Dear Zoe,
Back in March I wrote this post about your casting in Nina Simone’s biopic. I don’t think you saw it because in your latest interview with Allure in response to the backlash you faced, you’re doubling down and claiming “We fucking won.” You even go as far as to say “For so many years, nobody knew who the fuck she [Nina Simone] was.”
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I still remember when Taylor Swift centred herself in Nicki Minaj's discourse around black womanhood, swiftly becoming the poster girl for white feminism's lack of intersectionality. The young woman is problematic at the best of times but I'm a fan of the evolution of critical thinking especially in young women mostly cos I am one and I too am experiencing a revolution. I digress.
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The BBC has ruined #HoodDocumentary!
#HoodDocumentary was better when it was independent!
What are we going to do to improve #HoodDocumentary?
The negative discourse surrounding BBC’s acquisition of the popular YouTube series #HoodDocumentary is tiring to read. The accusations levelled against Kayode Ewumi and co-creator of #HoodDocumentary Tyrell Williams that the show has become less authentic now that it lives on BBC 3’s new online platform seems at odds with the fact that both Ewumi and Tyrell have remained in creative control of the show despite its move under the British broadcaster’s banner.
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Before her son was dragged by Harambe, the silverback gorilla in an enclosure at Cincinnati Zoo, Michelle Gregg was just a mother of four taking her children for a day out. Now? Gregg and her partner Deonne Dickerson have been accused of criminal negligence. Dry head Laura Collins wrote an article for (*sigh*) The Daily Mail with a headline so egregious as to be laughable reading “Father of boy who fell into gorilla’s enclosure has a lengthy criminal history.” As if his past transgressions, crimes for which he paid his debt to society, explain why his child wandered off and was able to climb into a gorilla enclosure. Enclosure. ENCLOSURE. It’s supposed to be closed, the clue is right there in the name.
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I am a survivor of domestic violence. When I was 15 years old, I testified against our abuser via video link in Southwark Crown Court. His defence lawyer made it known he thought I was little more than a talented actress who had concocted an elaborate tale of abuse and violence in order to wring money from a poor, embattled man. Despite having just played a recording of my frantic 999 call to the court where I screamed, cried and begged for help as our lives were threatened by a man wielding a knife, his lawyer somehow spun it. I was a delusional teenager whose love of film and TV had warped my sense of reality. We were devious, treacherous women who had lied and manipulated to get this innocent, kind, benevolent man arrested, get his money and get him out of our lives.
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Viewers of Britain's Got Talent are calling for Alesha Dixon to be fired from her position as a judge because she described an act in the semi-finals of the ITV competition reality show as "chocolate men."
LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL
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It hurts. Ending a project when you feel there is so much left to say and so much left to achieve. I have won awards and travelled abroad promoting Dear Jesus, but I can’t eat awards. I can’t take my Screen Nation Award to the corner shop and use it to top up my Oyster Card. And whose fault is that? Who is to blame for the fact that so far while producing my web series, I have not made a return on my financial investments? I cannot blame any one of the systems of oppression set up to work against my efforts- I mean look at the examples creatives out there who are using social media platforms to transform their lives and achieve their dreams. Despite the odds, they have achieved greatness. The blame must then lie at my feet. I mean why else would a series that has starred 63 actors, spanned 6 seasons, comprising of 42 episodes fail to garner mainstream attention? It can’t be the content. It must be me. I am the problem. I don’t have the business acumen, the connections, the know-how to make this work.
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When my big brother shared Azealia Banks' interview on Hot 97 in the video below, I cried. Banks clearly articulated the pain felt by black creatives when their art is misappropriated by white people who they then must watch become wealthy while they languish, be awarded while they are left empty handed. It was decided, I would conjure my Black Girl Magic to rally around Banks and ignore the problematic points in her argument (is she shedding tears for Bill Cosby?) because I cape hard for black women. I cape especially hard for NW45, Deep Dark outspoken, women artists. Skip to the 7:52 mark to hear the discussion pertaining to the effects of cultural misappropriation in hip hop and rap music.
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What a great week it has been for the representation of people of colour in cinema both behind and in front of the camera. First came the announcement of the stunning casting of Lupita Nyong'o and Michael B Jordan opposite Chadwick Boseman in Ryan Coogler's Black Panther, then came the release of the trailer for Mira Nair's Queen of Katwe.
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It hit me like a tonne of bricks on Friday afternoon when my team and I were drinking in the office- R.Kelly is a pedophile. I mean, we've known for years, but it really hit me- wow, this man has been targeting underage girls for sex with impunity for years. Not only is he a pedophile, one of the most heinous criminal acts known to man, but he has had fans of his music to conspire willingly with him to masks his crimes behind his musical genius. He has been telling us for close to two decades now "This is the Pied Piper of R&B." And we've been repeating it in the clubs, in the car, in the shower, I bet you said it in your head in his voice. It's sick. It's scary. Do you know how brazen it is to tell people what you are in your songs? When my good friend Genna reminded me of the etymology of the name the Pied Piper, citing it as the reason she didn't want to hear Back & Forth in the office, I felt sick.
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I come to this post not as a member of the Beyhive but as a young critical thinker questioning the validity of the charges levied against Beyonce by bell hooks in her latest essay "Moving Beyond Pain" . Here my fantasism for Knowles-Carter and deep seated respect for hooks are in violent collision because while hooks taught me about the political and historical implications of my hair and my complexion, Beyonce has taught me how to operate as a black woman in this creative, capitalist industry. Both of these women are feminists, both are important to me but in this instance bell hooks' unrelenting, militant stance of undermining Beyonce's feminism finds itself akin to Piers Morgan's delirious reading of Lemonade.
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Dear Angela,
In the minds of those who violently uphold patriarchy Rob Kardashian has turned you from a hoe to a housewife. So acute is their misogyny that they have conjoured up a myth where Rob found you hoe’ing on Hoe Boulevard and liberated you, removing your shackles of Hoeness, elevating you to Housewife status. However, the truth is that you found Rob abandoned, put some loving on him, gave him the care and attention he was so desperately seeking turning his life around. I’m happy for you, I believe you’re in love and I wish nothing but goodness for you and your pregnancy.
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I'm standing at the Baskin & Robbin counter trying to stop tears falling from my eyes as I tell the man serving me when I say "extra caramel" I mean EXTRA caramel! A few hours before I arrived at the o2 to watch the Captain America trilogy I received a rejection email from a job I really wanted. If they could have run a line into my arm and pumped caramel directly into my blood even then I might have been happy. I didn't even want to be at the cinema! I wanted to be sobbing uncontrollably into my mother's bosom. But come on! It's Chris Evans in close fitting clothes for over 400 minutes. There's no reason to miss that.
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“Di man who shit ina bush na remember, but di man who step ina it will.” quipped my mum when I called to tell her about the bombs Michaela Coel dropped today in these Twitter streets. See, my mum and I often call each other to share encouraging stories of black womanhood. And this is right here? This is a story black women will be sharing amongst each other for years to come.
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Since the announcement last weekend, I’ve been in formation along with the rest of the BeyHive in preparation for the Lemonade World Premiere on HBO. I wore my Ivy Park all day and got my soul ready to have my edges peeled clean off by the only Queen I acknowledge. Alas this was never meant to be because when HBO announces a World Premiere Event, what they really mean is an American Premiere. You know, cos the whole world lives in America. Instead of getting my life, I spent half an hour crying hysterically while trying and failing to find a link that worked then settled on watching the Beyonce’s art on Periscope. Watching Lemonade on Periscope was akin to watching it on a Nokia 5110. It was the most unpleasant Beyonce experience I’ve ever had and it’s not Beyonce’s fault (could it ever be?) I rest sole responsibility at the feet of HBO and International Broadcasting in general.
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I'm tired of this seemingly never-ending cycle of outrage I find myself in whereby I am appalled by acts of political and creative unkindness then spend time articulating and analysing my feelings. Today I want to talk about me. I turn 27 years old in a couple of weeks, the same age my mother was when she gave birth to my big head. While children and a family are not currently on my horizon, my career is. A career in television as a writer that I didn’t know I could have and there are things I wish a younger me would have known. I share these realisations with you in the hope they will help you feel as good about your journey as they have made me feel about mine.
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I recently wrote about my exhaustion at the sufferation narrative surrounding the roles black women play on screen. With the exception of Whoppi Goldberg and Jennifer Hudson, every single Academy Award won by a black actress has been for roles as slaves, maids or waitresses. My lamentations flew out the window when an invite to The Maids was extended to me. Starring double Emmy Award Winning Uzo Aduba (Orange Is The New Black), Zawe Ashton (Fresh Meat, Misfits) and Laura Carmichael (Downton Abbey), The Maids is the critically acclaimed play now running until May 21st at The Trafalgar Studios. However, my lamentations returned after the excitement of seeing Uzo Aduba, long the object of my affection, wore off. “The Maids” isn’t a euphemism for something else, I realised 20 minutes into the play, these women are actually maids. This is what I get for only going to see things based on the stars and shiny posters.
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I got 500 words into the first draft of this when I realised I wasn’t getting to the point; I’m tired of seeing black women suffer on TV and in film. All good characters have to go through some sort of hell to overcome and conquer in the end but the hell black women traverse on screen feels a little more fiery, a little more brimstoney than the hell reserved for other women.
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THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS. Dont' get lost in the sauce and try to blame me.
The dust had well and truly settled on the Batman franchise when the reigns were handed over to Christopher Nolan and Batman Begins was released in 2005. George Clooney’s 1997 Batman & Robin was a journey into Gotham most people wanted to forget. Except me. I do not hold that film in as much contempt as others, I was 8 year old at the time of its release and I wanted to be BatGirl, are you nuts? Furthermore, I wanted to be Poison Ivy too! That film was camp fun and it is such a shame it was also the ruiner of many a career (pours out liqour for Alicia Silverstone and Chris O’Donnell’s silver screen ambitions). I digress.
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It’s Easter time around the world and homes across the land are overflowing with colourful foil wrappers discarded in order to get to the hollow chocolaty goodness inside. Ressurrection Sunday is a time of great celebration for Catholics and Protestants a like. Come on! Christ’s resurrection is the original Super Hero story. Jesus was betrayed by his friends, crucified and rose from the dead
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