A culture rarely seen in mainstream television, it’s not that Black Britishness (and the specificity of being a Black Londoner) assists in telling the story, nor is it that Black Britishness is its own character within the story. It is less of a lens and more of a feeling that coats the chords of the show. It would be easy to call this Black Britishness a “lens,” but “lens” is clinical and anthropological - “lens” is external and removable. Scenes are soundtracked with musicians like Ramz (South London), Little Simz (North London), Jean Deaux (Chicago), voices and accents slip and slide from West African to American to Jamaican, twangs and tones shifting with moods, with words, and with intentions. Blackness as a whole, but also Blackness as many cultures, multiple voices. Sexual politics as a whole, but also sexual politics as a straight Black woman, as a gay Black man. In a time when many Black people around the world are standing together in solidarity whilst fighting their own specific battles against racism, the distinct ability of I May Destroy You to portray the universal without negating cultural nuance rings particularly powerful. The story is told through our tongue, spliced from many. Sophisticatedly woven themes of consent, sexual politics, and social media’s power to amplify, soothe, and subsume are not presented within a neutral vacuum, but rather within a specifically Black British sphere. This is because the texture of I May Destroy You - a complex tessellation of contradictions, layered convergences, and multiple conclusions - is hinged on Black Britishness. It’s perhaps an easy mistake to make however, the inaccurate reading slightly undercut the tension of the moment, mitigating the emotional beat. When the episode aired on the BBC earlier this summer, the subtitles translated the Black Brit slang word of rah to raw. “Rah,” she says, and the average Black Brit feels that shit in their gut. “Rah,” she says, and it’s a prelude to an emotional explosion, a raucous reckoning of the fact that this man is a terrible person, a cruel coward. “Rah,” she says, and it’s an acknowledgement of deep, confused hurt. “Rah,” she says, and it is a declaration of shock. And, as if this is not enough, she chases it with “Rah.” “Wow,” she says, in a moment of quiet, stunned realisation. In response, she jolts, physically rocked by his rejection. When she sheepishly states that she has left her passport in his apartment, he wordlessly, coldly slides it to her beneath his door. Ignoring what is clearly a cry for help, Biagio has rejected Arabella’s impulsive visit and manipulatively locked her out of his home. She is frustrated, she is humiliated, and her heart has - not to make a finer point of it - been shat on. In the eighth episode of Michaela Coel’s searing drama, I May Destroy You, our funny, layered, and hurting protagonist Arabella bangs against the door of her errant, on-again-mostly-off-again Italian lover Biagio.
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