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Ryan Hill (152 KP) rated Black Panther (2018) in Movies
May 11, 2019
"Bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from the ships, 'cause they knew death was better than bondage"
Full of life, joy, sorrow, and hilarity; Ryan Coogler's Black Panther just has a vibrancy you rarely find in the superhero scene, let alone blockbusters. Enriched with a deep, abiding love for African culture and Afrofuturism; the movie just feels purposeful. Important. Meaningful. Context matters here, as Black Panther will become one of very few films populated by African Americans not dealing with slavery or black history to thrive financially. And that cast is phenomenal. Boseman's soft-spoken panther-of-few-words is the rare MCUer to opt for a moment of silence rather than a snarky comment. Michael B Jordan brings an unmistakable swagger to the perpetually weak slate of Marvel villains, conveying a crushingly sad and challenging story that could just as easily be regarded as the true hero of the film. Letitia Wright as the genius tech maestro was a blast, a character who could give Tony Stark a run for his money both technologically and charismatically. And these are just three of Coogler's creations; drawn from a slate of inspired, unique and wonderfully represented roles for black actors...many of whom will deservingly use this as a career springboard of sorts.
I remember years ago I read a book about the cultural significance of various comic book locales, and the Wakanda entry struck me as uniquely sad and inspiring. Wakanda, a place busting with innovation, tradition, and pride...hidden from the world. Sort of an alternate-timeline Africa which wasn't poisoned irreparably by colonialism and all its horrors. There's a sad duality obvious in this Wakanda, that being for it to exist, it must be hidden. Must be quietly nurtured, developed and treasured. It's an apt metaphor in relation to black pride, culture, and history; something constantly being reworked, reshaped and reimagined to put a sordid past (and present) in the rear-view mirror by those who perpetrate it, knowingly or not. This idea, that for something to thrive it must be isolated, is at the heart of Black Panther. You can understand why T'Challa, and generations before him, sacrificed anything to preserve the myth of Wakanda. But you can also understand Killmonger's feeling of betrayal. The profound moral objections inherent in a small community turning it's back on a larger suffering population in the name of self-preservation. There's no heroes and villains when Black Panther is at it's best, just two sides to a terrifying moral question *loaded* with historical weight.
Because Killmonger isn't really a villain. The best illustration of this is the contrasting "dream" sequences, in which T'Challa shares a promise with his father within a transcendentally beautiful African landscape, and Killmonger is confronted by all his pain, suffering and moral rigidity in the vast concrete jungle of Oakland, in the tiny apartment where his father was murdered for trying to make a difference. They both wake up with tears in their eyes, some from pain and some from catharsis. Coogler marks the chasm between T'Challa's and Killmonger's pasts so perfectly, and illustrates exactly why they feel the way they do with such wisdom. Black Panther so clearly empathizes with Killmonger and understands where his pain was born, and the horrors that nurtured it.
And so there's no hero and no villain to this movie. Just two men in nearly identical black panther suits, clashing over how Wakanda ought to venture into a new era. Nobility and passion, conservation and sacrifice, incremental change against a vengeful redistribution of power and oppression. Both men are correct in their aspirations, being "right" here doesn't matter. it's tough for a good man to be king. Killmonger made T'Challa the hero he is, by instilling in him a mission, a perceived duty to turn around, face an oppressed people and finally lend a hand. But more than that, there's something miraculous here. An apology from a good man. A recognition of a sin even when it's perpetrator was, until now, helpless to prevent it. A declaration that not contributing to hate and prejudice doesn't equate to actively working to prevent it. A plea for a humble brand of superheroism, for countless ghosts of the past to be heard and change to erupt in their name. Divides to be bridged, chasms to be crossed and wrongs to be righted.
Black Panther has a complex, meaningful and profoundly challenging thematic framework; offering a fresh dissection of what it means to grapple with the sins of those who came before. Sure, there are some technical issues along the way, the machinations of Marvel storytelling are evident and errors could be found; but if you understand that superhero stories were meant to ask these sorts of questions and push boundaries since their inception; Black Panther is a dream.
I remember years ago I read a book about the cultural significance of various comic book locales, and the Wakanda entry struck me as uniquely sad and inspiring. Wakanda, a place busting with innovation, tradition, and pride...hidden from the world. Sort of an alternate-timeline Africa which wasn't poisoned irreparably by colonialism and all its horrors. There's a sad duality obvious in this Wakanda, that being for it to exist, it must be hidden. Must be quietly nurtured, developed and treasured. It's an apt metaphor in relation to black pride, culture, and history; something constantly being reworked, reshaped and reimagined to put a sordid past (and present) in the rear-view mirror by those who perpetrate it, knowingly or not. This idea, that for something to thrive it must be isolated, is at the heart of Black Panther. You can understand why T'Challa, and generations before him, sacrificed anything to preserve the myth of Wakanda. But you can also understand Killmonger's feeling of betrayal. The profound moral objections inherent in a small community turning it's back on a larger suffering population in the name of self-preservation. There's no heroes and villains when Black Panther is at it's best, just two sides to a terrifying moral question *loaded* with historical weight.
Because Killmonger isn't really a villain. The best illustration of this is the contrasting "dream" sequences, in which T'Challa shares a promise with his father within a transcendentally beautiful African landscape, and Killmonger is confronted by all his pain, suffering and moral rigidity in the vast concrete jungle of Oakland, in the tiny apartment where his father was murdered for trying to make a difference. They both wake up with tears in their eyes, some from pain and some from catharsis. Coogler marks the chasm between T'Challa's and Killmonger's pasts so perfectly, and illustrates exactly why they feel the way they do with such wisdom. Black Panther so clearly empathizes with Killmonger and understands where his pain was born, and the horrors that nurtured it.
And so there's no hero and no villain to this movie. Just two men in nearly identical black panther suits, clashing over how Wakanda ought to venture into a new era. Nobility and passion, conservation and sacrifice, incremental change against a vengeful redistribution of power and oppression. Both men are correct in their aspirations, being "right" here doesn't matter. it's tough for a good man to be king. Killmonger made T'Challa the hero he is, by instilling in him a mission, a perceived duty to turn around, face an oppressed people and finally lend a hand. But more than that, there's something miraculous here. An apology from a good man. A recognition of a sin even when it's perpetrator was, until now, helpless to prevent it. A declaration that not contributing to hate and prejudice doesn't equate to actively working to prevent it. A plea for a humble brand of superheroism, for countless ghosts of the past to be heard and change to erupt in their name. Divides to be bridged, chasms to be crossed and wrongs to be righted.
Black Panther has a complex, meaningful and profoundly challenging thematic framework; offering a fresh dissection of what it means to grapple with the sins of those who came before. Sure, there are some technical issues along the way, the machinations of Marvel storytelling are evident and errors could be found; but if you understand that superhero stories were meant to ask these sorts of questions and push boundaries since their inception; Black Panther is a dream.