Film Review: 'The American Society of Magical Negroes'
Shallow portrayals of the 'Black experience' through the lens of Hollywood (yikes)
I mentioned in a previous post the difficulty I have in appreciating films that showcase perspectives of the Black experience while also holding them accountable for what is communicated, and how. It’s 2024, y’all: it’s not enough to just go into something with good intentions or to simply be satisfied with what someone presents as “authentic.” I think that’s why I’ve been so drawn to the indie circuit. When you work as a Black creative in Hollywood/mainstream media, you also find yourself pandering to the larger audience, which typically comprises those who are tuning in to be comfortable and not necessarily challenged. SO…how does one get across a means of intimate truths while staying within the confines of old racial tropes and stereotypes? I’m digressing here a bit, but what I’ve found to be the most promising path is that you do it yourself.
It is possible. Notable, revered titans like Donald Glover, Issa Rae, Jordan Peele, Michaela Cole, Boots Riley, and the OG Gina Prince-Bythewood are not the only ones who have proven this to be true. Lesser-known creatives and emerging voices like Julius Onah, Juel Taylor, Nikyatu Jusu, Remi Weekes, and even most recently Vince Staples with his show on Netflix (one of the more surreal, comedic portrayals of living Black in America I’ve ever seen) have been trailblazers for me in that right.
And this is not to say that those who came before them were necessarily wrong or had ill intentions. I understand the profoundly arduous task of getting a seat at the table and fighting just to get a means of representation on-screen — because we’re (I’m) still doing it. I would be nothing but a suppressed ball of tension, anxiety, and existential thoughts if it weren’t for those that came before me.
At the end of the day, however, one must discern the difference between Hollywood movies and filmmaking as an art. Hollywood is here to entertain and to comfort. Have two decades of a mammy caricature (you know the one) leading the comedy box office or several nostalgic remakes (you know the ONES) not been evidence enough? Art is meant to challenge — to help viewers disappear into an unknown and help get across a different perspective. Sometimes, the two intertwine, and here is where the hill that I will die on resides.
I can only speak for narratives that refer to me — a Black cisgender, sexually liberated, and comfortable straight man living in America — and every lesser version of myself before now. As I said, it’s 2024: we have a seat at the table. Our power and subsequent responsibility, then, is heightened with a large-scale audience, and we cannot go backwards just to appease or pander to what’s come before or what is popular now. These were my thoughts as I eagerly sat down and watched The American Society of Magical Negroes. The poignant title alone sparked my intrigue for the next great satirical film about the Black experience that might just get across both the dangers and expectations of living while Black in America.
“I guess I’ve always felt like it’s my job to make white people feel comfortable, but it shouldn’t be.”
Directed by Kobi Libii, the film’s goal is to deconstruct the trope of the “Magical Negro” in American cinema. For those of you who don’t know or are unsure, all you need to do is watch The Green Mile to get a crash course (not only on this trope but on how to make a great fucking movie. *Sigh* A lot of things can be true, y’all. And — to be clear — I am only referencing this movie because Libii makes an obvious reference to John Coffey).
This trope can be described as the noble, good-hearted Black man or woman whose good sense pulls the White character through a crisis. The “magic” these characters imbue varies from “folk wisdom,” “clairvoyance,” “healing,” and other mystical abilities. Now, while this trope has waned over the years of Hollywood media, that does not mean that it still does not exist/existed. There are generations of Black people whose only representation of themselves in Hollywood came from a subservient role. In that regard, horror and comedy have always been useful genres to alter the ethos — because we can make it our own. But that is also a profound responsibility in itself.
In Libii’s world, there exists an underground network of Black mystics endowed with mystical powers, all dedicated to helping placate white people for the overall safety of Black people everywhere. Played by Justice Smith, Aren — the film’s Black protagonist — is a timid, depressed artist living in Los Angeles. His dull disposition and lackluster passion are made apparent as a repercussion to what ultimately serves as the inciting incident of the film — when he is recruited by David Alan Grier’s character, Roger, to join this “firm.”
“I know you can feel their discomfort, Aren.”
Aren is very relatable for a lot of reasons, and the film does a great job establishing this within the opening sequence of his art show. He’s kind to everyone but himself. He doesn’t believe he deserves to take up space and takes on any role that someone assumes of him — in this case, an art dealer who assumes he’s a part of the waitstaff. In addition to his yarn sculpture being untitled, he feels very detached from himself, his Blackness — and subsequently his art — because he does not know who he is outside of placating to his white cohorts. Because of this, not only can’t Aren defend his work, but he has no idea what it means.
Folks, there is very little opportunity for self-discovery when your mind is consumed by worrying about other people worrying about you.
Libii does an excellent job depicting this on screen with the help of Smith’s excellent acting. There’s a scene in particular where — for a brief moment — the audience is fully immersed in the surreal perspective of Aren’s discomfort. All eyes slowly turn to him, their expressions varying from fearful to indignant. Both sight and sound are utilized in getting across his anxiety, and this in turn allows the viewers to sympathize with a foreign point of view on an intimate level. This is how it feels.
”What did you do to make them look at you that way, and what are they going to do to you next?”
Who Aren is makes him perfect for the job David Alan Grier recruits him for. Each Society member is assigned a white "client" who's experiencing some sort of crisis and is dangerously close to taking out their anxieties on innocent Black people. Aren’s first is an egotistical tech-bro named Jason (played wonderfully by Drew Tarver), who claims he means well (“I don’t have a racist bone in my body!”) but lacks any sympathy or recognition of any other worldview perspective outside of the one he’s always known.
So when Jason is found to be on the team who led the newest facial recognition technology for their social media company — now under fire for its inability to recognize/distinguish Black faces in Ghana — Aren finds himself trying to appease someone who simply does not want to be held accountable. Did I mention that Aren’s job and the fate of the rest of the (this is cringe-worthy every time I write it) “magical negroes” depends on Jason getting what he wants? The satire is satiring, y’all.
“…If people treat you like you’re going to be successful your whole life, don’t you think that makes it easier to succeed?”
With the POWER of *cringe* “magical-negro” sight and some good ol’ intersectionality, Aren does come to not only learn how to stick up for himself, take up space, and fight for the things and people he wants, but he is able to find meaning and passion in his artwork that was otherwise unknown to him. Aren seeks comfort and assurance, particularly through interactions with others who are able to see and discern him authentically. In terms of human needs, whether we are speaking of physiological, safety, love/belonging, esteem, or self-actualization, this is one notion that encapsulates them all and is not nearly afforded enough to certain individuals.
I will never get tired of the wholly gratifying sensation of being seen on screen; an internal part of me that I myself may not be fully perceptive to, revealed to me as if I were looking in a mirror. How truly inspiring. But is that enough? Can we (I) be satisfied with our own personal attachments/sentiments towards a film and disregard the issues it suppressed?
Maybe for some, but for a film whose goal it is to combat centuries' worth of one-dimensional representation, this would require one to showcase complex, fully-dimensional Black individuals within a world where the anxieties and cast stereotypes derive from modern-day distresses. This film unfortunately fell short of doing so, and perhaps the danger of prioritizing entertainment over exposure.
I don’t know if this makes my argument any less thorough or achieved, but I choose not to tear films apart, because I know how profoundly impossible it is to make anything come to its intended fruition. Maybe the script looked different from the narrative that was portrayed in the movie. Maybe there were simply too many studio-head hands in the pot. Maybe Libii and Universal did exactly what they intended to do. What I will do is encourage you to actually watch the movie to make up your own opinion. Having said that, there are a few notions that simply cannot be ignored — hopefully — so that the next person in line to create Black authentic stories can learn and discern from.
I know it’s strange to hear, but there are zero Black characters in this movie. Of course, there are Black actors who perform their roles on screen — exceptionally well, I might add — but not once did I find a single Black face who was anything more than just that: a means to fill a role and to move the narrative of the story. No depth, no insight, no psychology. It is not enough.
Even Aren, the main character of the film, lacks anything you would expect of the person whose perspective you’re following. Maybe the entire first act was cut — the “before” aspect of the story prior to the premise of the film emerging — because I literally know nothing about his community, his family, his real job — the one that actually pays these expensive ass LA bills (even being a successful artist doesn’t cut it, y’all) — or where he grew up. One might think that the socioeconomic background of a protagonist would be vital to establish the goal of the film, which again, is to combat centuries' worth of one-dimensional representation. Or, are we all just the same in the eyes of Hollywood?
An hour and thirty-minute runtime is plenty to get across any other Black perspectives outside of Aren — which it unfortunately failed to do on a thorough scale — or outside of the Society — which it doesn’t even try to do. Are we all “magical negroes”? Are there not those among us who have figured out an alternative, or better yet, failed at doing so?
I hate to spoil anymore than I already have, but you will find no real-world consequences to being Black in this movie. I’m indifferent to Black trauma being portrayed on-screen — there is plenty of that to go around, to be honest. But that is all the more reason to depict individualistic Black characters in movies. We are not all the same. Our traumas differ based on who we are, what we’ve been through, and how we’ve perceived such in order to carry on. All that is to say, my conviction to raise the bar for intimate, Black storytelling would not have been reinforced had it not been for The American Society of Magical Negroes. So, thank…you(?)