SummaryThe family comedy loosely based on the life of creator Kenya Barris, with Barris playing a fictionalized version of himself and Rashida Jones as his wife Joya, who raise six children together.
SummaryThe family comedy loosely based on the life of creator Kenya Barris, with Barris playing a fictionalized version of himself and Rashida Jones as his wife Joya, who raise six children together.
The cast handles the whip-smart dialogue perfectly. It’s hardly a surprise Barris and Rashida Jones are terrific, but it ain’t easy finding a half-dozen young to very young actors who are so authentic, so skilled at comedic timing, so good at creating original characters who are believable even in his heightened comedic atmosphere. And oh, the subjects “#blackAF” tackles with hilarious, unblinking truth and humor.
It seems like anything can happen on #blackAF. It’s that kind of unpredictability and refreshing tone that make the idea of future #blackAF seasons exciting—as long as Barris continues to follow the advice his character gets from Tyler Perry: “Tell your own experience. Can’t nobody tell you how to be you.”
It’s the Curb Your Enthusiasm to Black-ish’s Seinfeld, with monologues interspersed throughout that tackle fraught issues within the black community, like materialism and fatherhood. These interludes can be illuminating, but they—along with the framing device and too many tired family-sitcom plots (e.g., Mom and Dad do drugs)—slow the already languid pace. More engaging are scenes that depict Barris’ professional life. ... Barris’ Larry-David-like self-awareness lends authenticity to his performance. Even if it takes another season to perfect, #blackAF feels substantial enough to justify the investment.
“#blackAF” is funny and audacious in many of the same ways [as “black-ish”] — “Curb Your Enthusiasm” to its predecessor’s “Seinfeld.” But there are an awful lot of echoes and repetitions: themes that might have been explored on “black-ish,” story lines and character dynamics that already were explored on “blackish.” “#blackAF” finds its voice immediately. It takes longer to suggest its purpose — that is, what Barris can say here that he couldn’t and hasn’t already.
“#blackAF” is a messy show about the mess of making television. ... The other seven episodes blur into one another, lacking story or situation. I couldn’t get enough of Jones as a loving, self-absorbed, rich-bitch mom, and I will never complain about a Nia Long cameo, especially one in which she’s playing a hustler publicist. But “#blackAF” desperately needs fewer riffs and an expanded character universe to leaven its atmosphere of crushing self-indulgence.
It feels like a kind of confessional — although it rarely rises above surface-level self-aggrandizing — and it meanders due to the absence of a clearly expressed series arc. ... Except for the occasional one-liner that lands, it’s just not funny, and is often tedious to watch.
“#blackAF” is the most outright mean-spirited series about family life in memory, and one that seems driven by an impulse toward revealing the worst possible side of Barris’ comic avatar, one that makes the show feel at times cruel to watch.
#blackAF **** un poco en adaptarse, pero en el quinto episodio se impulsa inesperadamente por la toxicidad, autobiográfica o no, de los personajes principales.
I love Black-ish and Girls Trip and enjoy Grown-ish. This is first thing Kenya Barris has done that I’m not a big fan of. It’s got its moments, but there’s a lot of awkward preachy or poorly edited sequences. Could use some sharper writing and maybe Barris could get an acting coach to work in his delivery.
My problem with blackAF is it's trying so hard to be the quintessential "black" show. That's impossible because black people are so diverse that it's impossible to represent all of us without falling into stereotypes.
The family's wealth doesn't help with their relatability or political discussions. That's not to say that shows about rich back people can't be good or relatable. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and The Cosby Show are two of the best black sitcoms of all time. The difference between those shows and BlackAF is they focused on characters and story first and race issues second. I know it's important to talk about racism in a show featuring black people. However, if the characters are unlikable and the story is not entertaining, then any message will come off as preaching. It also doesn't help that apart from one episode, the way the writers discuss racism feels like it's from the perspective of rich white people. The movie Green Book had the same problem.
That's not to say that white people can't make a good black sitcom that discusses racism. An example is the sitcom Good Times. Most of the producers and half of the writers were white, but the difference between them and BlackAF is they did their homework. They consulted with the black writers and actors so the show wouldn't be alienating to black people.
Despite being black himself, Kenya Barris demonstrates how living in a bubble has made him forget about the black experience. One example is when in one episode, his character blurts out, "I hate white people." There was no build-up or context to that statement. While there are black people who hate white people, it's usually for fairly justifiable reasons. For instance, black people who were convicts have seen the absolute worst in white people. When Kenya had that outburst, it came off as petty because the audience doesn't know anything about his past or relations with white people that would lead to that statement. Not to mention he's a millionaire. Whatever racism he may have experienced certainly didn't inhibit his ability to make money.
Basically, what I'm trying to say is, BlackAF is a dumbed-down version of Black-ish. Both shows are about a privileged black family living in a predominantly white neighborhood, working and attending school with mostly white people, and figuring out what it means to be black. Balck-ish is better because, like The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and The Cosby Show, it was a sitcom first and a soapbox second. Also, the title is way better. Black-ish makes sense as a title because it fits the show's theme of black identity and assimilation. BlackAF sounds like the title for a Soul Plane reboot directed by Marlon Wayans. Kenya Barris has a lot in common with Tyler Perry. Both men are wealthy black creators praised for hiring and representing black people in the mainstream media. Their problem is they keep pumping out the same shlock. They both struggle with writing dark-skinned black people since they're either the villains, self-inserts, or just nonexistent in their stories. They try to make relatable content while being oblivious to how their fame and wealth affected their perspective. They both use their blackness as a shield from criticism. They also both have extremely loyal fanbases who are apologetic and blindly praise their content.
I understand why people feel the need to support them. Racism in Hollywood is still prominent, so it's nice seeing black people become professional producers. However, Kenya Barris and Tyler Perry both need to be held to the same standard as any white director because, as black men, they should both know better. They need to know that portraying dark-skinned black people as evil, and black women as crazy harpies that can't be fulfilled without a man is harming the very community they claim to support. They also need to hire better writers.
Some video clips of a man being a bad, rude and dumb parent but absolutely not in a funny way, and some other people moving their limbs around and talking cringe. All the modern elements like vertical videos, Instagram posts and stuff about technology are so unnatural. There is no link between the stuff we see in the chaotic first 90% of an episode and the very allegedly-wholesome last 10%. Even the names of episodes are trying to hide under the racial inequality which felt like the only spot left to hide for such a terrible work, believeing (rightously) hopefully that the racial inequality is a fact that shouldn't be questioned (again, rightously, don't get me wrong).
Low.