are already seen as laborious adults, having little recess or game play until the day’s work is completed. At the Bryant’s store, presenting a stiff calm before the volatile storm, Emmett’s charm backfires tremendously, turning into a colossal fabrication by a white woman named Carolyn Bryant. One innocent act would later become the catalyst to his kidnapping and eventual murder.  

Emmett’s cousins hanging out in front of Bryant’s store. DP: Bobby Bukowski.

The next sequences are a trigger warning that will have your blood running cold. The very sensitive material is a reality stronger than any painting that unsuccessfully tries to depict a mother’s grief from a place that is not genuine, let alone realistic. Mamie Till’s grief is not a fodder vehicle, not a plot device for spectacle. It is beyond maternal instinct, beyond maternal despair. Her reactions to the kidnapping, the found body, the pine box arrival, and her son’s bloated, mutilated body are especially unsettling. The depth of her endless sorrow knows no amount of medicinal aide or therapeutic elements could ever relieve the vicious claw racism stole from her heart. Although the audience is spared witnessing Emmett’s perverse murder, hearing only his cries on a dark night, his body is shown in horrendously graphic detail, perfectly mirroring the nightmarish pictures in the Jet Magazine. Thus, there was keen commitment in orchestrating the truth of what Mamie saw and lived through— what she bravely showed the world. Also, while grieving, she must deal with the NAACP and their sexist dynamics and pleas that she uses her son’s death for political gain (that remains a campaign promise today until politicians get in office and forget about Black people). Even in the midst of experiencing great despair and shock, we are expected to work, to perform. 

On top of the mourning mother, Mamie decides to push the envelope further by going down to Money and testifying at the murder trial. However, this is a place where racism thrives and ugly white feminism is proudly steeped. In court, Mamie’s responses are tremulous, agonizing moments of vulnerability. The white men refuse to acknowledge her humanity, let alone Emmett’s. When Mamie says, “they’re killing him all over again,” the extent of her words could not be any clearer or wiser. Carolyn is allowed on the stand, lying up a storm, entertaining the men who idolize what she represents— their innocent, unblemished salvation/damsel/victim. Of course, Mamie leaves in the middle of this performative show, intuitively knowing which side the jury is on. 

Mamie (Danielle Deadwyler) and her mother Alma (Whoopi Goldberg). DP: Bobby Bukowski. 

Chukwu’s raw, gut-wrenching first feature Clemency also comes to mind, delivering the candid message that America remains undeniably separated. The law is a complex system, but not so complex that you cannot see that class discrepancies can keep the innocent behind bars and the guilty living their best lives among us. Anthony Woods, a contemporary Black man is found guilty and on death roll for a crime he did not commit. Yet, in Till, the white men who tortured and killed a Black boy are allowed a free existence to live a long life— a pattern still existing today. The murderers can be dirty cops or proclaimed neighborhood watch citizens, brandishing their powers, weaponizing their inferior positions. Rarely, will these real-life villains be subjected to imprisonment, much less having to beg for appeals and mercy like Anthony. In the eyes of the all-white male jury, they saw themselves dulling out the punishment— killing Emmett in order to “protect” Carolyn. That collective “not guilty” meant no crime was committed, it was justice served. 

With a commendable cast led by the visceral force of Danielle Deadwyler’s memorable performance as the icon that sparked a nation, Till is by far one of the most moving biopics ever seen about a Black woman— authentic in every single part of its crafted vision. Honestly, haven’t we had enough of biopics/race films helmed by mostly white men? Aren’t we ready for new, authentic visual experiences seen through a gentle, caring lens? It must be lauded that a commendable Black woman was involved in both Till’s story and direction, a story that never veers away from the heart of the matter— Mamie and Emmett. They are not weighed down by Martin Luther King Jr. (who is a constant fixture in almost every civil rights era drama). Co-written with Keith Beauchamp (mentored in real-life by Mamie Till-Mobley) and Michael Reilly, Chukwu’s incredibly powerful piece demonstrates a Black woman’s plight to honoring her son who deserved to live, who deserved justice in a country denying him that. In addition to Bobby Bukowski’s brilliant cinematography, Abel Korzeniowski’s music comes through scenes with meaningful intentions while others are purely silent, allowing us only the offering of an actor’s pivotal words and breaths. Marci Rodgers, the Black woman costume designer behind High Flying Bird, Passing and episodes of She’s Gotta Have It and Paper Girls, created flawless styles that truly set the tone— Mamie’s wardrobe going from bright yellows to pitch black by the end. 

Mamie Till-Mobley’s path to publicly advocating for her son reflects on our current climate— Samaria Rice, Sybrina Fulton, and other Black women mothers speaking on the injustice of their slain children. DP: Bobby Bukowski. 

My knowledge of Emmett Till started as a teenager watching the late Henry Hampton’s award-winning Eyes On the Prize and later appreciating Ava DuVernay’s August 28th short film which features two Black men working on Emmett’s pine casket box to be shipped from Money to Chicago. As Hannah Black, creator of the open letter to the Whitney Museum, told us, we do not need a white woman to broadcast Emmett Till from her tone-deaf platform. Schultz knows nothing of Black pain and struggle, can never begin to imagine what grieving Black mothers’ are experiencing. They are still hurting yesterday, tomorrow, right now. Better yet, generations later, we are still sequestered in the embittered aftermath that never fades away. Emmett Till never fades away. Thankfully, Till finally exists, allowing a broader chapter revealed from Mamie Till-Mobley’s anguished perspective. She is the reason we know her son. That’s why we must elevate them both. One heartbeat cannot pound hard without the other.