Kim Parker, and all the other "sassy, fat Black friends" who came before her, are there to make us laugh, but not for us to take seriously as characters or human beings. By Sydneysky G. As many of us revisit Moesha on
Dubbing the sudden absence of predatory men as the categorical dimming of some bright, new era rings of a false equivalency for many marginalized viewers.If you have remained plugged into our daily Hollywood news cycle, it might seem as if each day brings a newly exposed sexual predator. While that may sound like hyperbole, the sentiment is actually not that inaccurate: since news of Harvey Weinstein's history of assault broke via major press in early October, dozens of celebrity abusers have been publicly identified by their victims. As an audience, our responses to the steady stream of stories have run the gamut – especially for those of us who have our own experiences with sexual abuse. Though some remain focused on the specific trauma (and to be clear, the well-being of the victims ought to be our collective priority), others have their sights set on the potential aftermath. What does all of this mean for Hollywood and the state of entertainment, in general? As we witness the rightful takedown of critically acclaimed men like Kevin Spacey and Louis C.K., many have wondered how this continued exposure of Hollywood's predatory culture will affect the entertainment landscape, especially within television. Recently, TV critic Ben Travers of IndieWire noted Hollywood's current purge as a mark of permanent change to, in his words, “the new golden age of television.” To his credit, Travers is careful not to cite the onslaught of shamed men as the end of premium entertainment, but rather a potential opportunity for a more inclusive industry. That specific hope echoes those of many BIPOC creators who have been working diligently against the very climate that has systemically boxed them out of opportunities.
Needless to say, we are hella excited for Insecure season three.WARNING — Insecure spoilers ahead By Rachael Edwards HBO’s Insecure wrapped up its sophomoric season last night. Fans are wavering on whether or not the show ended on its best foot. This was a season that was frustrating and made me throw my phone at the end but the season finale tied some loose ends and made us hopeful for the third season of Insecure. Molly navigated the corporate world as a Black woman and discovered she is getting paid (significantly) less than her white colleagues. Office politics can be a touchy subject because its roots run deep into respectability politics. Recall when Molly asked the office assistant in season 1 to tone down her blackness, encouraging her to learn the art of code-switching. Molly quickly learns that code-switching will not save her. It was disappointing to see Molly so out of touch with this reality and wading in respectability-swamps. The implicit biases projected on women of color is a huge part of the reason why Molly is not getting paid at the same rate as her white (men and women) colleagues. Season two of Insecure concluded with Molly putting Dro to the side to focus on her wants and needs. This is what we needed to see and what fans clung onto because stability in Molly’s life was imperative. Watching her get down with her colleague Quentin (Lil Rey Howery) was refreshing, especially since they were not interested in entertaining white people at the firm. Molly had the most interesting storyline this season.
The future is color. When the dominant visual media paradigm is one of hegemonic whiteness, there are a limited number of choices for women of color. Submit yourself to the hegemony and take whatever scraps casting agents, directors, producers throw at