‘A Love Song For Latasha’ Is Gentle Prose That Transcends Black Girl Tragedy

A Love Song For Latasha film poster. 

These days are full of fire and rage fueled by the pain of tragic loss. Black bodies are robbed of living and their murderers often receive no punishment. 

Latasha once saved another Black girl from drowning and that girl became her best friend— one of the film’s narrators. 

Art is one remedy that temporarily soothes the affects worldwide racism has historically created over centuries. And that racism is not always black and white. Back in the 1990’s such a turmoil boiled hotly in South Central part of Los Angeles, California between Black people and the Koreans— majority business owners. A Black girl was heinously murdered by a temperamental Korean grocer. 

That Black girl’s name was Latasha Harlins. 

Latasha’s yearbook photo. 

A Love Song For Latasha honors her memory, often lost in the continued escalating violence of today. History allots a paltry paragraph on her death and not a full bodied in-depth look at her short life. Among images of Black girls swimming and Black girls immersed in dreamy flowers, this hybrid short film humanizes Harlins, sculpting a figure beyond the teenager executed for buying an orange juice. Her story is carefully constructed by her best friend and cousin, the narrating women celebrating their lost youth, sharing the innocent desires of building community centers, becoming lawyers. Although surviving to only the tender age of fifteen-years-old, Harlins was a known heroine in her neighborhood, having valiantly protected the most vulnerable from bullies. A loving, caring girl wanted to give back to her community, save it from harm. She lost so much already in her young life including her mother at age ten, but Harlins still reimagined a greater world, an unfulfilled hope of Black utopia. 

When Black girls hang out, it’s a moment of celebrating each other, of simply being and enjoying each other’s light. Latasha brought so much light to everyone she loved, her friends, her family. 

Black girl with flower crowns dressed in white, tall sunflowers surrounding her. 

Between Adebukola Bodunrin’s dark, haunting animation and depicting the value of Black girl friendships through fictional scenes, writer/director/cinematographer Sophia Nahli Allison brings new information to light about Harlins, breaking away from standard documentary format. The long-awaited justice is found here through the scope of Allison’s caring, tender lens, in visually stunning pictures showcasing a rich, insightful look at burgeoning Black womanhood, at something taken for granted, stolen. Latasha Harlins is more than her death date of March 16, 1991. She was a Black girl who mattered, who had some real poignant dreams. 

Black girl friendships are special. 

A Love Song for Latasha is a piece of our past, our present. A valid resource for future generations, demonstrating the worth of a Black life, a Black girl’s life, Allison reveals why Latasha Harlins deserved to live. 

‘The Weekend’ Is a Smart, Relatable Romantic Comedy

The Weekend film poster. 

Although most romantic comedies contain a grossly exaggerated raunchiness that borders on unrealistic caricature, especially rated R films, The Weekend is well above the average. It has the rarity of putting Zadie, a Black woman in a leading role while also placing her at the forefront of desire— the attention of two men. What is not to love?

Zadie is a sarcastic, wise-cracking comedian. Her standup material mixes situational humor and making light of mental health struggle. She wears basic t-shirts (black, white, yellow) and high waisted blue jeans, even wearing the same outfit twice. In fact, she does not change those blue jeans.

In the premise, Zadie is spending the weekend at her parents’ rustic bed and breakfast with her ex-boyfriend Bradford and his girlfriend Margo. Now Bradford and Zadie are extremely close exes. Their intimacy is stronger than friendship, unlike a sibling vibe. Margo— who puts on a brave face— certainly feels the rift. The odd dynamic becomes overwhelmingly complicated due to Zadie’s increased meanness towards Margo. Aubrey, the handsome unattached guest, immerses himself into the triad, drawn specifically to Zadie. This incites Bradford’s own green-eyed monster. Beneath his kind and warranted protectiveness lies that need for Zadie. As days steeped in nature slowly press onward, that need cannot stay quiet. Even Zadie’s judgmental mother, Karen, sees it.

Bradford (Tone Bell) enjoys being in the middle of Margo (DeWanda Wise) and Zadie (Sasheer Zamata) until Aubrey (Y’lan Noel) enters the picture with eyes on Zadie.

On occasion, the four young people at the apex of this trip experience third wheel shifts: Zadie’s discomfort with Bradford and Margo, Bradford’s insecurity with Zadie and Aubrey, and Margo’s invisibility with Bradford. Throughout this interplay, Zadie is trying to keep a firm head as her anxiety wavers. She continues acting out, hiding secrets, secrets within herself. Aubrey, fresh from a breakup, is intrigued by Zadie and does not allow her to push him away.

Black girls ruling nature: Zadie and Margo try to have a civil conversation. 

Zadie’s most reliable male relationship seems to be with her father— who is absent during this mini vacation. He “appears” on the phone with her, though the audience never hears his voice. The busiest shirt that Zadie happens to wear is a patterned pink shirt taken from her father’s closet— while bike riding with her two love interests. Still, it is not too difficult for Zadie to embrace being brutally honest. Aubrey brings out another side of her, that awkward girl who often feels like a “supporting character and not the leading lady.” Even though Bradford knows Zadie’s every fault, he broke up with her because the dueling personalities were too heavy a burden. It is understandable, a partner with mental illness can be challenging exercise. However, cultured, sophisticated Margo— the “normal” woman— is not convincing him to commit enough. The well-traveled, articulate, fashionably conscious Margo has the flawless paper performance. Yet Bradford and Margo have not been intimate in months. Bradford sneaks off every chance to see Zadie, warning her against Aubrey, threatened by their obvious connection.

One of the most hilarious scenes in the film are Zadie, Aubrey, and Bradford biking together. 

Writer/director Stella Meghie helmed a brilliantly entertaining piece. The story arouses questions on the longevity of relationships, of finding balance and setting boundaries. There are Black comedians, Black photographers, Black business owners, scenes lit beautifully, capturing brown skin in all its glorious range. Plus, a deep complexioned, 4C haired Black woman leads a phenomenal cast operating smoothly together. Sasheer Zamata has an utterly riveting screen presence as Zadie, able to transition between deadpan humor and an authentic vulnerability with degrees of heartfelt seriousness resonating deeply. Her star should rise further in multifaceted roles, letting that natural candor shine through. The promising Tone Bell (Little), the exceptional DeWanda Wise (The Underground, Shots Fired, and She’s Gotta Have It), leading man material Y’lan Noel (Insecure’s heartthrob Daniel and funnily enough playing a younger version of Issa Rae’s character’s father in Meghie’s other film, The Photograph). Kym Whitley’s Karen provided a sweet, delightful surprise, a humbling performance that too allowed another real-life comedian to show impressive layers of humility and strength.

Tone Bell (Bradford), DeWanda Wise (Margo), Sasheer Zamata (Zadie), Kym Whitley (Karen), and Y’lan Noel (Aubrey) make up The Weekend cast. 

The Weekend is a refreshing look at the ways of discovering the constant things in life that heal us and the others that are quite toxic. Zadie learns in three days what will help her grow and what holds her back.

Zadie in darker jeans, an optimistic shirt, and a new hairstyle.

In the end, Zadie’s bright yellow t-shirt matching a great big smile assures viewers she made the healthiest choice for herself.