If you haven’t seen this movie. Watch it. Now. RIGHT NOW! #BlackActorsMatter
Spike Lee has accused Clint Eastwood of overlooking the experiences of Black GI’s. I agree, so as only Spike Lee can he told the story of 5 Vietnam Vets. Deleroy Lindo would be great reading labels in Target. His performance took up the entire scene wherever he was. But the thing is this. His performance was only overshadowed by Chadwick Boseman’s.
Every time he was on screen, there was this quiet strength he exuded, and it made me forget for two hours that he was gone. It made me forget the pain in the back of my heart that mourns This King.
There is this element to art that is intangible. That is definitive and irreplaceable. You cannot teach presence, dear ones. That is something you either have or you will never possess! Chadwick Aaron Boseman had presence. The magic he had along with other other cast members whom made up the ‘Bloods’ let me know just how amazing he was…and would have been(!) if given more time.
Ah, always more time. Death is thief, coward and robber! It took Chadwick in the prime of his life, and left us thinking and wanting and waiting for more of what he would have done. Should have done! And when I got to end of the movie? I had to fight back a howl that was ancestral and primal, indicative of pain only mothers know. I had never felt so cheated out of watching an artist! We were robbed, y’all! Robbed!
I know there are those whom will think that this may be emotional, but I don’t care! There is not enough credence given to Black actors and artists! There just isn’t! There is a need to foster Black actors like never before. In the age of Issa Rae’s and Will Packards, there is a need to continue to support and put on those who come after us, and even are working along side us!
The life and breadth of the work of Black actors is invaluable! And when a Black actor dies, and you are a part of this guild of artists, it is a death in the family! There is a void that no one else can fill! Unless you are an artist, you cannot understand what we as a culture just lost…and what we have.
Whenever we miss Chad–I think we can start calling him that again, we family now–we can just hit play, or scroll through streaming services to find him.
Death is coward, thief and a robber. Yet, we have memories. We have stories. Maybe, the justice to be found in loss, is that nothing is truly lost is one remembers.
We all remember, Chad. We are not scared to remember him.
Besides, who can bury a King? Not nobody.
[image from Netflix.com]