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Blog Post #1

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Blog Post #1 Jordan Peele's Get Out follows the story of Chris, a Black man, who discovers a racially charged, life-threatening secret within his white girlfriend's family, combining horror with sociopolitical analysis. Through Chris's time at her family's manor, Peele navigates viewers through evident themes of social and systemic racism, Black disenfranchisement, and the commodification of Blackness and Black culture. Specifically, the film's portrayal of microaggressions, the constant paranoia and fear Black individuals feel in predominantly white spaces, and the importance of Black solidarity stood out to me most, as these themes repeated in subtle yet evident ways throughout the film. While the film receives widespread praise for its exploration of these themes, it also faces critique for its underdeveloped characters and the simplified portrayal of complex issues of racism. Despite these criticisms, I still think the movie delivers a unique portrayal of Black trauma, using horror to highlight critical social issues and the subtle, yet undeniably present racism that shapes Chris's story in a thought-provoking and original way. Peele explores pervasive microaggressions, the paranoia of Black individuals in predominantly white spaces, and the importance of Black solidarity. From the beginning of the film, Chris encounters various racial microaggressions, ranging from assumptions about athleticism to being objectified and tokenized as the "only Black person" in the space. It is these moments in the film that capture how the discomfort and unease are not just situational but an everyday reality of Black people navigating white-dominated spaces. However, what distinguishes Get Out from typical horror movies is its portrayal of Black solidarity, especially in the film's conclusion, which challenges the recycled white savior trope. Chris's comedic best friend, Rod, plays a vital role in the film's finale when he saves Chris from the Armitage family,

offering a refreshing alternative to the usual horror stereotype where the Black characters are either sidelined or killed off, with white characters stepping in as the hero. Ultimately, Rod's role highlights how essential Black solidarity is, showing that in moments of danger, these bonds' strength can genuinely make a difference. In conclusion, Get Out is significant to the genre of horror, not just for its approach to racial issues but for its bold representation of Blackness in a genre that often sidelines Black characters. While I agree with the critique that some aspects of racism in the film are oversimplified, the movie's clever handling of Black trauma and solidarity still resonates with me. As a middle schooler entering high school, seeing a dark-skinned Black protagonist—along with other dark-skinned Black characters, including the ultimate savior, Rod—was a powerful moment, as it directly challenged the usual narrative where Black characters are either tokenized, marginalized, or killed off in horror films. For me, Get Out will always be a favorite, not just because of its critical commentary but because it shifted the portrayal of Blackness within horror in a meaningful way. Despite any shortcomings, I really appreciate what the movie has done for Black Horror and its lasting impact on conversations about race and representation in film.

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Blog Post #2

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Blog #2 I remember hearing a lot of mixed reviews from the Black community of the movie The Blackening when it first came out. Some people, especially those with a lighter sense of humor, thought it was a funny movie that catered to Black audiences, a nice change as most horror films don't cater to our community. However, many others critiqued its heavy use of stereotypes, emphasizing how they felt it did not offer much outside of jokes about Black culture. Despite all the buzz around the movie, I did not watch it for the first time until this week for class. I thought the movie was funny, and I loved how it was very apparent that it was written by and for Black people. I genuinely found it gratifying to see a film that felt so deeply rooted in Black identity. At the same time, I felt like it was playing into some stereotypical tropes of Blackness and Black people, and it felt a bit much sometimes. Also, as an African, I always feel like the intersectionality of ethnicities foreign to America is often excluded in these spaces (there is this thing among Africans where we can tell what part of Africa other people are from, and I laughed when they called Nnamdi South African because he does not look like it at all - it felt like writers randomly picked out his ethnicity and thrown in there for diversity). It wasn't until we had the class discussion with Dwayne Perkins—who co-wrote and starred in the film—that I began to appreciate the movie on a new level. Perkins explained how he deliberately challenged some stereotypes that are all too common in horror films, particularly regarding Black characters. For instance, although the killers shot arrows at the characters throughout the movie, Perkins made sure that no Black women were shot, only straight Black men. He pointed out that Black women are rarely portrayed as heroes in horror, but in The Blackening, it's the Black women who take charge and save the day, while the cis-straight men are sidelined.

He also mentioned that he wanted to avoid the typical horror movie trope where Black characters are killed off first. In most horror films, it's almost a given that Black characters will be the first to go, and that's something Perkins wanted to avoid in his film. He intentionally chose not to kill off any of the main cast members, which I think was really powerful and added another layer of depth to the film. Looking back, I can see that Perkins wasn't just making a funny movie or playing off stereotypes. He was intentionally flipping the script, challenging the norms we've come to expect from horror films, especially those that feature Black characters. After the discussion and hearing his perspective, I realized that The Blackening is much more thoughtful than I initially gave it credit for.

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Blog Post #3

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The Significance of the Blackening in Black Horror The Blackening is a horror-comedy that brings together a group of Black friends who, while on a getaway, find themselves trapped in a cabin with a killer targeting them. The movie uses comedy to challenge traditional horror tropes involving Black characters, challenging the normalization of sidelining or victimizing Black people in film. Instead of adhering to familiar horror patterns where Black characters fulfill sidelined roles or are the first to die, The Blackening actively contests those narratives while incorporating cultural references that highlight that film’s was BY BLACK PEOPLE and FOR BLACK PEOPLE. The characters face classic horror-movie scenarios while maintaining a self-awareness that emphasizes racial stereotypes they might otherwise represent. When the movie first came out, I noticed people had very mixed reactions to the film; they either really enjoyed it or found it too reliant on stereotypes. I watched it for the first time right around the time we covered it in class, and my first reaction was that it was funny, but I could see why some people thought it leaned heavily on certain narratives around Black people (but then again, it is litteraly called the BLACKening). There were times when the humor played off of recognizable stereotypes, which while humorous, I could see how others might feel the film used them as a shortcut instead of adding depth. However, the comedy felt intentional, as if the movie was both playing to stereotypes and trying to question why they exist in the first place. When Dwayne Perkins, one of the film’s co-stars and co-producers, came to talk to our class, I left the lecture with a much greater appreciation for The Blackening. He shared some fascinating insights into how intentional the him and his team were about breaking horror stereotypes for Black characters. One example he mentioned was making sure the killer never

shot a Black woman, which oppose film’s tendency to victimize Black female characters. Perkins also made it a point to have the Black woman character be the one to save the others, while the cis, straight Black men were fairly unhelpful throughout the film. It honestly felt refreshing to have it acknowledged that Black women rarely get to be the heroes in horror films. However, even after the talk in lecture, I still wish the film had explored more depth in certain areas - especially character development. I think, as an African, I notice that Black films in the U.S. don’t always reflect the diversity within Black communities, and The Blackening didn’t entirely step out of that pattern (for instance, one character is identified as South African, yet he barely claims that identity and doesn’t look South African at all—it’s as if the writers just threw a dart at the continent and chose whichever country it landed in, without much thought or intention). While it was a fun and unique take on horror tropes, I think it would have been even more impactful if it acknowledged a broader range of Black experiences. Regardless, The film’s unique approach establishes it as a classic in Black horror cinema, and it was great to hear Perkins’ own thoughts about his creation.

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Blog Post #4

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When I first watched Us, I was reminded of the contrast between growing up on the South Side of my city and now living in an affluent neighborhood in Westwood. The movie serves as a reminder of the entirely different realities within the same geographical area. Jordan Peele demonstrates this divide between those who have access to resources and those who don’t, mainly through the Tethered, who live in an underground world while the affluent family enjoys their vacation above ground. I really feel this divide in my own life, illustrating the persistent systemic inequities that continue to impact many communities. In Us, the affluent family’s experience is juxtaposed with that of the Tethered, who are deprived of basic needs and rights. This visual separation speaks volumes about class divisions and raises the question: what happens to those left behind when society prioritizes wealth and success? As a Black woman navigating higher education, I’ve seen the barriers that come with socioeconomic disparities. The pressure to succeed often feels overwhelming when the resources available to me and my peers are so limited. Peele’s film captures the everyday struggles that many marginalized communities deal with, highlighting how those in privileged positions often overlook the harsh realities of those beneath them. As the film goes on, the theme of trauma really stands out. The Tethered symbolizes the repressed pain and collective trauma that many individuals carry, and they also reflect the historical injustices faced by African Americans. They remind us just how troubling our pasts really are and how they haunt us, showing how trauma can manifest in our lives in unexpected ways. To me, it felt like Peele used the film to prompt viewers to confront this discomfort, challenging us to recognize that the effects of unresolved trauma linger, impacting our relationships and mental health.

As the characters confront their Tethered counterparts, they realize they can’t escape the pain and suffering that are part of their identities. This struggle reflects a more profound truth: we have to face our traumas if we want to move forward. Us encourages us to engage with our histories and recognize the wounds that influence our lives today. Ultimately, it reminds us that healing isn’t possible without confronting the past. It helps us understand how our struggles are all connected, showing that real progress comes from understanding and addressing the traumas that bind us together as people.

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Blog Post #5

Shadows of the American Dream: Unpacking Class, Identity, and the Tethered in Us Before taking this class, I had never actually seen the film Us, despite the commercial success the movie reached, so I was delighted to find out that the film and themes in it would be a major piece for this course (plus, I love anything Lupita Nyong’o’s is in because of our shared Kenyan ancestry). While I may be shamed for this among the Black community, I am not afraid to admit that it was not until I got older that I really started to appreciate Jordan Peele’s work. When I first watched Get Out as a middle school student, I didn’t fully grasp the layers of social commentary the film portrayed, but over time, I have come to admire how Peele uses horror to explore deeper issues affecting the Black community. His films are not solely for entertainment or thrilling purposes – they are intentional and rich with social commentary and insight into the experience of the Black race, identity, and power, and the movie Us is no exception to this statement. It is a movie of suspense and anticipation, but above all else, Us tackles some issues surrounding how people live in society, who gets to thrive, who gets to thrive, and what it costs to fit in. One of my favorite aspects of the movie is how it deviates from typical portrayals of Blackness and Black families. The story centers on a wealthy, united Black family—Adelaide, her husband Gabe, and their children—living in a predominantly white suburban neighborhood, with a Black woman at the forefront of the narrative, challenging the stereotype of Black families being single-parent, struggling, and dysfunctional. Adelaide’s family literally survives because of their unitedness and refusal to leave anyone behind. The most powerful aspect of the movie to me, however, is its exploration of class and economic hierarchy. Adelaide’s family lives a very affluent life, including a nice house and brand new boat, contrasting vastly from the Tethered, who live underground, away from society in

filth. The Tethered represents marginalized groups and those seen as the “underclass.” In a way, the Tethered’s violence is a symbolic reawakening of the oppressed and the consequences of ignoring them. Peele does a phenomenal job of critiquing how the privileged remain disconnected from the struggles of those less fortunate. It’s a reminder that wealth and success can come with a price, and even the affluent are trapped in a system that ultimately leaves everyone enslaved to the idea of success.

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Blog Post #6

"The Fear of Black Female Sexuality and Performative Pan-Africanism in Abby”

When Abby was assigned in my African American studies class, I honestly thought it would be just another random horror film, but it resonated deeper with me than I expected. Initially, I thought it would be another low-budget horror film, but its exploration of Black female sexuality and Pan-African symbolism resonated with me in a way I had not originally anticipated. In Abby, the main character becomes possessed by a demon who amplifies her sexual desires. Throughout this storyline, the other characters' reactions to her urges reminded me of how  Black women's sexuality is often viewed with fear and misunderstood. It was not until college that I learned about themes of hypersexualization like "Jezebel" or "Mammy" in depth, although the weight has affected me and those around me my whole life. The way society’s discomfort with Black female sexuality shows up in the ongoing effort to control and suppress it, which is reflected throughout the film.

When I think about Megan Thee Stallion and what happened to her in 2020, I see how the same fear of Black women’s sexuality is still very real today. After Megan was shot in 2020, instead of receiving widespread sympathy, she was met with victim-blaming and mockery. The media used her openness about her sexuality as a weapon against her, as if being sexually confident disqualified her from being a victim. Black women are often punished for proudly embracing their bodies and desires, with their confidence interpreted as a lack of respectability, while women of other racial backgrounds expressing similar sexual freedom are celebrated or judged far less harshly. 

In Abby, the main character’s sexual confidence isn’t seen as empowering — it’s portrayed as this dangerous force that messes up her life and those around her. Her possession turns her desires into something uncontrollable and corrupting, suggesting that her sexuality needs to be purged or suppressed. This mirrors real-life situations, like Megan Thee Stallion's experience, where Black women are punished or discredited for their sexual confidence, unlike women of other racial backgrounds who are often celebrated for similar expressions. Both examples reflect society's fear and misunderstanding of Black female sexuality.

While I appreciate the concept of Pan-Africanism and the importance of connecting to one's roots, Abby highlights how these representations can sometimes feel gimmicky and disrespectful. Instead of really researching the different African cultures, a lot of films rely on surface-level symbols and costumes that homogenize the continent. This approach feels like playing dress-up rather than offering a meaningful tribute, and it can reinforce damaging stereotypes. Real Pan-Africanism should involve research and thoughtful representation, honoring the richness and variety of African heritage, rather than using generic symbols that lack authenticity — a problem often seen in Black media depictions like with hoteps.