Finding My Way Back with the Backrooms

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Being a critic of art is a difficult balancing act. For one, art is subjective which makes determining whether art is “good” or “bad” a pointless task. On the other hand, there is so much art to take in we tend to rely on critics to help steer us towards art that is meaningful and “worth” our time.

Of course, consuming “bad” art can still be a worthy endeavor, whether as a comparison group that helps “good” art shine or as a teacher in what not to do.

Oftentimes when I read reviews or ask people what they thought of movies the person will respond with what they wish the movie would have done and end up condemning the movie for not living up to the version made within their head.

My writing has stalled in recent years for a lot of reasons, mostly personal life events, but this idea of critiquing someone’s art when art can serve many purposes has confounded me to the point of writing paralysis.

Obviously, I am back writing now so one would think I have solved this dilemma. Well one would be wrong. I still fight with this every time I form an opinion; I continue to doubt that my point of view is worth any value, and my imposter syndrome flares up and reminds me I am far from a movie expert.

So how did I make my way back here? I recently saw a showing of Backrooms and much like the labyrinth that is the setting of the movie I don’t quite have a clear path that got me here. All I know is this film made me think and it lives in a corner of my brain where it is fighting another version of the film, the version that I wished this movie would have been.

Backrooms is the directorial debut for Kane Parsons and is already, without a doubt, the most successful film based on a creepypasta of all time. It follows a furniture store owner named Clark who discovers an endless maze of yellow tinted rooms that continually get weirder and creepier as he slowly maps out the parallel dimension.

The film throws the audience into the backrooms from the jump. A POV found footage scene of…someone slowly working his way through each room. You can hear him breathe, you can hear him mumble to himself, and you can see his fear as he creeps around corners unsure of what will happen next.

This part was feeding my movie soul; I was spooked and full of curiosity. My brain was fighting contradicting desires, “run away dummy!” with “go to the next room and see what it’s like!”.

I was filled with memories of childhood curiosity. Those times I was stuck in my elementary school after hours for parent-teacher conferences. I knew it was the same building I had been to a thousand times but now it is…darker, colder, and different. I’m nervous to wander too far, I creep around the hallways with every step being intentional and calculated. I don’t dream of looking inside the gym or the cafeteria, too much space for monsters to hide.

Just as the dread and nostalgia are washing over me the movie shifts gears. We are outside of the backrooms now, following Clark as he runs his furniture store and goes to therapy. The pacing slows down and I’m dying to get back to the backrooms; I need to see more.

As the film continues, it is clear this movie is more psychological than horror. The setting is the metaphor for a middle-aged man’s life. Or maybe for the childhood trauma that his therapist survived. Or perhaps a study of humanity’s obsession with mapping out the unknowable parts of our universe.

Whatever you get from it is meaningful in its own way. The film feels like a Rorschach test, bending and twisting its form to match what an audience member sees.

That is the beauty and frustration of the movie. Like the endless rooms that Clark has to choose from as he wanders, it opens your mind with multiple possibilities, endings, and meanings.

As you leave the Backrooms you think you have it figured out. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for something that you have decided upon, or it could be just a sick Reddit joke that has gone too far, or maybe it’s just a flawed film with a brilliant premise. You are satisfied with the experience and ready to move on to the next.

But in the back of your mind, the Backrooms linger and you want just one more room, just one more walk down a hall with upside furniture, just one more hidden door in the ceiling…

Amplifying Black Voices: When They See Us

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Every so often, Netflix throws you a bone and tacks on some bonus features to their original programming. After you finish all the episodes of When They See Us, you can choose to watch an interview with the real life Exonerated Five, conducted by Oprah Winfrey and featuring director Ava DuVernay and certain cast members.

Leave it to Joshua Jackson, Charlie Conway himself to provide one of the more memorable quotes. As the actor who played one of the attorneys for the Exonerated Five, Jackson was asked to reflect on what he took away from the experience. “What did I learn about the justice system?” he responds. “It’s the wrong name for it.” It’s as if Jackson was speaking on behalf of all the privileged white people who either weren’t aware of the lack of justice in this case or have never had to experience it for themselves. Or both. I count myself among that group.

DuVernay is not only one of the more prominent directors working today, but also one of the very best educators in the film medium. She takes us to school time and time again because there are too many gaps to be filled in our understanding of racial injustice, and she wants to do something about that. These particular five black boys were charged with a gruesome crime they didn’t commit (in Central Park, hence their old nickname), manipulated and blackmailed into admitting their non-existent guilt, did their time in juvy and jail and then continued to suffer repercussions once they were released as young men. It’s practically impossible to make a living and have a normal life when you’re a registered sex offender, you see. But the system is all too happy to keep you under its thumb and incarcerate you again at the smallest misstep.

The most unique part about this story is the ending. The publicity that the case received and the exoneration of those five men are outliers in a country that incarcerates more people than anywhere else in the world (which DuVernay expertly explored in her documentary 13th). Otherwise, this is unfortunately an all too common tale. To me, that was the most frightening realization of watching When They See Us. How many times has there been a miscarriage of justice like this and it didn’t receive any media attention? How many black people have had their lives ripped away from them by modern day versions of racism and suppression? The number has to be staggering.

DuVernay wisely packed the cast with relative unknowns, with the exception of a handful of well-placed veteran actors like Jackson, Niecy Nash, John Leguizamo, Famke Janssen, Vera Farmiga and Michael K. Williams. I’ve always believed this makes for a more seamless immersion into the story. These boys cease to be actors in our eyes and embody those poor souls. Jharrel Jerome in particular nails all of the mannerism of Korey Wise as a kid and an adult. It’s a remarkable performance among many and will leave a lasting impression on me.

During Winfrey’s interview, one of the Exonerated Five admits to being broken by what he experienced and is a shell of himself as a result. The young actors looked on distraught and despondent as Jackson and others quietly consoled them. The question we have to ask ourselves is not just why do we allow this to keep happening in our society, but how do we stop it in order to spare future generations from experiencing their own version of this racial injustice?

Amplifying Black Voices: Do the Right Thing- A Spike Lee Joint

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If you are tired of turning on the news to see another black person being killed by another policeman then you need to watch 1989’s Do the Right Thing. If you are tired of having to memorize another name on a never ending list of Breonna Taylor’s and George Floyd’s then you need to watch 1989’s Do the Right Thing. If you are frustrated that things seemingly never get better then…well you know.

Every one should watch or re-watch Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. Especially right now in this moment in time when a chunk of the world is starting to actually admit there is a problem. What you will find is things are exactly the way they were back in the ’80s. In 30 years nothing has changed. And that should make you angry and disgusted. Even if you are tired of hearing about it you need to keep reminding yourself how bad it is because we can’t have another 30 years of unfettered violence by those pledged to protect all of us.

For those of you who are too tired of dealing with the same stories over and over, just imagine having to live through it for decades. Just imagine being 32-year-old Spike Lee writing, directing, and starring in a film about a policeman killing a black man and then waking up on May 25th, 2020 as a 63-year-old man witnessing George Floyd falling victim to the exact scenario you made a movie about. And George Floyd is only one of the many, many, many victims in the 31 years since the movie’s release. Just another name on a never ending list.

The truth is this film could have been released in 2021 with only minor changes (Mookie would work for Grubhub instead of directly for Sal’s Pizzeria for example) and it would be renowned for the timeliness of it’s message. Hell, in a twist of life imitates art, it might have been criticized for shamelessly ripping off the headlines of the George Floyd murder. Sadly, this film represents the present as much as it is a story of the past.

And in the present, as it was in the past, this film is near perfect. It has the feel of a play with an irresistible cast of characters set on a single block in a neighborhood in the borough of Brooklyn. The block is a character. The heat is a character. The pizzeria is a character. The boiling racial tension is a character. It is set in a single day and moves through it with pacing that is impeccable and makes you want to stay forever.

For a while you think this is going to be a movie seemingly about nothing. Just a day in the life of numerous people living in Bed-Stuy on a hot summer day. And it still feels worth your time because the movie is alive and real. Then you realize this film isn’t allowed to be about nothing because people of color don’t have that privilege.

And then it happens. Sal, the owner of the pizzeria is remarking how good of a day it was. Despite the heat he and his sons made a lot of pizza and earned good money. He is a proud Italian-American and even prouder that the mostly black neighborhood that he serves has grown up eating his food. From there everything shifts quickly. Tensions boil over due to a seemingly small thing. It moves fast and before you know it a black man is dead by the hands of a policeman and the single block in a neighborhood in the borough of Brooklyn will never be the same.

Except it will. Because things never change and this is the existence of the block and of black lives. Sure they will all miss their friend that died but at the end of the day he will just be another name on a never ending list.

An Ode to a King: Black Panther

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Over the weekend we should have celebrated Chadwick Boseman’s 44th birthday. It probably would have been mostly unremarkable and easily missed. There would have been a trending hashtag on Twitter, #HappyBdayBlackPanther #HBDChad. And Chris Evans or Mark Ruffalo or someone in the Marvel family would have had tweeted a sarcastic birthday wish mentioning Royalty or King. And we would have all moved on, after all 44 is extremely young.

Alas the world, and 2020, is a cruel place. While Mr. Boseman was celebrated, it was posthumously. Disney proved they might have a tiny fragment of their soul left by replacing the opening logo of Black Panther to one that honored Boseman as a form or remembrance. And there were plenty of tweets but they were marked with sadness and with reminders of the fragility of life.

I, for one, like to celebrate lives instead of mourn them. I believe living 43 years, becoming a successful actor, playing important historical figures like Jackie Robinson, James Brown, and Thurgood Marshall is miraculous. I can’t be sad about this man I never met, I only want to enjoy what he left behind.

To do so I decided to re-watch Black Panther. I am a BIG Black Panther guy, I will defend it to no end. I am typically one who voices displeasure over movies that are overhyped (Avengers: Endgame, The Dark Knight) but I truly believe Black Panther deserves every ounce of hype.

But before this weekend I had never watched it for Chadwick Boseman. I watched it the first time in theaters because I was in the height of my Marvel craze. I watched it the second time in theaters because I wanted to show my support for the black artists the best way I know how, money. The third time was to pay attention to Ryan Coogler’s directing after learning how young he was. Every time after that was probably because I was listening to the Kendrick Lamar soundtrack and it reminded me how good the film was. I never really focused on the man playing the titular role but could you blame me? This cast is filled to the brim with amazing performers, Lupita Nyong’o, Danai Gurira, Winston Duke, MICHAEL B. JORDAN, it’s truly remarkable.

When I finally started paying attention to the man behind the mask I was blown away. Boseman’s performance is balanced, calm, reassuring, and strong. Which is exactly what the role demands. T’Challa is the only superhero, that I know, that has to balance the weight of being a political leader while also physically protecting his people. Peter Parker meanwhile struggles to balance studying and petty thieves. T’Challa has to be political and well-liked. He needs to put his people first, balancing their traditions with their technological advances and with exposure to the harsh outside world. To a world that has proven to not welcome their kind.

T’Challa also has to deal with the death of his father and the king of Wakanda T’Chaka. Boseman displays T’Challa’s emotions beautifully when the character gets one last chance to say good-bye to T’Chaka on the Ancestral Plane: “I’m not ready to be without you.” T’Challa states to his father (a moment that hits the audience even harder in 2020) to which T’Chaka replies, “A man who has not prepared his children for his own death has failed as a father.” The raw emotion and vulnerability displayed by Boseman (and John Kani) in this scene alone makes the film stand above it’s Marvel counterpoints.

This role was more than your typical superhero role. Boseman had to not only had the handle the character with strength, vulnerability, and intelligence but he also had to balance the real world implications of the role. Namely the weight of being the first black superhero in the MCU and the pressure of leading a superstar cast. Somehow Boseman managed to accomplish it all.

That is something worth celebrating.

Amplifying Black Voices: Selma from Ava DuVernay

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How’s everyone doing out there? Good I hope. Make sure you’re staying safe and taking care of yourself. That’s been pretty challenging this year, but it’s more important than ever.

Of the many losses we have endured in 2020, one of the more notable ones was the passing of John Lewis, longtime Congressman for Georgia, civil rights leader and proponent of good trouble. Upon his death, colleagues and admirers praised his memory and were adamant that the best way to honor Lewis is to continue his legacy of fighting for justice and equality for black people.

Selma shows us Lewis towards the beginning of that journey, as he embarked on a series of voting rights marches along with fellow leaders Martin Luther King Jr., James Bevel and Hosea Williams, among others. Things go about as well for them as you’d expect in 1960s Alabama: white supremacy rears its ugly head to meet them head on and the marchers are beaten, arrested and in some cases murdered. If you know your history or if you’ve simply seen the film, you know that ultimately King, Lewis and co. overcame this particular wave of hatred and bigotry and completed their march from Selma to Montgomery. These efforts were a key part of securing voting rights for black people. Happy ending, right?

Well, not exactly. Selma was released in 2014 but in many ways, the story is timeless. It is sadly an accurate depiction of any point in U.S. history when black people have advocated for their own justice. John Legend, who won an Oscar for the song he and Common wrote for the film, expressed that this is still very much a modern story. DuVernay rightfully showcases the efforts of these civil rights heroes, but this is just as much of a wake up call as anything. 2020 provides all the evidence you need to see that these issues are as deeply rooted in our country as ever. The murder of George Floyd. Black Lives Matter protests being attacked both literally and figuratively. The shooting of Jacob Blake. The lack of justice for Breonna Taylor and Elijah McClain (who was murdered not too far from where I live). On and on it goes.

DuVernay is an expert at pulling back the curtain and educating us on these systemic problems. One of the lessons here is that there is a danger in viewing Selma in a solely historical context because of its modern day relevancy. It disappoints me that many critics chose not to highlight that aspect but rather how inaccurately Lyndon B. Johnson may or may not have been portrayed. If your main critique of the film is that the white President didn’t get his fair share of credit for the supporting role he played in this movement, you are missing the point. And besides, adaptations in film are not supposed to be documentaries. As Lewis himself wrote, “We do not demand completeness of other historical dramas, so why is it required of this film?”

I think that alone shows how much work is to be done to reach true equality and justice for black people.

Amplifying Black Voices: Queen & Slim from Melina Matsoukas

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Queen: “He told me nothing scares a white man more than seeing a black man on a horse.”

Slim: “Why?”

Queen: “Cause they have to look up at him.”

When a story about an altercation between a black man and a white cop comes to light we are fed a typical narrative. The white man was a hero, doing his duty, had no choice to resort to violence. The black man was resisting, aggressive, had a criminal record. There are key words and facts intentionally used to paint a clear picture.

Queen & Slim feels like a free space away from the media slant and away from how we typically engage with stories like this. A bubble where there is no discussion of guilt or regret. No remarks over the dead cop or how he was a hero or how he had a family or how there are good people on both sides.

Instead we are put there. As a voyeur who gets to see exactly what happens. We get to focus on the black people and their journey. We see two young, intelligent black people get pulled over by a cop. We watch as they comply to the cop’s demands even as they get increasingly nervous. We get to see the misunderstanding that leads to Slim shooting the cop dead. And we feel their anguish as they get in the car to drive away. We yell at the screen telling them there is a better option, that logic is on their side, that they were defending themselves, that surely people will understand the circumstances. And then we realize it’s not that simple, there is no better option as a black person. They know exactly how this is going to end and driving away is their best option.

As a white person viewing this movie I’m grateful it provides a small glimpse into what it means to be a black person in America. Of course I will never be able to fully understand what that means but this film provides hints of unspoken bonds and assumed consequences black people face. There is subtext and nuance to this film that I am aware of but I feel only people of color can fully grasp.

It’s in the way Queen and Slim run without much acknowledgment to their options or lack thereof. It’s the knowing nods of, mostly, approval they receive from black strangers. It’s the lack of surprise when an estranged niece shows up at her Uncle’s house needing a place to hide. It’s all there in character interactions, unspoken, unflinching, unsurprised

These interactions are led by incredible performances from Jodie Turner-Smith and Daniel Kaluuya. We of course know to expect this type of performance from Kaluuya thanks to Get Out but his effortless coolness and understated performance plays perfectly to the outstanding Turner-Smith. This is my first exposure to her and it left a hell of an impression as she plays a tough, wildly intelligent, go-getter. Even more impressive is the chemistry the two share as they experience the worst Tinder date of all time.

This film is without a doubt worth your time, especially in 2020. The black experience in modern day America, as far as I can tell, is strongly represented here by Melina Matsoukas in her directorial debut. Of course it’s telling that the best way to express the black experience is through a road trip genre film following the main characters avoiding racial persecution by running away from the police. Truly it’s a more ruthless and honest Bonnie and Clyde where instead of a bored white woman looking for cheap thrills with her amateur criminal boyfriend, it’s two young black people wanting to go home from a fucking Tinder date without being accosted for the color of their skin.

An Ode to a King: 42

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My eyes are red and puffy this weekend. I’ve been crying. I started crying as soon as I heard the news.

It’s truly devastating that Chadwick Boseman passed away.

I’m not trying to be flashy with that title. Boseman was a true king in many ways: he selflessly gave his time and effort to others, used his considerable talent to portray multiple black icons in film and just genuinely seemed like a good dude. Oh, and he spent the last years of his life battling colon cancer without ever saying a word about it. I can’t imagine the courage and resilience it took for him to handle that the way he did, but Boseman never missed a beat. It’s truly difficult for me to fathom that he’s gone. 2020 has been cruel and unfair virtually across the board, but this one hurts in a completely different way.

We made a pledge recently to spotlight more films by black directors, actors and writers. While the circumstances are terrible, we thought it would be best to honor Boseman’s legacy by talking about his contributions. That brings me to 42.

I can’t think of anyone else who could’ve played Jackie Robinson. There are undoubtedly other fine actors who would have done justice to the role, but would they have brought as much charisma and defiance as Boseman? Could they have so effortlessly depicted a man who held up extraordinarily well under the duress he was thrust into? One of my favorite scenes comes early in the film. Wendell Smith has to move Robinson to a different house after a threat on his life is made. Speeding away in the middle of the night, Robinson begins laughing hysterically.

Wendell asks, “Man, what is so funny?”

Robinson replies, “I thought you woke me up because I got cut from the team.”

I think that says about all you need to know about who the man was and what his priorities were. And perhaps that partly explains how Boseman so naturally disappears into that character: he understood Robinson in a way that few of us can. Those two only ever had their eyes on the big picture.

42 has been accused of overdramatizing Robinson’s first season with the Dodgers, such as the dugout scene where the racism of an opposing manager causes Robinson to lose his temper, and he lashes out in anger. I continue to be befuddled by critics who hold a movie to the same expectations as a documentary, but that scene is also an important one. Robinson is the vehicle for the audience and we are disgusted to see how he was treated, and that these things still happen in our country today. A sane person would probably get fed up far before Robinson did.

It’s a real treat to watch Boseman and Harrison Ford exchange dialogue, expertly capturing the relationship between Robinson and Dodgers owner Branch Rickey. Ford, who said being apart of this story was a great honor for him, gave one of his best performances in years. I wonder how much that had to do with him playing opposite of Boseman, and how much a great man truly lifted everyone he came across.

While celebrating his films is one way to honor Boseman, an even better one is to uphold the values that he believed in while he was alive. Support the type of change that you want to see in your community. The best way to do that is to get out and vote this fall. That link will help you register if you haven’t done so already.

Amplifying Black Voices: 13th from Ava DuVernay

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What’s more difficult? Earning someone’s attention or keeping it? Over the past few weeks the Black Lives Matter movement has finally earned the attention it has long deserved. We here at Flimsy Film Critics firmly believe Black Lives Matter and we do not want to see this movement turn into only a moment, we want them to matter every day going forward.

As two privileged white males the best thing we can do is listen and then use what we learn to help spread the message of equality and the need for systemic changes in every avenue of our world. Not only spread the message but use our platform to amplify their voices. Clearly this won’t solve everything but we feel it is our responsibility to do our part to help keep this obscenely important message alive and well and in the forefront of everyone’s mind.

Watch.

The best place to start in the film world is the documentary film 13th from Ava DuVernay. It’s probably the most recommended film in light of the recent week’s events and there is good reason for that. Just watch it. This documentary sets the stage and clearly lays out exactly how we got to the place we are today. It is harrowing, difficult to watch, and filled to the brim with so much information that it will demand a second viewing just to take it all in.

Listen.

The documentary breaks down how the current state of our judicial system was created to imprison as many people as possible, particularly people of color. It shows the clear transition from the end of slavery to the exploitation of a loophole in our constitution to keep entire generations of a portion of our society down.

Educate.

The film overwhelms the viewer with clear data that lays bare the clear racism that exists in our policies, our policing, and our politicians. It states plainly the horrors that black people face every single day.

Amplify.

Ava DuVernay is the first black female director to have a film nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture for Selma. She was the first black female director to have a documentary film nominated as well for 13th. And yet it has taken weeks of protests and press and attention for my network of people, and myself, to start paying attention to her. Her talent is incredible, her work speaks for itself, and we need to stop ignoring people on the basis of their gender and their skin. We need her voice and we need to listen.

There is no justification for not joining this equal rights movement. There is no justification for not watching, for not listening, for not educating, for not amplifying. The time should have been decades ago but the time is now. Watch. Listen. Educate. Amplify.

Black Lives Matter.

BlacKkKlansman Entertains and Educates

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Part of the reason that I touched on Charlottesville last week was because of the end of BlacKkKlansman. Before the final credits, the film cuts to a recap of the Unite the Right protests and counter-protests, ultimately coming to rest on a dedication to Heather Hayer and an upside down American flag. Spike Lee’s award-winning social commentary is a stark reminder that racism and white supremacy are still alive and well in our country, and you never have to go back very far to find the proof.

That ending had a profound impact on me. Aside from the fact that it was a classy gesture on Lee’s part to pay his respects to Hayer, he made it clear that we’re too quick to forget what happens in front of our very eyes. Upset as I was upon learning the horror that unfolded in Charlottesville, I admittedly moved on with my normal life and gave it very little thought until I saw BlacKkKlansman. Lee knows this about our society and isn’t going to let us off the hook just because we found his movie entertaining.

And that really doesn’t even do justice to the film. BlacKkKlansman is a riveting, surprisingly humorous account of Ron Stallworth’s infiltration of the Ku Klux Klan. He can’t do this on his own, since the Klan isn’t big on recruiting black guys, so he enlists the help of his white co-worker Flip Zimmerman to pose as Stallworth in person. What follows is a series of tense encounters between fake Stallworth and the Klan, and the real Stallworth and his fellow officers. Not surprisingly, racism emerges in both situations and the reluctant partners are forced to rely on each other more than they would like.

John David Washington, the son of Denzel, commands the screen like his father while simultaneously setting himself apart. His Stallworth is a determined, tenacious officer, forced to juggle multiple responsibilities in a town where some of his peers want to see him fail. He makes a connection with the president of a local Black Student Union, and she openly expresses her disdain for cops (with good reason based on how a certain racist officer treats her). It’s a literal no-win situation, but Stallworth remains steadfast through it all, The man turned in a remarkably impressive performance and I look forward to seeing the prodigal son in Christopher Nolan’s Tenet next month.

And what a relief it was to see Adam Driver with a script that matches his talent, considering they completely wasted him in Rise of Skywalker. To Zimmerman, this whole operation is just another assignment. He grumbles at Stallworth’s directions not because he’s a black man, but because Zimmerman doesn’t like a rookie telling him how to do his job. And yet, he sticks with it and stands in solidarity with Stallworth. At a certain point, you can see it slowly dawning on the Jewish Zimmerman that he should probably have personal motives for bringing down the KKK. Driver is a Rubik’s Cube of emotions, bringing a complexity to the role that resonates all the more in this day and age.

There are scenes in BlacKkKlansman that strongly evoke recent events. That’s because instances of racism in America are never that far removed from present day, if at all. The question isn’t what we’ll do to finally address this issue as a country, but when.

When will America finally own its racist ways and implement some meaningful change?

A Statement from Flimsy Film Critics

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I vividly recall hearing about the events in Charlottesville back in 2017.

That was the summer of the Unite the Right rally, where white nationalists, neo-Nazis and other various pieces of crap protested the removal of a statue of Robert E. Lee, among other things. Tensions escalated and it ultimately resulted in the murder of Heather Hayer, who was killed when a white supremacist drove his car into a crowd of counter-protesters. I was despondent over how atrocities like this could still take place in America (which was incredibly naive to say the least) and I wound up getting drunk and despaired over the state of our country. This followed a pattern that I established for myself whenever something this awful made headlines in the news: sympathy for the victims from afar, silent support for any movement protesting against racism, but no action taken by myself to try and help be a part of the solution.

Fast forward to today. The murder of George Floyd by Minneapolis police officers sparked nationwide protests against racism and police brutality against black people. These protests seem a little different than others from the past 10 years, as the public outcry has been more vocal and united to address the never-ending issue of systemic racism in the United States. I haven’t personally attended any of the protests. At first, I didn’t really know what the hell to do. Kevin and I weren’t even sure if we should keep posting on this blog, because white guys like us should just be listening and learning right now. Writing about films may be a passion of ours, but it pales in significance to what is happening in our country and what has been happening to black people since well before either of us were born.

However, I also don’t want to revert back into my cycle: outrage at the atrocity and sympathy for the victims, but only silent support from afar. I want to do better this time. And I think the first step towards that, in addition to being willing to listen and learn, is to admit that I’m part of the problem.

Allow me to repeat that: I AM PART OF THE PROBLEM.

I am not a racist, but my white privilege has afforded me the luxury of resuming my normal life after each one of these horrific events. What I didn’t understand before is that falling back into my usual cycle only perpetuates the problem and allows it to continue. To quote The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., “Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people.”

The appalling silence of the good people.

This is not about my guilt or my own inaction. All I really want is to help. There is a problem and I can do more to try and make a difference. I’ll take steps in my own life to learn and educate myself more. And I won’t allow myself to forget this time and blindly retreat back into my comfortable life. But what does that mean for this blog?

What I’d like to do is use the platform that we have to try and elevate films from black directors, black screenwriters and black actors. Shine a spotlight on those who understand what it’s like to be treated differently because of the color of their skin. Sure, we’ll talk about some movies and documentaries that you’ve heard of, but even more important will be to focus on the ones that you haven’t. Those are the voices and the people that need to be heard right now. And it’s not about furthering our own self-interest or about any sort of monetary gain. Truthfully, we’ve never made money off of this blog anyway, but that’s not the point. The goal would be to try and help these stories find a bigger audience. Then it’s up to the rest of us to open our hearts and listen.

That doesn’t mean we’ll never write about other films again. I have no idea when we’ll get back to that, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that there is something terribly wrong with this country.

And we’re going to do what we can to help.