The only black guy at the movies

Movies have always been or designed to be a communal experience, however, from my experiences, that only seems to be the case for certain titles when you’re a cinephile, who happens to be Black. I mean, sure, films like Black Panther, Get Out or anything with Kevin Hart in it is going to bring out the masses in all shapes, sizes and colors of the diaspora. However, it’s the other kind of flicks where I’m often alone and by alone I mean...being the only black guy in the theater.

Two of my most recent trips to the thee-ah-tah( forgive me I just felt like pronouncing that in the voice of Alfred Hitchcock) I checked out Frankenstein, directed by Guillermo Del Toro and Bugonia, the latest installment of what’s become one of cinema’s most wonderful creative collaborations, directed by Yargos Lanthimos and starring Emma Stone. Thoroughly excited, as I usually am when walking into a movie theater, I plop down into my cozy leather lazy boy chair and get acquainted with my row, analyzing it meticulously with the hopes of seeing a slew of Air Jordans and Timbs, reclining simultaneously, but to no avail. As the lights begin to dim, I couldn’t help but think to myself…”n*&@$ don’t fuck with Frankenstein?!”

Why is that?!

Over the past few years, I really began to ponder why moments like these seem to be so prominent. Then I thought about my peer group - the Black ones at least - who aren’t filmmakers and/or cinephiles and reflected upon their reactions when I’d express to them my excitement about viewing one of the latest films by one of my favorite auteurs and their consistent response, accompanied by a blank stare, would be…”who da fuck is dat?!” which would cause me to avert the conversation altogether with the common banter of "Did you see the game last night?' And while watching sports is a deep passion of mine it isn't always a topic I care to pontificate on, however, movies are. I truly believe that once film criticism became a necessary organism of the cinematic universe, pretentiousness was inevitable which, I believe, simultaneously, turned off the Black community in general. Although Siskel and Ebert were a phenomenon that was catapulted into the mainstream, they were an anomaly for the most part and it was a show I don't ever recall my parents nor peers watching. Plus, most of their reviews that I've either read or seen occurred as an adult which then lead me to my next question:

"Why do I care?!"

Maybe the critically acclaimed, auteur-driven flicks I genuflect upon aren't as good as the predominately white media say they are. Are those kinds of things made for a certain few?

However, as the last trailer was ending, right before Frankenstein was about to start...a well proportioned Black woman wearing glasses, sans Timbs and Jordans, plopped down into the lazy boy chair next to mine. Immediately, my eyes popped open with a glimmer of hope. Quickly, I extended my fist towards hers and said..."glad I ain't the only here." We shared a quick laugh then directed our eyes towards the silver screen as the movie began. Two and half hours later, the movie was over and as I made my exit, the angst and frustration that lead me towards my initial pessimistic views of my people's disregard for auteur driven, "high art" cinema, had just gotten a bit more optimistic. It was now apparent that while some N*&@$ do fuck with Frankenstein they're not as many as I'd like there to be.

I finally concluded that while I'm powerless in dictating Black people's viewing tastes - the best thing I can do, as corny as it may sound - is to be the change I want to see in the world. And the only way to do that is to continue to write, direct, produce and edit the movies that I'd like to see and maybe, just maybe, it'll attract and/or generate a group of cinephiles who, from time to time, throw on a pair of Jordans or Timbs while watching an "art film."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to check out Josh Safdie's 'Marty Supreme.'