‘Diarra From Detroit,’ The Urban Cinderella Mystery That We Never Knew We Needed

 

Diarra From Detroit ad promotion. 

With the news of many Black and brown led series being cancelled left and right this past year, BET provides much needed relief by officially renewing Diarra Kilpatrick’s fantastic namesake Diarra From Detroit for a second season! The talented creator behind the Emmy nominated web series American Koko brings a unique modern-day spin on Cinderella. Instead of the poor servant girl losing her glass slipper, a young divorcee experiences a wondrous, soul-searing date with a beautiful man, only to later find the missing man’s Jordan. 

Diarra (Diarra Kilpatrick) holds the first clue number one on her personal case— her potential boo’s shoe. DP: Matt Edwards.

The top notch cast is led by writer/showrunner Kilpatrick as Diarra— a too-caring schoolteacher starting over post divorce, Bryan Terrell Clark as the cool-cucumber teacher Mr. Tea, DomiNique Perry (an Insecure favorite) as Aja, the born again virtuous woman putting her salon business above unholy distractions, Claudia Logan as Moni, the feisty school bus driver, married to auto shop owner— Roman who has dangerous secrets of his own (played by Bechir Sylvain). Other characters include Shannon Wallace as the mysterious Chris, Jon Chaffin as Danger, a cooking criminal in therapy, Morris Chestnut as the sexy lawyer ex-husband Swa, and Phylicia Rashad as the almost unrecognizable potty mouthed, heroine Vonda (took a while to realize it was her— possibly Chris’s mother). 

Diarra braids a student’s hair between periods and apparently teaches Black Women’s History— the sweet necessary representation. DP: Matt Edwards.

Diarra speaks on being unable to afford therapy. It’s already bad enough that certain Black women can’t cry into the shower whilst being afraid to get their hair wet. DP: Matt Edwards.

Diarra (Diarra Kilpatrick) will eventually receive intriguing details on Chris (Shannon Wallace), including how he might feel about her— a woman he just met. DP: Matt Edwards. 

In a coldest winter ever tale that would make Sistah Soujah quake in her poetic boots, the frigid Detroit, Michigan presents the perfect backdrop for eight episodes of nonstop mayhem, romance, and adventure. Fashionable, slick Diarra From Detroit explores a delicious cross between Abbott Elementary and the short-lived Women’s Murder Club with an extra blackness oomph. Frantic twist and turns balance between hitting the heartstrings hard, enticing us with a unique love story worth fighting for, and keeping the audience on their toes. The sharp, edgy writing takes us on up and down roller coasters, Diarra bringing her sometimes unwilling friends along on wildly intense thrill rides that might kill them. Our Cinderella man wasn’t scrubbing floors and talking to mice. He was building a collective trail that Diarra follows, her actions mirroring the desperate Prince Charming searching for the right feet that fit.  

Diarra combines her teacher smarts with clever sleuthing until she figures it out. 

Of course, she always needs backup.

Dana Scully skeptic Aja (DomiNique Perry) (also Swa’s cousin) stands by Diarra’s seemingly deluded side as any compassionate friend would. Aja’s a real solid pal. DP: Matt Edwards.

Moni (Claudia Logan) helps Diarra (Diarra Kilpatrick) for the reward money— as the large sum could get her husband out of a pricy gang affiliation. At the same time, Moni likes reconnecting with her old friend and vice versa. Diarra tells Moni deeper concerns she can’t express with Mr. Tea and Aja. DP: Matt Edwards. 

Although they first remet as Danger (Jon Chaffin) was robbing Diarra’s mother’s house, Danger became a real reliable shoulder to lean on— fresh silver dollar pancakes and all. DP: Matt Edwards. 

Diarra (Diarra Kilpatrick) deserved “peace before the storms” with Aja (DomiNique Perry), Mr. Tea (Bryan Terrell Clark), and Moni (Claudia Logan). DP: Matt Edwards.

Camaraderie is the strongest component to the series, a steady well-crafted foundation. The characters’ relationships with Diarra and each other are believably portrayed. Sarcastic, unapologetic Mr. Tea often tries to steer Diarra off the crazy ledge yet his genuine affection for Aja shows a sibling protective vibe. Moni, the ex school chum who taught Diarra how to cuss, courageously steps up to sidekick, ready for every messy situation. Moni may also harbor small jealousy towards Aja—  the privileged business owner who only wants to ensure that Diarra’s mental health (and financial stability) are in order. Eventually, Aja and Moni might become closer as evidenced in the foursome’s sweet pool game, a kinship reminiscent of how in Girlfriends Toni Childs and Maya Wilkes warmed up from their earlier frostiness. And Danger— let’s just say he delivers things to Diarra that the others cannot (more on that later). 

Outside of her challenging, low paying job, Diarra’s friendships with Mr. Tea, Moni, Aja, and Danger grant her the chance to be vulnerable and open. Their nonjudgmental ears listen to her investigate whether she’s enduring temporary insanity over Chris or using this “rookie detective” activity as a means of escaping the required emotional steps to recover from a breakup. Mr. Tea, Moni, Aja, and Danger are always willing to come with her, to let her not experience uncertainties alone. 

Yet, Diarra begins witnessing menacing violence all around her and internalizes her anguish. 

Diarra (Diarra Kilpatrick) and Swa (Morris Chestnut) during the good times. DP: Matt Edwards.

Diarra risked so much to be with Chris (Shannon Wallace)… DP: Matt Edwards.

Yet Danger put his allegiance in the line for Diarra even whilst knowing her heart’s opposing direction. DP: Matt Edwards.

Diarra may have a healing friend circle, the men orbiting her planet provide the heat. To a woman who considers her dimples as marital assets, the handsome men flock: Swa, the rich, successful ex husband, Danger, the traumatized gang member in virtual therapy, and Chris, the mysterious soon-to-be boo. Diarra happens to have spellbinding charisma with all three. The fire still sizzles between Diarra and Swa, angered exes flirting up a storm. Steady sparks shoot as Diarra lets Danger in and out— massaging her body in the night or filling her belly up with homemade pancakes or chili made from scratch. With Chris, whom Diarra affectionately nicknames Ambien, she feels a spiritual and physical connection, often fantasizing intimate conversations. Each man has secrets that could make or break her, secrets that could jeopardize her whole world. 

Diarra and Aja posing with the man that Aja won’t keep. They’ll likely delete this photograph. DP: Matt Edwards.

Now Diarra Kilpatrick, a Gracie winner and Independent Spirit Award nominee for this new series, continues creating phenomenal work behind-the-scenes and lighting up the screen— writing, producing, and acting her buns off. She’s a dynamic force right alongside the Michaela Coels, the Issa Raes, the Quinta Brunsons of the world— planting and watering fruitful television and streaming seeds for Black womanhood domination. There should always be room for more creativity, especially compelling portraits that explore our diverse facets, the ways we grow and mature, the ways we love and yearn— no one ever paints the same exact picture. 

In the first season’s last episode, The House on Blaine, Diarra’s cryptic voiceover implies that her and her friends won’t make it. Writers, please protect everybody at all costs. DP: Matt Edwards.

As for the exciting return of Diarra From Detroit, we have a few questions. Will there be a happily (or messily) ever after despite the wild outcome? Is the Cinderella Chris truly bound to be Diarra’s Prince Charming— what of his mother and his past? Will Mr. Tea stay with the fine emcee who can cook among other good things? Danger won’t be the sole man needing therapy— how will Roman cope with self-defense murder? He can’t hide that from Moni (hopefully). Morris Chestnut is not the only brother aging gracefully either— what will Harry Lennix bring to Aja’s plate now that she’s made the exclusive list? Can BET put the series on DVD and blu ray for future binge-watch parties with our friends and family sans relying on buffering WiFi? 

Until the second season airs, there’s always the joys of hitting the restart: laughing, crying, screaming, and gasping at the entertaining tactics of brave Diarra and her braver posse (and enemies) again. 

'The Twilight Zone' Laces Supernatural With Political and Social Context

The Twilight Zone ad.

Academy Award winner Jordan Peale has rebooted Rod Sterling's The Twilight Zone and it appears to be lighter fare than its original predecessor or the darker copycats The Outer Limits and Tales From the Crypt. Peale sleekly narrates these new/revisited stories in fine tailored suits sans the smoky cigarettes. 

J. C. Wheeler (Golden Globe nominee Tracy Morgan) gives Samir (Academy Award nominee Kumail Nanjiani) some wisdom.

The Comedian begins in a jarring tale about the hunger for fame, the side effect that simple wishes could bring, and how much of the self is ultimately sacrificed to achieve it. Samir Wassan is a dreadful standup comic. After a bad act, Samir meets the famous J.C. Wheeler at the comedy club bar. Wheeler advises Samir to make his act personal. With that Samir names names. During these acts, the people disappear and only he holds the knowledge of their existence. 

Didi (Emmy nominee Diarra Kilpatrick of American Koko) teases Samir (Kumail Nanjiani) quite often throughout. It is her "suck my vagina" that secures a hilarious catch phrase. 

Sure, it is a predictable morality scheme, but there are moments that must be highlighted. Diarra Kilpatrick has a bunch of hilarious one-liners as Didi Scott. It is a nice touch to show an Indian-American couple in love. As Samir and Rena's modest lifestyle bellows down the drain, jealousy, resentment, and greed taking over, Samir is forced to choose between himself and the last person he intimately knows on earth. The only vicious beast here is the human need to find the backdoor access to infamy and skip the boiling, seething hatred rejection grants everyone. Isn't that scary enough? 

Justin (Adam Scott) believes the MP3 player knows his every move before he does.

However, Nightmare at 35,000 Feet, the second episode, has that Sterling spirit soaring high above the clouds. After all, it is based on the actual William Shatner starring episode, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet. PTSD passenger Justin listens to an anonymous MP3 player that sequentially narrates real-time events of his flight as they occur. Panic-stricken Justin then causes continuous ruckus that alarm the people around him, the flight attendants especially. 

This solidly illustrates a heightened terror sensibility. Up in the sky, one certainly feels the most vulnerable, powerless. The MP3 player operates both like Justin's conscious and a misleading navigator. Moreover, it suggests that, "you can't always believe what you hear." 

Nina (Sanaa Lathan) protects her son Dorian (Damson Idris) at all costs. 

Replay stars Sanaa Lathan as Nina Harrison, one of her best performances. Nina is a proud mother driving her son Dorian to college in a very nice car. Before that, they eat at a diner and a white cop is present. Their interactions with him are repeated over and over via an old camera rewind button. Every time, Nina becomes more psychologically and emotionally drained, horrified by the violent encounters. Even at her nicest (she bought the man a slice of pie), the white cop remains a threat. 

Nina (Sanaa Lathan), Dorian (Damson Idris), and Neil (Steve Harris) are backed up by the community against the brutal police force.

The true fright among the four aired episodes, this reality has affected Black mothers around the world. The ugly history of the white cop and the Black body has continued growing like an incurable disease-- the blue-eyed white cop Grim Reaper. His constant maliciousness holds up a mirror to the world and the world does not let it shatter.  It is rather brilliant that by facing her past, Nina's older brother Neil helps Nina and Dorian along in an Underground Railroad scenario to the college that temporarily puts the bullets at bay. However, the fear of losing precious time, something rare and fragile in the Black community, will forever haunt Nina and Dorian knows it. 

Pardon me, A. Traveler (Steven Yeun) brings mayhem to a small town in Alaska just around the holidays. 

A Traveler (helmed by A Girl Walks Alone at Night writer/director Ana Lily Amirpour, the only woman director so far) exhibits Steven Yeun's impressive range as the unlikely stranger mixing together contagious delight and sinister intentions. With a smile as mischievous as his Burning character Ben, Yeun's A. Traveler-- decked in a dated pinstriped suit and black hat-- buries the truth beneath the holiday spirit facade. Inuvialuit actress Marika Sila goes toe to toe with Yeun and Greg Kinear's Captain Lane Pendleton. Sila's skeptical Scully like Sergeant Yuka Mongoyak is diligent in her investigation, uncovering lie after lie. She refuses to cower in fear as the bizarre strangeness becomes unhinged. Yuka and the traveler's cat and mouse game is twisted, but not in an overtly perverted way. Yuka swallows the taste for power. A. Traveler knows her innermost desire and hope. However, he instigates doubt and doesn't physically harm anyone. At least not whilst enjoying pumpkin pie in his truest physical form. 

Yuka (Marika Sila) is not fooled by A. Traveler's feigned innocence.

So far, each protagonist must face between listening to their intuition or mysterious devices like Justin's Mp3 player and Nina's camcorder or strangers like the famous comic A.C. Wheeler or Yuka's visitor. What wins over them? The new (or old) startling thing or accepting the reality that awaits? There still remains that stretch of Sterling imagination, of finding no limitation to what lies ahead for these characters. 

Thus, Peale's The Twilight Zone stays the course of Sterling's 1960's creation, weaving modern day controversial political and social undertones and handpicking actors and actresses of all ethnicities. This resurrected series has certainly piqued and encouraged curiosity to wonder what comes next in the mythological otherworldly dimension being reopened and explored anew in 2019. 

'American Koko' Is Pro Black Pleasure That is Not Guilty

American Koko is available on ABC Go Digital. 

A brave web series (with co-producer Viola Davis conducting impressive voice over duties) has been delivered to us. Are we worthy of its juicy contents?

I loved every minute of binging on satirical, candid, and edgy American Koko. Led by dynamic Akosua Millard codenamed Koko, Los Angeles based Everyone is a Little Racist (E.A.R.) Agency has a small diverse staff looking to combat the race problem. Akosua is the former client turned imperfect ringleader, optimistic Lucky brings heart, genius Baldwin offers intellect and a sophisticatedly crafted "racist" machine meter, and Miles, often using black colloquialism, displays common sense in midst of his inherited white privilege.

In the opening, a sleekly dressed Akosua in powder blue trench coat and brown ankle boots, races to a parked car, carrying a large black purse. She gets inside and explains to an Asian mother that her adopted black daughter has 4C hair. That black purse contains conditioners, shampoos, a detangle comb and more-- all organic. Yes, this downright hilarious scene shares the scope of "crimes" that the struggling, nearly financially bereft E.A.R. Agency takes on.

Their first season main case involves Mr. Wallace, a white high school drama teacher. He has written a musical based on the life of Harriet Tubman. He has only one black student in his class, a testy Anita Benita, but it’s the Latino girl who has the perfect voice. Koko believes, that no matter how bad the singing, the girl has every right to play Harriet. After all, she is a real-life historical figure. Some of the gang disagree, which of course, is a freaking atrocity in the making.

Meet the E.A.R. Agents: Baldwin Bledsoe (Cedric Sanders), Lucky Ling (Elaine Kao), Akosua "Koko" Millard (Diarra Kilpatrick), and Miles Gold (Miles Orion Feldsott).

“She wore a headwrap," shoots Anita, "like she was going to bed—all the time."

That perception hits home.

My friends and I wear headscarves often. It unnerves people, especially fellow black Americans. A co-worker continuously stated that I looked like a runaway slave. I told her to stop, but the utterance continued coming out snarling, like a snapping dog refusing to keep its ferocious jaws shut. Vile criticism is a manifested mental conditioning that makes us feel ashamed of country history, allowing that shame, which shouldn’t be ours to bear, to seep into our consciousness, our moral fibers, our definition of beauty. It doesn’t matter if the headscarf has fascinating colors or rich patterns, it still symbolizes ugliness.

Generations are growing up like Anita, wanting to be more than the slave, failing to realize that Tubman is not only beautiful, but important to remember for her brave heroism. The agency made it a priority to get her to understand.

After the play, which was well done, the mom’s mouthed “thank you” made first season grand.

Mr. Wonderful (Nyambi Nyambi) is not so wonderful after all. 

Akosua’s hot and steamy relationship with Mr. Wonderful, had her heavily equating him to be the John (or Nelson Davis) to her Harriet. She is obsessed with all things African—her apartment is an homage to art, pattern, design, the works. She wears bold scarves and dresses and drops quotes from Love Jones. In complete opposition, private schooled Mr. Wonderful dated white women, doesn't know much black history/popular culture, and frequently says “awesome” (Akosua’s most hated word). In fact, one of their earlier mishaps is when Akosua suggests a Saturday night documentary on Jack Johnson. Mr. Wonderful believes it is on Jack Johnson the musician and Akosua means the boxing legend inspiration to Muhammed Ali and Joe Frasier. Like Akosua’s ardor for diaspora, she grasps hard at this relationship, wanting it to be epitome of black power romance. The tough sell is an overzealous clutch with red flags. Despite growing up in the same country, they operate on completely opposing spectrums.

Mr. Wonderful, who isn't even with Akosua because he wants her, ends his diabolical breakup rant to Akosua with, "you're not African!"

Ah, but she is. We all are descendants of Africa. Diluted with American culture yes, but in our DNA in our physical inheritances, in our souls, in our "residual trauma,"  exists an undeniable truth.

She may have grown up in Detroit, but Mr. Wonderful doesn’t understand Akosua. Maybe he wants her to be more like his previous white girlfriends. Akosua wants him to be proud of his black heritage. She mentally pairs the relationship end to that of Delonte West’s death, the lynching of the past equating to bullets of the present.

Tamika (Zainob Johnson), Grace (Simone Missick aka Misty Knight from Luke Cage and The Defenders), and Koko (Diarra Kilpatrick).

In season two, the gang's latest case--representing West's murderer John Williamson-- is a real doozy. Even though I rooted and hollered for Akosua smashing the living daylights out of Williamson's car, her anger spiraled out of control and created a bad look for the agency. Sadly, they need the evil blood money despite killing moral ethics of what they represent. Also, Akosua is not "cured and must return to “Angry Black Women” support group therapy to calm down compulsive rage. These beautiful black sisters are directed by properly named Grace, a spirited leader who urges the women to soothe and release their inner frustrations to other kinds of frenzied passion.

Enter Kwam. He is the writer of the famous Angry Asian Blog. Akosua meets him at a horrible poetry gathering and the two exchange awkward flirtation in front of the occupied restroom. They go on dates including reenacting Risky Business (complete with Akosua wearing the Tom Cruise white shirt), but Akosua is hiding a huge secret from him. Her real fear of destroying this new, refreshing relationship is understandable. At the same time, they both respect each other's work, especially in regards to combating racism and race myths. She is desperate to expose the murderer as racist. At the same time, Kwam believing that she is a fraud, is on a path of destroying and discrediting her.....

What a cliffhanger, right?

Still, interesting that an Angry Asian can be considered laudable and worthy of respect while "Angry Black Woman" is thought to be an ugly, demeaning stereotype that we have to let go of. Black women aren't allowed to be upset no matter the situation.

Diarra Kilpatrick with American Koko producers Viola Davis and Julius Tennon.

Thanks to the utterly captivating performance by show creator Diarra Kilpatrick, Akosua's savvy, unfiltered, bold character is believable, a statement for the black woman who ever feels intimidated, out of place. Akosua doesn’t censor herself for no audience. In cowrie shelled Havana twists, sleek outfits that highlight cocoa butter smooth skin, and “take no mess” attitude, she is the essence of cool. She doesn’t mute herself around her colleagues or white best friend.

American Koko isn't only ridiculing society with characters unknowingly walking around dead black bodies lying on street corners and bathroom stalls. This is a grueling representation of where we are right now.