Did you know that Samuel L Jackson and Yaphet Kotto have each died eight times on the big screen? Unlucky Keith David has perished thirteen times, and the Candyman himself, Tony Todd, has met his maker an incredible twenty-four times. Even film royalty like Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman has shuffled off this mortal coil sixteen and eighteen times respectively.
Of all these deaths, Yaphet Kotto as Parker in Alien, the intelligent, sarcastic, and resourceful chief engineer is the most heart-breaking in its display of humanity when the corporation renders the crew expendable, ultimately sacrificing himself to save his crew mate, Lambert, a white woman.
We don’t see Keith David’s demise as Childs in The Thing, but when he is face to face with Kurt Russell’s MacReady, he refuses to be sidelined as just a black sidekick, doomed to meet a heroic death defending his white partner/master. Childs emerges as a credible alternative to MacReady’s leadership, a forerunner of characters later played by Denzel Washington, Will Smith, Jamie Foxx, and Chadwick Boseman.
Their collective on-screen deaths, when added to countless others by black actors over the decades, have more than earned The Blackening’s ingenious tagline, “We can’t all die first.” Director Tim Story’s whip smart commentary on horror movie tropes and the exploration (and exploitation) of blackness, from his excellent all-black ensemble cast, pays overt homage and direct references to 90s and 00s franchises like Scream and Saw, whist acknowledging the elevated horror and blunt film titles of Jordan Peele’s first three movies, Get Out, Us and Nope, and sharing the space of its contemporary Bodies, Bodies, Bodies with its critique of Gen Z and therapy speak.
In the doublespeak, post-truth, Trumpian America that doesn’t just defy satire, it obliterates the very concept, The Blackening, like Odysseus, successfully navigates potentially dangerous waters by being funny without sinking into a full-blown spoof like Scary Movie whilst retaining the ability to create its own shock and gore. The cold open features Morgan and Shawn setting up Juneteenth celebrations in an isolated cabin for their old friends from college. They discover a board game called “The Blackening” clearly designed by racists, or maybe by some of the those, “very fine people on both sides” as Trump thought of the white nationalists at Charlottesville. Once they play, the stalking and slashing starts.
When the rest of the friends arrive, it’s safe to say that Morgan and Shawn are off the board. It doesn’t take long for petty jealousies and character stereotypes to develop before the familiar college and black tropes are challenged, recycled, debunked, and sometimes reinforced. Lisa, her gay best friend Dewayne, and her unfaithful ex, Nnamdi have an intricate, deftly drawn relationship. Clifton, the Trump-voting uber-nerd and the no-nonsense Shanika provide the broadest laughs, whereas ex-gangster King is regularly rinsed for marrying a white woman. Allison, the sole biracial friend of the group, is often the conduit through which blackness is discussed.
The sharp interaction between the group is thought provoking and often very funny. A running gag about each character not letting on that they have seen every episode of Friends is hilarious. That well-worn tradition of black audiences haranguing characters in horror movies for their dumb moves is well served though their constant meta bickering, looking for the fuse box, splitting up, and being forced to play “The Blackening” because their lives depend on it. Through these decisions, Tim Story brilliantly highlights how black people ultimately still must conform to the rules of white America’s version of blackness and the insidious way this infects an individual’s view of themselves as black people in America.
Ultimately the constant bickering and sniping never erupt into full blown civil war and the group’s unity is what gives them strength, reminiscent of George A. Romero’s underrated Diary of the Dead, where the most successful and organised band of survivors are predominantly black. Duane Jones’ callous and horrific death as Ben in Night of the Living Dead at the hands of the police is also broadly referenced and played for laughs rather than the crushing nihilism of Romero’s masterpiece.
Ben’s death comes when has served his purpose trying to save the (often ungrateful and prejudiced) white people he finds himself shacked up with when the zombies attack. In The Blackening, the survivors decide to call the fire brigade rather than the police with slapstick results, still making the point that innocent citizens are still targets for institutional racism 55 years later.