What does it mean to be the “Blackest”? Does it have to do with the pigment of your skin, or something deeper? That question is central to The Blackening, the new film directed and co-written by Tim Story, who is best known for Barbershop and Girls Trip. Now those films should be an indication that Story does not take his film’s central question too seriously, and would be the first to admit it is impossible to answer. That is precisely the point, so along with co-writer Dewayne Perkins, Story constructs a horror comedy that is purposely light on scares. His film is more about how acknowledgment – a shared understanding over identity and culture – can be a rich source of humor. White people will not get all the references in this film, but if they see it with a crowd of the intended audience, they will see how acknowledgement, a kind of shibboleth, can lead to roaring laughter. Story knows how to play a crowd, and almost from the get-go he has them in the palm of his hand.
Like Get Out and Scream, Story opens with a prologue that sets up the central conflict. Morgan (Yvonne Orji) and her boyfriend Shawn (Jay Pharoah) have booked a weekend getaway in the woods, a Juneteenth celebration for their best friends from college (all of whom are Black). Like any proper Airbnb renters, their first impulse is to snoop around a little, so they find a green door marked “Game Room.” There is a game there called “The Blackening,” with a racist Sambo face dominating the board. A voice instructs them to play the game, a series of trivia questions about Black culture that are a pretense for a mysterious man in a mask to stalk and torture the hapless guests with a crossbow. The couple do not survive the game, and when the remaining guests arrive, they figure Morgan and Shawn just went out shopping or whatever. Of course, the other guests also find The Blackening board, then the real game begins.
All these friends are keenly aware of how Black people fit into horror cliches. There is a moment where Allison (Grace Byers) suggests everyone splits up, and her body contorts with displeasure at the very idea of it. But before all that, Story and Perkins have a shrewd opening act that define all the main characters through simple, distinct qualities. Perkins plays Dewayne, a fast-talking gay man with a penchant for casual drug use, for example, while King (Melvin Gregg) struggles with his “gangster” credibility because he married a white woman. Allison gets teased for having a white father, while Nnamdi (Sinqua Walls) is an early candidate for the “most Black” because he is from Africa. All these qualities are a canny way for the characters to riff on their differences, and the tension of The Blackening is how casual or cutting the commentary can be.
The Blackening may have the contours of a horror movie, although Story and his editor Peter S. Elliot keep it light by relying on our innate understanding of horror film grammar. Scenes have an escalation of tension, followed by an immediate release, although the length and framing of shots are set up so that even horror newbies can see the jump scares a mile away. Story also shies away from gross-out humor, except during key moments where it has the greatest effect (one gag in particular is going to make audiences laugh or groan, depending on how they feel about bodily fluids). Suffice to say, on the spectrum of horror and comedy, this is firmly in the “comedy” camp: slightly more serious than the Scary Movie series, but as much as you might think.
What keeps the film from devolving into a full-on parody is the strength of the performances, and the not-so-subtle exploration of identity. All the characters have quirks that help them fit into their community, and other quirks that make them feel alienated by it. This is most clear with Clifton (Jermaine Fowler), a self-described “Carlton” who goes through his “not Black enough” bonafides with a mix of defiance and embarrassment. This is a stark contrast to Lisa (Antoinette Robertson) and Shanika (X Mayo), who lean into their Blackness as a way to find confidence through their terror. At times, the film unfolds in such a way that the threat of death, either through traps or stalkers in the night, are secondary to countless riffs on the same topic of conversation. The light exploration of identity ultimately serves as a sneaky way of adding significance. If audiences are laughing along with the characters, they are hipper to the corresponding subtext.
At one point during The Blackening, the killer asks the characters to sing a verse from “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” The characters protest, saying no one could remember all the verses, then finally a character looks within themselves to find the lyrics – while everyone else looks agog. It is a funny moment, and a memorable one at the screening I attended because, along with the character, several voices in the theater joined them for an impromptu sing-along. It was an elegant summary of the infectious sense of joy the film brings: not everyone has the same signifiers that helps them find a sense of community, but anyone who is a member can always find something.
Photo courtesy of Lionsgate
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