As one of the most momentous films released since, well, let’s face it, Gone With the Wind, Black Panther has an infinite amount of pressure to stand up to–to prove to all those studios who foolishly refrained from participating in making it that they’d made a huge mistake. And almost immediately Marvel Studios (and its parent company, Walt Disney)–presented with no other choice than to produce and distribute it themselves–proved the value of this story financially, while it was left to Ryan Coogler and Joe Robert Cole to prove it creatively (and furthermore, Kendrick to prove it sonically). Coogler, whose 2013 debut Fruitvale Station, feels like, oddly, a natural progression into Black Panther, which opens in the very place where Oscar Grant met his premature death: Oakland. Set in 1992, the king of Wakanda must come to collect his rogue brother, who feels that the kingdom should use its invaluable resource of vibranium, a multi-faceted metal that powers the technological advancements of the nation, to help prevent those “who look like them” from being mistreated in the world outside. If it smacks vaguely of a combination of The Lion King meets Coming to America, well, that’s because the parallels are real.
But, of course, what would the fist major mainstream action/superhero movie with a primarily black cast be without an underlying and much needed political polemic contained within it to rail against not only longstanding issues of discrimination and turning a blind eye, but also the present reign of terror? The central conflict between estranged cousins N’Jadaka (Michael B. Jordan) an outsider who usurps the throne from the rightful Black Panther, T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman), can’t help but echo shades of having an Obama leader versus a Trump one, whose “heart is too filled with hate to be a king,” as T’Challa’s lead general, Okoye (Danai Gurira), of the Dora Milaje–the government organization comprised of all-female special forces–tells N’Jadaka. The latter’s lust for carrying out a vendetta formed in childhood is rooted in the power Wakanda has to aid their non-Wakandan brethren, but have instead chosen to turn their backs on so as not to let other countries become aware of the powerful resource they’re in possession of. Desiring to outfit all the oppressed peoples of the world with vibranium-fueled weaponry, N’Jadaka’s ascension to the throne is a dangerous one. Yes, much like the Trumpian regime that has completely negated the peaceful and progressive presidency of Obama. Then, of course, the elasticity of morality is omnipresent in the Black Panther narrative, starting with T’Chaka (John Kani) making a decision that aided in the creation of N’Jadaka’s rage, prompting T’Challa to rue, “He’s a monster of our own making” (yes, also just like Trump). The political notes do not merely reach into the thematic bucket of leadership, but also the average government’s view on helping others, with one Wakandan council member commenting, “You bring refugees into the country, you bring their problems with it.”
With regard to the aforementioned forward-thinking in the years from 2008-2016, a female-dominated government, as represented in Black Panther, is made to look rather ideal, for their empathy and open-mindedness would be the closest humanity could achieve to the utopia that even children can no longer imagine thanks to regular school shootings and, if they’re inner city based, like Coogler was, daily visions of violence and crime. And yet, though progress with the representation of women is apparent, it’s not fully realized (it seems to be a rule that a film can’t be so politically progressive as to address two oppressed factions). For instance, why wouldn’t Ramonda (Angela Bassett) have taken over the throne for an interim period in spite of the general misogynistic rule about ascension that is as follows?: “a widowed queen has an important royal position (regardless whether or not she is the mother of the reigning sovereign) but does not normally have any rights to succeed a king as monarch on his death.” To have a female Black Panther would, to be sure, be far too much to bear, but at least the women in the film are portrayed with intelligence, dignity and in no overt need of a man to feel complete or fully satisfied. Scene stealer Letitia Wright as Shuri, the precocious, tech-savvy sixteen-year-old sister of T’Challa, clearly has more interest in ways to improve the technology and defense of the nation than a boyfriend, while T’Challa’s stubborn and willful ex, Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o), can’t be cajoled to come crawling back to him even if he is king now. Other innovations in the realm of standard operating procedure for role portrayal also, naturally, applies to color. As the only non-villainous white man in the film, Everett K. Ross (Martin Freeman), has the unique privilege of serving in a capacity that most black actors have been relegated to in the past: total background.
In this regard, this is a comic book superhero movie that is not about the special effects or the gadgetry so much as the undercurrent of political rage that has been bubbling to the surface since the era of slavery (referred to on a few occasions in the script, particularly when N’Jadaka says, “Just bury me in the ocean. Like my ancestors, I know it’s a fate better than slavery.”). The digs at the white man aren’t without their biting humor as well, like when Shuri says to Everett, “Don’t scare me like that colonizer!” or “Another broken white boy to fix.” That unwitting white men themselves will have to be subjected to these jibes as a result to their susceptibility to Marvel’s universe (thanks Stan Lee, who also cameos) can’t help but bring a smile to one’s face. For it’s probably the only way they might actually listen with an open mind to a problem that boils down to just what T’Challa says, “We must find a way to look after each other, as if we were one single tribe.”
In a somewhat full circle nod, the plans for making Black Panther first originated in 1992–the start year of the film’s narrative–when Wesley Snipes first expressed an interest in developing and starring in the project, remarking, “I think Black Panther spoke to me because he was noble, and he was the antithesis of the stereotypes presented and portrayed about Africans, African history and the great kingdoms of Africa.” That this film has at last been made feels like a benchmark in the direction cinema must take to stay relevant–and profitable.
Both iterations of Black Panther–comic and radical organization (again, it goes back to Oakland as that’s where the latter was founded)–were formed in 1966, which seems like more than just a happy coincidence. It’s also no great symbolism that Wakanda is a nation naturally presumed to be a Third World country by outsiders all too ready to accept the lie that this “race” is expected to be inferior. But like Black Panther itself, those underestimated often tend to surprise–with a very remarkable vengeance.
