"Young And The Restless" Is A Once A Week Minority Madhouse Exhibit

Since they first met in the summer of 2013, Devon Hamilton Winters ( Bryton James) and Hilary Curtis (Mishael Morgan) are still not a real/never have been an official couple.

Twists and turns of a soap opera thrive on being exciting, jaw dropping, a little scandalous teasing of epic proportions, but it's time to pull the rug from underneath the carpet. After a while, thirty plus years to be exact, the forced white voyeurism takes a toll on the subconscious mind of the minority individual. Let's talk more in depth about glaring reality of representation of minority characters, their current situation of being being background prop notes instead of front burner material. Aaron Foley's Atlantic article stressed importance of African descent soap opera characters. Yet the Hilary Curtis and Devon Hamilton Winters mention was a sour afterthought in context, an abrupt dismissal: 

One black character form the old days, Neil, was there, but he seems to be the only one. He's blind, for some reason or another, and the woman he married, Hillary, is sleeping with his son to get revenge for something Neil had done in the past. But it's an old storyline the show has done before.

This inconsiderate afterthought, however, is part of the problem. It's exactly how they're treated on Young and the Restless. What's on screen right now is a travesty. Last I left off, beaming over a grand love that shouldn't have ended up being an extramarital affair. People believe Hilary Curtis never loved Devon Hamilton Winters. Hilary next to Lauren Fenmore, Nikki Newman, Christine Blair, and Summer Newman was the only unhappily married last year, cheating on her poor wittle blind husband with his son-- writing seeming to be an obvious (not suspicious) attempt to dirty up a brown couple's forbidden love. Most diehard fans know straight from the bat that sparks crackled way before St. Neil's engagement with Leslie Michaelson broke off and left him pursuing the beautiful much younger woman. Writers refused to let Devon and Hilary's prior friendship get off the ground, having her kiss Jack Abbott which led Devon into a non-relationship with a model which then concluded with Hilary entering a nonsensical quickie marriage with Neil. A quickie marriage then plagued down by Neil's eyesight subjected easily deceived viewers to siding with him, calling Hilary and Devon nastiest of insults. Vilifying story blew up the spectrum, especially when accounting that minority characters are on fewer than the overly propped white characters.

On November 24, 2014, in one of Hilary and Devon's most heart-warming defining scenes, on for a good eight minutes, was sweeter than a cherry on a sundae. From Hilary jumping out of Jack's swivel chair, running to Devon's arms, and greeting him with an "I miss you" kiss to the feign island paradise of "absurdly romantic" effort. Oh how much we remarked on this calm before the storm. Wish we hadn't been right.

First of all, viewers are subjected to Hilary and Devon once a week. Sometimes less so. Like scraps off a dinner table, quixotic followers awaited presence of seeing brown hands hold one another, of brown eyes staring into each other, of brown skinned individuals voicing eternal love to one another. That was special, something wonderfully unique for college to middle aged watchers, especially minority women to witness and champion. It shouldn't be unique. It should happen all the time and not be a moment celebrated because it doesn't always happen. It happens everyday, every second. A brown skinned man does fall in love with a brown skinned woman. They just neglect to show this on television. Alas Hilary and Devon's story brought seeded a hope that the brown skinned woman could be coveted by a brown skinned man, desirable, wanted, and appreciated. Devon worshiped Hilary like a queen, a goddess. To see these characters show affection, to kiss was beautiful, a representation humanizing an experience rarely depicted, shedding light on Hilary and Devon as a phenomenon, as a promised beacon in the predominately white driven daytime world. However, in this past March's episode counts, portrayers Bryton James had five appearances and Mishael Morgan featured a low three out of a possible eighteen days. That is a pitiful amount for a popular pairing gracing magazine covers back to back, topping soap couple polls (being the first African descended couple to do so), and receiving high cyber chat volumes. Did Shonda Rhimes not express the importance of normalizing television? Of having characters onscreen represent the very audience watching? 

The goal is that everyone should get to turn on the TV and see someone who looks like them and loves like them. And just as important, everyone should turn on the TV and see someone who doesn’t look like them and love like them. Because, perhaps then, they will learn from them.

How much longer should we tolerate and bear burden of white voyeurism? We have been taught enough of the same rinse, lather, repeat of their leading protagonists. The time is now for Hilary and Devon to be frontburner. Not soon. Not someday. Now. Invest in them now! Young and the Restless has the largest African descendant cast in daytime with General Hospital a dismal second. Yet neither does not fully utilize fullest extent of talent housed. As of right now, instead of exchanging affection and urban poetry dripping dialogue, Hilary and Devon exchange heated insults in their three second scenes. Yes, they have broken up. On top of not being a real couple, Hilary falsely breaks up with Devon. Twist was shocking, but the steps were stalled, moving nowhere. Sentimental touching, an old begotten mannerism, turned cold when Hilary's palm graced Devon's shoulder. He abruptly shrugged it off, as though her fingertips were made of fire. Instead of brown eyes speaking tender truths, Hilary has turned into Ice Maiden, laying on the "sacrifice" too thickly to be considered torn solace in between. There is just no balance in the hurt and hate department. They seem to be at latter, Hilary mostly. True, she came to Genoa City as a master manipulator, faux charming and sly masquerade, but this Hilary on screen is something else. This is no nod to Old Hilary, to bad girl Ann Turner. No one knows why she is willing to perjure herself for Neil when it is Devon she loves. Has her shame over the affair murdered self-esteem that much?

Back in February, Bryton James, Mishael Morgan, and the pairing of Hilary and Devon topped major soap outlet polls like TVSource.com and CBS Soaps In Depth Magazine. They're still in the Top 10 on both polls and even managed crossover appeal in ABC Soaps In Depth Magazine. A bonafide incredible kudos is that Hilary and Devon are nominated for Fan Favorite Most Romantic Pairing in this year's Daytime Emmy Awards. That is amazing considering that they're not an actual couple and the sole representative of Young and the Restless. Meaning they're the best on the soap! So why refusal to invest (onscreen!)? The actors showcase incredible range and dedication to their characters, to their fans, even housing seeds of longevity. James himself said that he believed Devon and Hilary had potential to become the next Victor and Nikki. Ah, but if only the writers could see in the same vision as he.

The mistreatment of Hilary and Devon's love story maddens an audience whom has reached tortured breaking point. How strange that a billionaire like Devon has no true home, how pathetic the interaction now as though they never loved one another, never evoked poignant star-crossed love? Their affair had angered people, sending waves of hatred. Some believed Hilary loved Neil, bought into the sheer quickness of a hookup and marriage. These two, like Hilary and Devon, never went on a date. They shared meals and conversation, but nothing romantic ever sparked. Even their dull "I love you's" sounded unbelievable and below half-hearted. Nothing metaphoric transpired like unspoken connection that translated into harrowing magic whenever Hilary and Devon locked eyes from across a crowded room. Fans were stuck, trapped into suffering through the affair, which admittedly had unforgettable moments. The anger driven side saw disgust and ridicule, noting only the love making scenes, which were about five in total in a six month affair. However, it's those unforgettable moments that have a lasting gradual factor, the romantic dialogue between the two characters overshadowing the physical paintings of their taboo union. Love scenes were fiery, intense. Will not lie about that. Yet when Hilary reveals fear of cows and Devon dances with her next to a broken down Rolls Royce, when Devon turns Hilary's job into an island paradise, when Devon calls Hilary his treasure, putting her above his inheritance on Christmas Day, and when Hilary imagines Devon as a father of her future child are some captivating gifted snippets to reminisce about.    

"Where are they?" The inquiring fans desire to know. So they put up "Got Hevon" ads because sometimes it's better to do a thirsty mind better than a glass of warm milk.

Hilary supporters are in a daze now-- a current blasphemous wave swept through our shipper hearts that goes beyond what was led to believe an honest sacrifice. A callous sadistic twist knocked the boat straight off the dock, straight out of the water, leaving anger in its wake. With light cryptic spoilers, audience is left playing a mind reader guessing game. Other women have long since embodied cat and mouse, toying with male ego to get what they want out of them. Hilary, however, has surprisingly lost her wits. The latest writing regime under headwriter Charles Pratt has her sexing it up with a prosecutor, someone in power. Another horrifying signifier is the choreography of Hilary's downfall scene- it's blatant difference between that and her supposed true love. It is a pure, baseless seduction, a gratuitous act of destroying a character's integrity. She is using her body as an instrument, lowering her standards, lessening her upper hand. Now we have seen women use sexuality before, playing the scheming temptress-- Phyllis is one example. This storyline was to be a means of Hilary's redemption, but fails entirely on the basis that women must go completely all the way-- all the way to shame, a shame that could lead to consequences like pregnancy. Just months ago Hilary bemoaned wanting Devon's child and cowering in disgust at Neil's touch. Now with this horrendous scheme, Hilary has no qualms about initiating this encounter, at Devon's owned hotel no doubt, smiling throughout-- seeming quite proud of easy conquest. Writers have single handedly destroyed character, revving fuel to an even greater hatred, rousing heated passions of those who've despised Hilary since Devon pairing. Yet many see what writers are provoking and want to put this character assassination to swift heed. Have we not seen plenty of African descended women subjected to such detrimental stereotype? To them being nothing more than a body to use and lust over? Hilary Curtis is smart, resourceful, talented, trilingual. Her truest champions do not forget. Yes, characters are always doomed to perform tasks under different writing teams, especially in the soap opera genre. It's important to stay fresh and riveting. They have Hilary transformed into a villainous serial cheating Hottentot Venus trope, a cruel combination of hurtful wanton caricatures. What is this sacrifice for? Why the sex? Who throws away their hearts and bodies in this manner? Only a character of minority background eh? African descendant women have enough earth shattering mental problems placed on us without adding body issues and self worth to the pot. 

Hilary and Devon fans are frustrated with their characters being on once a week, with their seconds of unmoving interaction, and Hilary's unwelcome descent into pigeonhole territory.

That relates to dichotomy of Hilary in comparison to other characters her age. Whilst Hilary is demonized and still receiving "punishment" for her affair, going as far as throwing away a shot of happiness, Abby Newman is springing up like a summer rose for hers. She is being written as a heroine, a naive woman just looking for love in all the improper places. See Summer appeared to be in a saccharin-sweet marriage last year, but according to flashbacks, Abby entered an affair with Summer's now dead husband Austin Travers. Their affair was baseless, coming out of nowhere, just an explosion of lust and neediness. Viewers were subjected to flashbacks galore. More than once a week. Wow! More than once a week people! Yet after finding out, Summer and Abby have a strained relationship. Strained. They still can communicate, act civil without insults being tossed like clawing hellcats. Now Abby is well on her way to taking up with her half-sister's man, Stitch. However, best believe in the end Abby and Victoria will still have a relationship, will still have the hurts dissolved and resume playing genuine siblings. Whereas Hilary has no one. Despite not having a home Devon can talk to his sister Lily or even Cane at times, but Hilary has no friends. No outlet to speak. Rarely has she voiced monologues or openly addressed her private thoughts like other soap opera people do. Last time she even had fantasies were Neil finding out about the affair-- another scheme of muddying Hilary and Devon's love. In the woman's own private mind no less. Lily, another woman of color, cannot resist nicknaming Hilary "cheap whore" and "cockroach," negative labels too sadly familiar to minority. It is a plus to see Angell Conwall return as Leslie. Leslie's father had a relationship with Hilary's mother. That should have started some form of sisterly bond, but for reasons unmentioned nothing has fruited between Hilary and Leslie. No one is asking Young and the Restless to be Girlfriends, but c'mon a girl Hilary's age has no one to gab to? Not buying it! Hilary also at times shared conversation with Sharon Newman. That too has dissolved. Hilary, having ejected the one person who cares about and loves her, is alone, forming despicable plans without talking them through. She said that she's always been on her own. She is a survivor. A lone wolf. Maybe it's not a friend she needs more so than someone to talk to. Before they entered romance, she and Devon did have a kindred camaraderie. It was nice seeing a man and woman be friends. Real nice.

Must you bring up them being black? What does them being black have to do with anything? Why? Why? Why?

Race inflicts fear in the comforting homes of those who don't say it's a problem. We are not supposed to question certain indications or critique further than the writing, but travesties go deeper than the writing. It comes into the viewers mindsets, into their psyches,  flowing into bloodstreams and hearts. Is that why some are quick to judge Victoria Rowell's lawsuit? They snap and band together to call her angry, bitter, and crazy without reading into documented factual truths. Is she really in the wrong for speaking out on racism in soap operas? Is she? After Thursday's American episode, we are outraged and disgusted and have every right to be. In the midst of three episode appearances this month, Hilary goes from two fake bumps into the prosecutor to being in bed with him by third onscreen encounter. This is monstrosity! This is unlawfully obscene! Why must we sit in silence, remain oppressed by the crucial way they have torn apart Hilary, ripped her pairing to shreds? We have to take a stand against this writing in soap opera medium. People laugh and insult the format, the cheesiness in the "stories," but at the same time, soap operas are a remark on wealthy culture, wealthy significance. Why can they not let minorities be a part of that journey? Why can't Young and the Restless let brown skinned lovers play a more pivotal part in its near forty year history? A real part. Not two people having conversations in public places and trysts in hotel rooms. Devon is a billionaire (and yes lots hated a white legacy character leaving her money to him). He deserves a house, a ranch of his own. He can afford it in Wisconsin! And if one character is flogged and flayed alive for cheating why is another not condoned as harshly? How can we not believe race is a part of this equation when writing is lopsided and hypocritical? The PTB go out of their way to offend and burn, fully knowing that despite negative obstacles threatening to drive viewership away, our curiosity for what happens to Devon and Hilary will stay committed in our minds. That is an unfair advantage, dangling our fantasy dreams as though we're bunnies dying for carrots. Other characters have managed to be the definition of a couple, move in together, have children, get married. Devon and Hilary cannot catch a break, cannot even walk up the stairs to boyfriend/girlfriend status. They're being chastised by Neil, who cannot tolerate another marriage loss yet begs forgiveness for killing a fetus. This is Neil, the same Neil who during the huge Valentine's Day plane crash didn't bother looking for his daughter Lily out in the snow. She could have died like that fetus he murdered. Instead he stayed attached to Hilary, knowing about the affair, knowing she didn't love him. Yet apparently he saved everyone's lives for Lily! Also Neil acts as though he's never cheated with a family member's wife before. Say what you will about the writers, consistency is not a noted skill. Ha, ha, and ha.

Bryton and Mishael hitting CBS Soaps In Depth and Soap Opera Digest cover scenes, but their characters Hilary and Devon seem to dive for cover onscreen. It's not the fault of the actors.

Hilary and Devon deserve to be a couple. They are no longer a "dirty little secret." Thursday's episode still hurts. Calculating deliberate character assassination pushes pain on mental and emotional awareness, but that doesn't include giving up on Hilary and Devon. Their love story has just been marred a bit more, desecrated further. It is like standing at an art gallery where admirable eyes are drawn to rare exhibited artifact opening the gaze beyond the scope of the gaze. Suddenly that rare exhibited artifact is violently ripped in front of that hypnotized gaze in a conniving show of immediate astonishing rage. That describes the "Minority Madhouse" at Young and the Restless. Only the grace of a thoughtful writer's pen and inner heart devoid of systematic prejudice can shift noticeable unbalance. Soap opera cuts will not just end at Guiding Light, As The World Turns, All My Children, and One Life To Live. Being at the top doesn't save anyone from reaching the bottom, the mere end. Maybe, just maybe, if Young and the Restless entrusted in Hilary and Devon, go beyond window shopping them to sell magazines, this will ignite the lacking "love in the afternoon" solidarity.

They must do something in order to gain back the viewers' respect-- minorities for one!

Screw Unjust Obstables! 'Selma' Proves An Equality Dream Should Never Die

"Selma" film poster.

The first time I went to see Selma, a month ago, it was packed. When end credits rolled, everyone clapped. Thunderous applauding hands echoed joyously as poignant black and white still film photographs flashed over Common and John Legend's Oscar nominated “Glory.” So magnificent. So honorable. So necessary.
On a Thursday afternoon last week, I sat alone. Nestled in the unchained memories and siren's songs. Some one hundred eighty four seats empty. I felt a pang in chest new and painful.
If you haven't seen Selma yet, why haven't you? Why have you not set foot inside the theaters to see this remarkable illustration? As disappointed as the Oscar directing, screenplay, cinematography, and acting snubs were, I feel that the greatest robbery of all is never getting to see this on the big screen. That truly is an award in itself. It is beautiful, horrifying, intense, grisly, and authentic. Please don't miss this.

Selma opens with civil rights icon Martin Luther King Jr. and wife Coretta readying for Nobel Peace Prize ceremony in Islo, Norway. Prestigious award gifted to those demonstrating nonviolent practice in midst of war and terror. Just as he is being rewarded, among applause and honor, six chattering children walk down stairs having trivial conversation. Loud, sonorous boom suddenly crashes through, resonating into viewers ears like a sickening firecracker. Slow moving debris particles fly across sinister scene in a harrowing dance touching sensitive tear ducts. Bodies lie still, forever silent. We know the sinister account. The September 15, 1963 real life 16^th Street Baptist Church stole innocent lives of Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robinson, Cynthia Wesley, and Denise McNair. Murderers acquitted and set free like so many other trials of the past, trials of now that echo how little black lives matter. No matter the age. Brown skin equals death. The true monsters that detonate bombs and shoot bullets and lynch and spit on blameless with a blind hatred. People are so unconvinced, so naive into believing we are one good desegregated melting pot. That race is an unseen straw to grasp. Well, Ava DuVernay's leadership, Paul Webb's commendable script, and riveting cast performances paints a ghastly truth unlike any other film receiving acclaim this year. It is a dream that is manifested into both sadistic and poignant realms, unlike any nightmare unconscious ever encountered.

David Oyelowo (Martin Luther King Jr.) and Carmen Ejogo (Coretta Scott King) put on noteworthy performances that astound and amaze. Heart strings will be pulled to fullest capacity.

Racial strain runs high in the deep Jim Crow fueled South. Annie Cooper (played by wonderful Oprah Winfrey) has been taunted and ridiculed before being rejected to vote. At the same time, in the nation's capital, Martin Luther King Jr.'s private conversation with President Lyndon B. Johnson has no immediate success. The president refuses to see importance of equal voting rights. Thus begins a long, hard road to Selma, Alabama. Non-violent protests, jail cells and, inglorious death await. In between despair, frightening foreboding and heartache, among unsettling pills to swallow, viewer is rewarded grateful glimpses. Seeing the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) in their hearty, lighthearted moments, the radiating joy and camaraderie. Mahalia Jackson's soulful singing into desperate ears over the telephone. Rampant turmoils and earth shattering events lead well into Bloody Sunday.
On March 7, 1965, a raw, televised terror leaves no stone left unturned. Civil conversation is not allowed. What happens next is worse than any film in horror film genre combined. This is no dream. This is an accurate composition of sickening revulsion out of pure hatred and grotesque racial prejudice. And the pleasure in the onlookers is Smoke plummets the screen. Thick clouded haze does not hide or disguise remorseless actions of white supremacy disguised in the uniforms of law and order. Horses race fast and fly like Pegasus. The batons beat against flesh. Repeated thumps are pounding drums as bodies run and scream. Aide comes. From pre-assassinated Malcolm X (didn't march, but still...), James Reeb, Viola Liuzzo, and countless others, no one is safe before and after the final march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.
We are left with names. With raw footage. With our tears choking.
So when I think back to that empty theater, pain returns afresh. People are mad. Upset. It isn't due to Martin Luther King Jr.'s shocking accusations of infidelity or smoking cigarettes in the darkness angering folks left and right. It's Lyndon B. Johnson's depiction having them running scared and creating a smear campaign against this fine work of art.
"Oh that white man was on the side of justice!"
"How dare DuVernay depict him in such a negative light?"
"How dare she make him such a cold hearted villain?"
Ah, but he was no cold hearted villain. He was a man turning around. And that turn was slow. A man in wait. This film sugarcoats no one. I believe Lyndon B. Johnson's mediocre supporting narrative frightens viewers, frightens the inner racism in themselves. They want to believe someone is one hundred percent good for all the papers signed and let depiction interfere with larger picture, the larger issue. That issue is equal rights obtained for every person in the country.

Performances were outstanding all throughout. From Tom Wilkinson to Oprah Winfrey to Colman Dolmingo and beyond. Yet David Oyelowo and Carmen Ejogo stole every scene and gutted every heartbeat.

Ralph Abernathy (Colman Domingo), Martin Luther King Jr. (David Oyelowo), and Andre Holland (Andrew Young) lead marchers towards the Selma Courthouse.

David Oyelowo has Martin Luther King Jr. down to a science. From the Southern dialect to the mastered way of King Jr.'s impressive speech articulation, Oyelowo breathed this role within every fiber of talented being. The way "white" itself rolls off his tongue delivers the most compelling chills. Here DuVernay speaks about the process of changing a classically trained British actor into a profound civil rights activist in Deadline.

He did the standard stuff like gain weight and change his hairline, but that was nothing compared to what he did to get that speech pattern right. It was not a mimic, and not an impersonation. He gave you a feeling of authenticity. There is a lot of great work he did to get there, I hope people really see it. And the key was we didn’t ever want to mimic; it was all about just getting close but not too close. And there were times where he was getting very close, doing it really spot on, and we actually pulled that back because I think you start to get into an impersonation. David was fantastic in really being able to find the sweet spot. What helped is he stayed in that vocal space, so even when we weren’t shooting he was always speaking as King.

Supreme well-renowned group in civil rights activism: Diane Nash (Tessa Thompson),  James Orange (Omar Dorsey), Ralph Abernathy (Colman Domingo), David Oyelowo (Martin Luther King Jr.), Andre Holland (Andrew Young), Rev. C.T. Vivian (Corey Reynolds) and Lorraine Touissant (Amelia Boynton) stand ground.

Carmen Ejogo, who too is British born, put on one hell of a supporting performance. I do not mean as a woman cajoling her husband's ego, stroking his intelligence whilst lessening or forgetting her own. Coretta Scott King is not just a wife and mother. She too is a valiant defender of the people. One of the most imperative scenes portrayed Coretta confessing heartbreaking woe to the remarkable Amelia Boynton (Lorraine Toussiant is great here). Boynton's small yet significant monologue was a pivotal reminder that the definition of bravery is kicking ass in spite of the weak emotion, an emotion flogged against minorities. Bound by chains and arriving on slave ships facing God knows what, Coretta must remember the blood of her ancestors flowing in veins. This sets into her brain, into her heart, cementing a stamp in her legacy, of earning title "First Lady of the Civil Rights Movement." That reluctant hesitancy seeded from fear grows into a brazen, unfettered allegiance. Not just to Martin. But for her children, for her fellow ancestors and for those marching and dying all around her. She is no sitting duck, no servant, no dutiful female. A heroine. An inspiration. When thinking back to those girls murdered whilst idle chattering Coretta's glossy curled hair, the viewers see more than a beautiful face and that glossy curled hair. We are rewarded with what those girls lost. That opportunity to see beyond scope of physical appearance. Ejogo's remarkable ability to showcase commanding poise and strength in the face of adversity, to be a willing champion in the face of ugliness and contempt is a commendable force to witness.

Ava DuVernay is gold. David Oyelowo (who wrote a wonderful letter to get her director's chair) and Oprah Winfrey (who produced and championed this vehicle) are her right and left wings, angling this valiant director to keep on flying with her head aimed at an endless horizon. She is bound to continue breaking barriers and giving an array of bright hope to up and coming female filmmakers everywhere.

DuVernay's has created a fine piece of filmmaking that will go down as one of the most incredible, thought-provoking pictures showcased this year. I loved Independent Spirit and Sundance winning Middle of Nowhere-- her second feature film, the one that put articulate voice on Hollywood radar. Selma just slices another onion layer of DuVernay's esteemed caliber. This film is the harmonious, gritty poem that bogs the mind, eats away consciousness, and bites any lingering ignorance residue. Just gets inside impenetrable walls and forever sticks. It's a magic only talented visionaries can pull off. DuVernay has that ability. She has mastered magic. Bradford Young's stunning cinematography gets in the heart of DuVernay's matter. For each scene is an emotionally driven painting, a painting of beauty and horror and sorrow. Among soft, crackling, hymn inspired soundtrack of the 1960s era, is a time where a hero is needed, a champion for a country still divided by brutal racial boundaries. Despite abolished slavery and desegregation, senseless acts of violence continued being inflicted upon a defenseless race. They just wanted to live on the soil. Be as free and equal to those who stole their ancestors. No justice would be rewarded to grieving families, especially without them having rights to vote. That meant subjection to white supremacy. Subjection to Confederate flag waving worshipers. Those worshipers cheering whom they no longer control. The slaves that their ancestors once stole in Africa, now as unchained vessels no longer picking their cotton fields. Generations upon generations of brainwashed individuals with bitter hatred seeds implanted in minds. They see no humanity. they see no equality. They see mongrels, monsters deserving to die at hands of oppressors. And this emotion is felt hard.

We the viewers learn what is softened and smoothed over-- the real reality. From Jan at Hot Pink Pen:

DuVernay’s genius is to show us exactly why the real Martin Luther King, Jr. (who died in 1968) and the real Coretta Scott King (who died in 2006) were able to bear this heavy load, and pay a price which they can both feel imminent in their bones just as surely as we know it today from our history books.

Selma tells us we need a guide, a helpful, wise, intelligent hand. That must be partly why marketing strategists shows Martin Luther King Jr.'s back in the film poster. He may have been one of the most clever, oratorically gifted leaders. He was not without those standing beside and behind him. Beside and behind him physically, mentally, and emotionally. Yet we don't have someone substantial to lay down the line, someone folks are willing to follow. The time to act is now. Not tomorrow. Today.

Together we can beat the odds and make the most seemingly impossible dream become the greatest possible reality in the whole wide world.

'Beyond The Lights' Urges Us To Free The Blackbird Within

Beyond the Lights film poster.

 ".....truth is the only safe ground to stand on."- Elizabeth Cady Stanton.

Beyond the Lights begins with a frantic white English mother needing her biracial child's hair done. She is to sing "Blackbird" for a talent show. Aide begrudgingly comes to the rescue. Next day Noni, partly cornrowed with springy curls tamed and properly combed, graces London stage, only brown “tainted” girl amongst contestants. However, as soon as she breaks into Nina Simone, youthful tentativeness disappears, evaporating into an older, worldlier soul. Each harrowing note is belted in wisdom and strength-- components that drove Simone's sorrow tipped ballad. Noni the child has grown up before teary-eyed, applauding listeners affected by bestowed gift.

However, fiercely delivered tenacity isn't enough to win.

Instead of telling Noni to take loss with dignity and grace, Mama Macy Jean abruptly pulls Noni offstage and forces first trophy to be trashed. A cruel reminder that runner ups are never remembered, never worth celebrating.

Young Noni (India Jean-Jacques) wows the crowd bellowing out, "Why you wanna fly Blackbird you ain't ever gonna fly?"

Years later, overtly graphic images flash subliminal messages. Noni is a dehumanized vessel, a fabricated industry product. Nowadays most pop music lacks profound substance. Quick, easily manufactured garbage is instantly popularized. The now is imperative-- fifteen minutes of fame, the speediness of existential high wrapped in bling and sexual voyeurism. Wearing more weave and makeup than clothing, Noni the voided robot, sings lifeless songs over loud, hyper synthesized beats. Oceanic pretend, more vast and abyssal than anything she's ever swam in, drowns out her real voice, her real soul. Popping and twerking like a stripper dancer, images of T&A displayed like twenty-first century Sarah Barrtman, Noni is finally victorious-- what Macy Jean always craved. It's an interesting contrast against earlier little girl showcasing vocal tenure, breathing into Simone's lyrical prowess, echoing desires of being free from cage. 

Thanks to Macy Jean's insatiable hunger for winning, Noni is still trapped and sees only one way out.

Mama Macy Jean (Minnie Driver) says less is more for her daughter Noni (Gugu Mbatha-Raw).

Kaz, the guard taking over someone's shift, rescues befallen tragedy.

When he saves her from almost falling, he holds her. In this intense moment, everything changes. Connection starts to grow. World around them becomes silently unnecessary. Nothing matters more than this profound destiny in the hotel suite. She is seeing him seeing her. The clutch is both sedimentary and powerful. Eyes meeting and greeting each other, offering comfort and balance. There is truth nestled here-- a real unexpected truth. Macy Jean drags Noni away, but Kaz is left rooted in same spot, stunted in same position. Noni's eyes stays transfixed to where he is located, searching and needing him still. 

Unexpected connection forms between Noni (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) and Kaz (Nate Parker). It's the longest eye contact Noni herself has had with anyone in the film.

Kaz is the genuine good guy. Not a thug. Not a gun toting drug dealer. He is the American anti-black male perception. However, like Noni, he is a blackbird too. Following his father's hierarchy-- science whiz, police officer, politician, Kaz seems to desire stretching out his wings. His home is an intellectual landmine of books and post it note quotes. Off the job he wears empowering t-shirts with civil rights leaders like Malcolm X. At times, he speaks in the quotes inspiring him. 

His immaculate world is turned asunder, much to his father's dissatisfaction, when saving Noni grants "fifteen minutes."

"What do you see?" Noni asks.

"Nothing," Kaz replies.

He doesn't mean “nothing” in a hurtful way. He sees a lost woman, floating without lifesaver. 

Kaz and Noni both want him to be that lifesaver.

Honest Kaz doesn't like to lie, but for Noni he must.

We started on a lie so it could never be perfect.

Oh but the remarkable rendering of that "perfection."

The balcony "incident" is major headline news and not in a good way. Noni has an immediate press conference and coerces Kaz to falsify events. Noni's label is outraged and threatens not release impending album. They are to sell sex. Not suicide. Blind Macy Jean sugar coats visceral reality, saying "cry for attention" will never happen again. Mental illness is a sensitive issue and should be taken into utmost consideration, especially when desire to inflict self harm comes to light. In lethal combination of a mother's dismissive behavior and a record exec's blatant disrespect, how can Noni's self esteem rise any higher when it dwindled lower than below balcony? Kaz, however, sees a woman in need. The kind of need that a man on a white horse cannot give her. She starts to lean on him, drawn into playing "victim," coming to his job, stealing him away. Their connection is undeniable. They start seeing beyond the seeing in each other, opening imprisoned doors, shamelessly indulging. Noni shows him her secret lyrics box-- illustrious prose deeper than what she sexily spews onstage. Kaz shows her his special place, watching planes fly.ahead. He fears putting his life "in someone else's hands" and she has never steered her own. Under heart of everything, he knows that she is not a narcissistic, self absorbed pop tart wannabe. He is merely waiting on her to acknowledge it too.

After horrible events escalate, reaching horrific climax, Noni and Kaz take a much needed getaway. In Mexico, they are free to lose themselves in this private haven, a sweet endearing family unit complete with dog. Passionate discoveries lead to erotic interplay, as camera turns camaraderie into lustful gratification. Although earlier love scene is depicted in a humorous mile high club fashion, this private session draws on just how deep connection has become-- confessional euphoric commitment. Chemistry is smoldering, almost overwhelming. Touching is both titillating and seductive. Urban version of Spiderman's infamous upside down French kissing offers slow, deliberate suggestion-- artfully maneuvered craftsmanship. We are taught anatomy of eye sex, of touching, of kissing. Longing and need painted in genuine strokes of rapturous harmony. The scene is fascinating. It's rare viewing minorities become explicitly sensual and desirous with each other onscreen. Brown skin on brown skin create fervid matrimony against white inside mahogany room, compositions of love and sensuality evoke candid intimacy.

Beyond the Lights is a simply must see for all its poignant metaphors and compelling similes. The soundtrack is excellent from Yuna (one of my favorite artists) to Cynthia Erivo and beyond-- an eclectic symphony of independent R&B and hip hip musicians. Director/screenwriter Gina Prince-Blythewood's masterful ability to record moments astound and stimulate sometimes simultaneously. She wields bravery with both pen and camera lens, taking strands of African DNA to United States and England. Making fresh faced virgins plunder into uncharted travel.

The cast is brilliant.

Gugu Raw-Mbatha shines again. First in Belle, now in a modern contemporary piece, she showcases phenomenal depth, diving inside Noni's exterior to viscerally connect necessary puzzle pieces. Each layer is peeled. An invisible knife slices Noni, exposing old wounds and fragile scars. She is unveiled to not just Kaz, but herself. She cuts away contact, the weave, the loud, emotionless beats, and finally her mother-- the barriers of which kept her from being genuine, the one person who should have never misguided her. That broken down acapella scene in Mexico illustrates raw vocalization and riveting integrity. Mbatha-Raw is flawless in three dimensional art form, forcing viewers to use eyes to witness facial language and ears to listen to emotional story. Bared naked gem effectively expresses vulnerable girl's desperation to seek validation in exasperating adulthood. One cannot help crying over sheer genius. We are witnesses to fatherless blackbird thirsting for elixirs to heal loneliness and pain.

Nate Parker is definitely capable of playing male lead. I first saw him in Denzel Washington's The Great Debaters and found him to be one of the film's strongest components. His character Kaz is both protective-- standing up for women when no one else would and compassionate-- using ears to listen and comprehend. From the very beginning, he knows that Noni needs help. No one in her corner is willing to see or understand. Parker embodies power and charisma, filling screen with enchanting beauty and sincerest conviction. Yes, he is a gracious model to fetch feminine gaze, but his portrayal solidifies place as an actor. He is quite articulate and sympathetic-- balancing between soft and hard, this fluid embodiment supposedly not seen to be masculine. Let's hope Hollywood follows Washington's and Prince-Blythewood's wise advice and give Parker prestigious notoriety. This young man is amazing.

Minnie Driver's Macy Jean and Danny Glover's Captain Nicol also provide pivotal support. Their respective characters-- both fiery, intense, hot headed pushy parents pinning their hopes to offspring, are the catalysts to protagonists. India Jean-Jacques is impressive. This talented singer/actress is bound to go many intriguing places when her career takes off.

In Jezebel, Prince-Blythewood explains breaking romance film genre tradition. 

It was very important for me that this film was not just about a man saving her. It was about a woman saving herself. You can't love unless you love yourself, and that was really an important theme that I wanted to put out there. This is a woman who's literally on the edge and wanted to let go. She has to climb back from that, both physically and emotionally and discover in herself what's worth saving. Yes, Kaz was there to let her know there was something worth saving, but she had to ultimately find out what that was in herself....

The film is really about two people saving each other.

Noni and Kaz + dog are the centers of each other's universe, addictive drugs in themselves.

Prince-Blythewood is a magician-- capturing hypnotizing scenes difficult to look away from. She is both soft and tender like a woman's gentle caress and brave and fiery like a lioness tearing apart prey. She shows no mercy. Evocative shot of Noni's tears on the balcony, tears dripping down her cheeks, clear bubbling snot escaping nostrils was beautifully rendered, moving photography well done. Brutal domestic abuse depictions whether it be from a victim refusing Kaz's help or Noni being violently attacked in front of cheering millions. Noni's mortifying embarrassment is publicly chastised. Instead of focusing blame on what is perceived to be rape enactment, by ex-boyfriend rapper all blame shifts to Noni-- giving credence to our victim shaming culture. Sadly enough that particular stage scene is similar to Macy Jean snatching Noni off the stage earlier. There are further elaborate twists and turns. Scenes are terrifying, gritty, affectionate, and arresting.

At last, the Noni and Kaz "lie" turns into validated truth.

The end is a wonderful nod towards Noni's humble roots both figuratively and mentally. Noni's adult natural coiled hair is styled same as ten-year-old self by same kind savior. This symbolizes rebirth, a new path Noni controls. Closing vocal narrative reenforces Simone's guttural melody. However, twist is pure Noni. The song is about her journey, but includes Kaz too. They have both overcome fears, flown free from parental shadows. Maya Angelou said she knew why the caged bird sings. Here bellows answer in haunting powerful range. Mama Jean, Noni's first fan, is left listening to beginnings of her little girl, of the daughter she sold out on a meaningless device. Meanwhile, audience is left with real honesty, the stoic truth of a young woman just wanting to be heard and loved. 

Oh dearest Nina Simone, blackbirds are no longer lonely or crying pained tears. Prince-Blythewood has ensured them a joined joyous flight to infinite love and sincerest happiness.

Hevon Must Be Missing Angels: Applauding Y&R's Hilary Curtis & Devon Hamilton Winters On Finding Rare Love

Young and the Restless's Hilary (Mishael Morgan) and Devon (Bryton James) are bringing back forbidden urban love dynamic in the afternoon.

Nowadays minority descent lovers being together seems to be ultimate forbidden taboo in the network television world-- ultimate unsolicited territory. Every turned channel features one brown toned individual pairing up with white counterpart. ABC's Shonda Rime's Scandal's Olivia and President Fitz and Grey's Anatomy's Jackson and April, Fox's Sleepy Hollow's Abbie to Icabob (they are so gonna go there), The Mindy Project's Mindy and Danny, and NBC's Parenthood's Jasmine and Crosby to name a few. Heck on PBS's Downton Abbey rebellious Rose was trying to marry to a "colored" jazz singer for scandalous plot point purpose. This feminist round table discussion about white obsession with viewing minorities as "beautiful attainable exoticism" addresses and slays perception. Viewers will continue watching these programs not realizing racial boundaries needing to come into play. Fact remains that one cannot be romanticized unless on canvas whiteness wants character to be romanticized.
That's why Young and the Restless has been applauded for as long as I can remember.

Drusilla (Victoria Rowell) and Neil (Kristoff St. John) were one of daytime's best beloved African American fairy tales.

Back in the 1990's, as a youngster on my mama's knee, I fell in love with vivacious Cinderella-esque Drucilla Barber. She was written to stereotype-- poor, uneducated, sassy black woman, but Victoria Rowell graced phenomenal wit, humor, intelligence, and bravery into this memorable character. Former runaway ballerina turned fashion model and illiterate turned excellence, Dru became radiant apple to eye of Neil Winters. Rich, successful, savvy businessman was bright, kind, and charming-- the eloquent black "prince" that Disney's Princess and the Frog were too afraid to create. Alongside evening episodes of The Cosby Show, watching Young and the Restless during summer and holiday noontime breaks were everything thanks to Dru and Neil's roller coaster romance. While Neilla (yes made up my first soap portmanteau) was going on, All My Children's Angie and Jesse (Mom was gung ho on her CBS soaps) were also making pivotal waves, breaking molds of predominately white genre. On Y&R, Neilla had their problems-- career interference (Neil didn't want Dru to become the big model) and affairs (Dru cheated with Neil's younger brother Malcolm due to sugar pill high and Neil with Carmen years later). Despite tangled messes they still loved one another in that traditionally over-dramatic, cannot-live-or-breathe-without-you soapy fashion. Now in comes the man Drusilla and Neil adopted-- Devon Hamilton Winters. Big kicker here-- Devon is in love with Neil's current wife, Hilary Curtis and she loves him too! Urban drama, angst, and sexy off the charts chemistry galore has come right back to Y&R with a fiery diligence!

Feelings were running deep when Devon (Bryton James) came to Hilary's (Mishael Morgan) aide after a pool escapade.

Why have I come to adore Hilary and Devon?
It's liberating happiness for varied reasons.
One: The actors are fantastic! Emmy winning Bryton James has come a long way from Family Matters. Now I have always been skeptical about Devon, but over the years he has grown like a wild, free spirited rose. Not weed nor thorn. A rose. Bryton is marvelous at expressing degrees of emotion, convincing viewers of Devon's inner turmoils and gracious joys. Mishael Morgan is an actress eliciting captivating charisma. I expect big wave currents in her future. Perhaps even future Emmy nominations once stories become basis to showcase depth she is capable of conveying. After all, Mishael has overcame hurdles of bad writing-- already a win.
Two: Hilary Curtis is a smart, snappy, well-traveled, trilingual woman with degrees under her belt (Y&R's young Olivia Pope). In the beginning, a real evil villainous lady-- placing alcohol in former alcoholic Neil's drink as well as revealing his journal entries to the web, trying to break up Lily (Drusilla's daughter with Malcolm) and Cane's marriage among other malicious shenanigans to avenge her mother's death. She's changed now. No, not sprouting halos and angel wings, Hilary's tough edges have softened just a bit and shell is broken. Like Dru, she was a former aspiring dancer and just as ambitious. How could I not appreciate evocative similarities? Oh, and she married Neil. Boom.
Three: Devon Hamilton Winters is made for Hilary. Simply put. He had a mother who loved drugs more than him. A rich father who never knew he existed. Devon too is a hard working individual like Hilary-- passionate about music (one needs music to dance sometimes right?). He lost his hearing due to meningitis and received a successful cochlear transplant. Ultimately revealed to be Katherine Chancellor's (R.I.P. valiant Jeanne Cooper) long lost grandson, he receives a vast inheritance. Money brought eventual troubles. Hilary isn't the first woman of Neil's that Devon has treasured. He had a one night stand with Tyra. However, with Hilary, Devon's heart is one hundred percent soul mate clad. And she feels the same.
Four: You know a couple is worth weight in pure gold if the actors can have great eye sex. Eye sex? Oh, that's when the eyes say everything without touching. Hilary and Devon had been making love for months, way before "innocent" hand brushing and unnecessary clothes came tumbling off. When two sets of chocolate brown eyes speak simultaneous sweet friendship and underlying ardent passion, pairing has exceeded expectation. Hevon is one helluva guilty pleasure. Even if they only have a three minute scene without uttering dialogue to one another. It's that abyssal deep.
Four: Neil is blind twice over! From Hevon's beginning, currents were swirling about for all to see and feel. Even Hilary's nemesis, Lily commented on the flying firecracker sparks.Yet somehow Neil does not sense rapturous phenomenon. Of course, as luck would have it, when Hevon prepared to announce and celebrate their beautiful love, Neil has a horrible accident and loses his eyesight. Now he really can't SEE them.
Five: I must explain strange fixation with diehard shipping of varied blond haired blue eyed women and dark haired, deep-eyed men-- primarily Buffy the Vampire Slayer's Buffy Summers and Angel, Days of Our Lives' Samantha Brady and EJ Dimera, Guiding Light's Tammy Winslow and Jonathan Randall, and General Hospital's Maxie Jones and Nathan West. I relish unseeable forces dooming pairings to be together, but undeniable, irrefutable love is driving catalyst forcing pairings to break conventional rules. Above mentioned pairings have that. Now Hilary and Devon falling into the category and obsession is quite an invigorating twist.

And by spend the night, they mean Devon (Bryton James) and Hilary (Mishael Morgan) have a splendid evening under the stars dancing. Still, they're right for calling it "the ultimate betrayal." The eye sex was off the charts sizzling.

Now there is nothing wrong with interracial love. Nothing. Love is love. But something is wrong with Hollywood perspective. There's always something wrong with Hollywood and race. Frankly, I'm sick of black women being valued and rewarded only when white man desire them and vice versa for black men. They're being painted not to want one another, avoid each other in scenes at times. I once had a social media argument with someone who viewed desirous outcry for African American couplings to be racist notion. I didn't understand her conviction. I do not dislike interracial pairings (favorites include Saved by the Bell's Zach and Lisa, Awkward Black Girl's J & Jay, and Y&R's Daniel and Lily when Davetta Sherwood played her). I have immensely championed white pairings. How is it not appropriate to a black woman and a black man to want each other-- to feel that same forbidden longing, that of which enhances a soap opera drama? I miss Dru and Neil a lot. Thus, I cannot help being drawn towards Hilary and Devon's destiny bound hearts. My longing is their longing like ravenous buzzing bees to promised nectar. Others shouldn't protest them either. Yes, it's a sordid affair, a truly terrible fate. Devon told Hilary before she got married that he had feelings for her. What does she do? Marries Neil anyway despite what inner voice telling her no. The dawn of long marriages seems to have passed in soap operadom. Sad but true. Perhaps Hevon is one of the few potential young pairings that can break this pattern, this notion that supercouples are extinct.

On September 17, 2014, Hilary and Devon's love could no longer fight against humming need for passionate consummation.

As for other soap operas still on the air with black couples in love, General Hospital has Jordan and Shawn. Bold and the Beautiful's Carter and Maya, however, are not ill fated destiny. Maya wants Rick Forrester and has always wanted Rick Forrester. Days Of Our Lives needs to catch up. Let's face it even when Renee Jones  (Lexie Carver) was on the latter soap, she wasn't used as front burner material. Unless her character had some tawdry affairs or died. Currently, the audience wants and craves Hevon fruit. TV Source Poll results have Hevon as #3 Best Couple (top Y&R pairing and only African Americans), Bryton at #3 for Best Actor and Mishael at #6 for Best Actress! Lord knows I want them. They just might be my last ship. After all, others sank hardcore. I'm still crying real tears. My track record with forbidden love isn't exactly peachy keen. Angel left Buffy. Tammy died. EJ died. Samantha went to Hollywood. Maxie and Nathan are banned from seeing each other right now.

It'll only be a matter of time before Hevon and its portrayers take number one spot in the CBS Soaps Poll.

So I need Hilary to dump Neil as soon as eyesight comes back. She should be with her true love-- Devon. It sounds real easy and maybe downright cornball, but the ride will be bumpy and soapy and hopefully not too traumatic. Since Dru fell off a cliff and left her jacket behind in 2007, the writers can create a sweet humble return for Victoria Rowell. Is that too much wonderful to ask for? Neil's eventual pain will need healing and having happily ever after with Drusilla would salve wounds. Whereas other creative juicy obstacles can just try damnedest to keep united Hevon apart. 

Cheers to Bryton and Mishael, hoping that there will be more twists and pulls as Devon ad Hilary continue to fall further into intricate webs of love.

In closing, Young and the Restless will always have steadfast allegiance. Occasionally, I despise character downfalls and scream at the screen, but its devotion to humanizing urbanism has stirred since childhood. I cannot completely turn my back on appreciative artistry. In Genoa City, African Americans rise alongside populated whiteness, fall in and out of love, and swarm in richly wealth sans beholden tendency. My excited, obligated heart swells at thoughts of more exploratory Hevon trysts and clandestine rendezvouses. Although fearing outcomes and revelations, I believe Hilary and Devon are meant for one another-- brown skinned Romeo Montague to brown skinned Juliet Capulet. Addictive angst and scorching drama cloaks them, but above all else fervent, consuming, bone-melting, soul stirring love-- most important element tying solid romance together. So much potential. I cannot wait to see what further stories are planned.
Besides if narratives don't meet expectations, there is always fanfiction.
Thank Hevon for that.

Belle: Amma Asante's Sumptuous Masterpiece Explores Forbidden Love And Acceptance In Various Ways

Belle film poster.

"Love must be a complicated thing."

Well, it certainly didn't have to be. Love can be the easiest, most naturally occurring emotion.  It's acceptance that's the more apocalyptic battle. 

Belle is a must see riveting period drama that teaches the paramount value of both love and acceptance-- the parallels are uniquely woven. Amongst opulent London backdrops and lavish scenery, blending together solid womenly friendships, racial prejudice, and forbidden romance, director Amma Asante and screenwriter Misan Sagay combine history of a remarkable realistically rendered oil painting alongside true account of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay- an Afro-European abolitionist showcasing Harriet Tubman like heroism and compassion. A compelling instrument that ties it all together are the relationships Dido forms along her journey to self-acceptance- taboo relationships that were nonetheless frowned upon. 

Born and raised under aristocratic privilege, Dido is the illegitimate bi-racial daughter of Admiral Sir John Lindsay. Dido's adoring father showcases paternal devotion-- the first male to fall in love with her on screen, showing her firsthand that it is the easiest emotion to feel. This acknowledgment is powerful

"You look just like your mother."

This proves apparent affection not only for Dido, but for the woman who birthed her. He sees beautiful offspring deserving to be raised of sacred birthright and leaves his child with his uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Mansfield, pleading with utmost conviction for them to love and nurture her. Although no one is exactly thrilled that she is “black,” they begrudgingly agree. For Sir John Lindsay to then make her an heiress further proves that unconditional, parental endearment. Dido grows up, privileged and forms a powerful bond with her cousin Elizabeth- longest and most lovely relationship Dido has ever known. They laugh, play, and learn together, affectionately holding hands and passionately declaring inseparability. One of nine films that passed the Bechdel Test this year, Asante's film fervently illustrates beguiling closeness between these two women. Dido and Elizabeth's controversial yet synchronous devotion to one another is soon a driving force behind commissioned portrait.Vibrant backdrop to endearing friendship is a significant key, a factor that must be applauded. Having a portrait painted meant not only vast wealth and influence, but it also gave an acceptable validation to Dido- that she was loved by her family and by Elizabeth, half owner to her gracious heart.

Elizabeth (Sarah Gadon) and Dido (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) have a close relationship.

Except familial love had to be hidden whenever visitors come to the Mansfield home. Dido must dine in the parlor- away from guests. It is a rule she grows accustomed to. Yes, her family shows courtesy and admiration, but society dictates all, including whom one chooses to eat meals. It is unfortunate that their love cannot stand up to such stupendous rules. The snobby, upper crust Ashfords are no exception. One brother lustily eyes Dido with impervious provocation while the other cannot contain disdainful contempt, stating rather nastily that someone of Dido's skin tone suits for cotton field dalliance in the West Indies. Yes, sexual conquests and nothing more. Rather irksome. One cannot help but wish saliva could turn into venom and spit it at such a callous bastard.

Dido (Gugu Mbatha-Raw)  is uncomfortable in her skin.

A rather depressing scene finds Dido sitting alone, saddened, peering into elegant oval mirror. She pinches and grabs frantically at brown hued hands and face, wanting desperately to “remove”shame. It defines demeaning hardships living with being different- the wrong shade of different and reflects lack of self-love. She longs to erase brown tint, to become populated, civilized fairer skinned- more cherished “English rose” setting high impossible to reach beauty standard. Surrounded by many luxurious, pretty objects, but inadequate in her own natural born skin, Dido's frustration is a powerful outcry for acceptance in an society blatantly celebrating racism. Although short, this visceral act of self-inflicted violence causes the viewer to take definite notice. Her struggle must be endured each day and night. The glaring subjection still remains a deep seated issue today. The role of African descendents appears to always be the entertaining Negro that knows all the right English words and proper mannerisms, catering to whims, displayed as an entertaining creature meant to be an stage performer instead of interacting in human society. One cannot forget that even as slavery eventually abolished, those with an ounce of Africanism DNA were not considered one hundred percent human. The astonished stares and perverse whispers cast in Dido's direction incite anguish. Impervious gawking both offensive and rude, white prestige are grossly intrigued by "Manfield's Negro," watching her like she embodies a freak show. However, Dido ignores critics, manages to bear turmoil, head up high. I am especially proud of how Dido gives snark back to Lady Ashford who more than deserves witty slap to her haughty pedestal.

Lord Mansfield's racially charged war is thrown at Dido's feet by passionate rebel thinker John Davinier.

Dido's (Gugu Mbartha-Raw) pompous world is turned upside down by John Davinier (Sam Reid).

He educates Dido and opens her eyes to the brutal barbaric ugliness of slavery. She reads eye opening notes that uncovers glaring truths Lord Mansfield has shunned from her. Slaves bound together, starved and thirsty, thrown overboard for profit. These horrendous allegations propel Dido's fury to see justice served. Lord Mansfield has deliberately smoothed over the hardcore honesty of the world, hiding atrocities that shouldn't exist. Dido is an intelligent woman who sees everything. Not just in ways of learned mannerisms like language and piano playing, she is aware that blackness isn't tolerable via in real life and depicted art.

"We are no better than paintings."

Realities simply cannot be tucked away forever. As an adult, Dido had every right to know. She isn't some stoic individual. She often spoke up about issues that mattered-- issues that certainly weren't learned between speaking eloquent Latin and French. I also believed studying the truth behind art gave another education. Art isn't solely about talent, mechanical prowess, and pretty frames to match drapes, art also provided subtle honesty about the orders of life. In the scenes where Dido glances at pieces, at times without dialogue, viewers know precisely where her thoughts are.

Belle (Gugu Raw-Mbartha) cannot hide her curiosity over Mabel (Bethan Mary-James). Also pictured Elizabeth (Sarah Gabor).

Dido meets Mabel, a free slave who works at the Mansfield residence as a maid. Dido turns into a casual observer, studying the woman. Over breakfast, Dido confronts her family over Mabel and slavery. Lady Mansfield blows up, believing these to be vulgar topics to discuss at breakfast. Wow. Human lives masqueraded as cargo could be descendents of Dido's past, relations that she doesn't get the opportunity to know and cherish. Mabel becomes a whole different bonding experience with Dido, setting forth another loving, accepting relationship outside jurisdiction of appeasing male ego. Dido struggles with kinky tresses and Mabel comes to aide, teaching her to comb from the ends. It is an endearing scene that ignites my own memories of struggling to appreciate strands and finding those who love it too. Once rare, now acceptance is vastly growing worldwide for the almighty afro. Mabel's caring, patient comb is just the beginning. She will be not only a maid- but a secret keeper of Dido's missions to see Davinier and his band of revolutionaries. Poetic regard that she shares this with Mabel and not Elizabeth-- who probably wouldn't understand Dido's roguish behavior. I see this vigilante justice as not only Dido's, but her gift to Mabel and others like them-- that side of herself that she grows to validate. Why should Dido have esteem? Why should Mabel be one of few to be "free?" I then imagined that while everyone left the house- Dido and Mabel played dress up prior to pub rendezvous. Mabel got a chance to get out of dowdy wardrobe and lived fantasy prestige, decked out in designer corsets and posh jewels. I am surely not alone in that. I hope.

Stupid prospects of suitors and marriage eventually begin to suck the life out of Dido and Elizabeth's earlier sisterly camaraderie. It's a thorn to the side, but it happens. A woman has to marry. Not for love, of course. To combine family wealth together and make heirs. Under flaring jealousy, tempers incite and hurtful words are exchanged. Elizabeth is a poor relation and Dido, an heiress, cannot marry due to her unacceptable skin tone. Thankfully, they made up because that nonsense (though logical) was killing me. Ha.

However, after Lord Mansfield throws the gable down to the right side of things, blackness fades on Dido and John. Although, my romanticist heart celebrated their chance to love one another freely, the final type of amour Dido receives, I cannot help but wonder if Dido ever looked back into the mirror and said, "I love you, Self. Brown skin and kinky hair and brown eyes and full lips and everything in between." That was a missing piece that needed insertion. The late great Maya Angelou said:

" I do not trust people who don’t love themselves and yet tell me, ‘I love you.’ There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt."

Did Dido love who she was inside and out? Accept herself? Or was Davinier her sole savior in seeing the beauty within? Perhaps so. I just preferred to see film end that way or at least give a glimpse into how Dido's perceptions shifted.

The famous painting of Dido and Elizabeth showcases their love and affection towards one another, a close bond depicted well in the film.

However, Belle is a visualized dream seeming to have been majestically stolen from my very own thoughts, a dream that impresses childhood fascination. A brown skinned woman dressed in fancifully designed, lacy, bow adorned, colorful ball gowns, wearing resplendent jewelry fit for a princess brings any period Disney film to shame. If only Princess and the Frog took this route. Words cannot begin to express the sentimental nature of Asante's gift. For the film is more than a glorious account of one woman's desire to see ancestors set free. It showcases a woman deserving love and respect.

 In Indiewire, Asante states:

When you see the real painting, which is at Scone Palace where Lord Mansfield was born, there’s more depth, you can see right to the back of the painting. And I got so much from it. The way Elizabeth is touching Dido, the way Dido is pointing at herself and looking straight at the painting, I wanted that to be her landing place, where she ends up. Once she’s combined this idea of being half daughter of slave, half daughter of aristocrat, half black, half white, all these seemingly contradictory terms, she has to combine and accept, and say "I’m ok with who I am. I’m bloody different from everyone I know, but I’m ok with that." I always say, this isn’t a Cinderella story, this isn’t rags to riches, this is a story of a girl who was loved, but has to teach people the right way to love her, the way she needs to be loved. So I took as much as I could from the painting, and then focused on the research as well.

I have it in mind that I will see this painting. I will. This piece of art commemorates womenly friendships in such a radiant light. We don't see racial prejudice or disdain. We don't see society dictating placement. We see two women who love one another intimately, familiarly.  Not incestuous or lesbian love, but an ardent, accepting love.

In her first period piece, standout Gugu Mbatha-Raw exhibited a versatile array of emotion as a woman torn between two worlds- European privilege and African ancestry. Mbatha-Raw must helm more of this purely white genre, breaking racial prejudice, setting foot into perhaps popular Jane Austen arena. One cannot help but wonder if Tom Felton was chosen due to his venerable sneering capability and the fact that one of his famous roles, Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter series included abhorrent dislike of Mudbloods- mixed magical folk.

Still, Asante shepherding Dido's story brings forth an inspiring hope for more to come. Only her second film, this BAFTA Award winning former actress, producer, and director is breaking new ground. Everyone is cheering her on. Palm Springs Film Festival named her a Director to Watch and she's won the Signis Award at the Miami Film Festival. Profound ladies like Terry McMillon are singing her praises on Twitter and interest has sprung all over again for her award winning The Way of Life-- a film she not only directed, she wrote the screenplay! I love that in the Guardian she says that she and Dido have walked the same division everyday, defining herself bi-cultural. She truly is opening doors for other African descent filmmakers from around the globe. Perhaps with Steve McQueen's, also Afro-British, earlier Oscar win this year, we'll see the brilliant Asante in the winner's circle someday.

Amma Asante is an up and coming director that we all must watch and support. She is paving the way.

Thus, I have recommended Belle to all those who will listen and pray that once awards season hits that Belle will not be put on backburner, especially for costume design. Directional effort for Asante and a nod for Mbatha-Raw might be a bigger stretch, but we don't want to have another Pariah or Fruitvale Station on our hands. Hollywood needs to wake up and smell the beauty-- the beauty of the Negro experience whether it be in America or in the heart of Europe or anywhere else in the world. People of color exist and they have human experiences worth acknowledging, worth accepting.

Belle is a fascinating, moving art that makes tears fall in great abundance. A viewer simply cannot help desiring Kleenex and some good old- fashioned love.

Now please go watch. It's playing nationwide.