New Black-led shows are popping up. But they aren’t solving TV’s problems
By Leah Asmelash, CNN
(CNN) — Mel is a bit of a mess.
There are rats in her apartment. She hates her job, and still longs for her ex, who’s also her boss. To top it off, she’s broke and to make ends meet, dabbles in identity theft.
And still, Natasha Rothwell’s character in her new show “How to Die Alone,” which wrapped up its first season run on Hulu this week, is relatable. She’s a plus-size Black woman who is trying her best, searching for love and fulfillment. We’ve all been there.
“How to Die Alone” is the brainchild of Rothwell, who’s also the co-showrunner and executive producer. An alum of the hit HBO hit comedy “Insecure,” Rothwell stood out for her scene-stealing one-liners — look up “growth” in any gif search, and her face appears, mouthing “You know what that is?” (HBO, Max and CNN share parent company Warner Bros. Discovery.)
“How to Die Alone” is new, but it’s part of a recent batch of Black-led drama-comedies popping up across the small screen. Alongside other new offerings like Netflix’s “Survival of the Thickest” and “The Vince Staples Show,” Hulu’s adaptation of “Queenie,” and other shows over the last handful of years, this era of television has been dubbed a renaissance of Black TV, calling to mind the heydays of the 1980s and 1990s.
But while more voices, like Rothwell’s, are finally getting their time in the spotlight, the industry is still largely playing it safe.
“Still, in some ways,” said Aisha Durham, who studies Black popular culture at the University of South Florida, “we are asking the question: Will White people like it?”
Streaming and broadcast have different business models, which means different types of shows
It’s true that Black-led shows have become more common on digital platforms, particularly as streaming companies work to fill dedicated content buckets on their services, said Naeemah Clark, a professor of cinema and television arts at Elon University in North Carolina.
Unlike broadcast television, which makes money by appealing to the most amount of eyes possible, streaming services aim for content that fills a specific niche, Clark said. So if a user is really into, say, stories about a down-on-her-luck Black woman trying to make ends meet, the platform will have a range of shows or movies that scratch that itch. (See: The aforementioned “Insecure,” “Queenie,” “Survival of the Thickest” and of course, “How to Die Alone” — all unique in their approaches to a similar trope).
This moment is spurred by the previous success of other Black creators and Black-led shows. Writers and showrunners like Shonda Rhimes, Issa Rae, even Oprah Winfrey have paved the way for more Black voices in television specifically. This moment, then, might not just be a moment. It might just be the status quo, Clark said.
“I think that maybe we’re living in a new reality,” she said. “Black folks are getting television deals because other Black folks have been successful with television deals. Black people are making decisions, too; they’re now becoming decision-makers who are greenlighting stuff.”
Networks and streamers still have issues when it comes to Black-led stories
None of this is to say that modern television is a utopia, where everybody can now make a living — just see the gap in Asian, Middle Eastern, or African stories in American popular culture. For Black-led shows on broadcast television, they still must seemingly place its Black characters in the context of White characters, Durham said.
“The Neighborhood,” a CBS sitcom set to begin its seventh season next month, juxtaposes a White family living next door to a Black one — a dynamic that seems to be interested in explaining Blackness rather than simply showcasing it.
“We’re still trying to understand this aspect of Black experience,” Durham said. “We wouldn’t ask for the same thing (of) a show that has a predominantly White cast.”
And these are the shows that tend to have the longest runs. CBS’s “Bob Hearts Abishola,” which aired its fifth and final season this year, is a sitcom about a White man who falls for and marries a Nigerian woman. “Black-ish,” ABC’s eight-season epic that spurred numerous spinoffs, was inherently a story about a man raising his kids in a White neighborhood.
Meanwhile, NBC’s short-lived “Grand Crew,” about a group of Black friends in Los Angeles, was canceled after two seasons.
On the other hand, streaming services tend to support more “niche” stories like that of a Black woman airport employee trying to find love (with a cast primarily featuring people of color). But they’re not necessarily taking big risks.
Michelle Buteau, creator and star of Netflix’s “Survival of the Thickest,” spent the better part of a decade stealing scenes in a variety of Netflix offerings before finally getting a show of her own. Max’s “Rap Sh!t” was created by Issa Rae, following the success of her previous show. Netflix’s “The Vince Staples Show” stars the rapper Vince Staples. These are not new names; these are proven voices with, in some cases, built-in fan bases.
The same idea can be applied to the shows themselves. Netflix, for example, picked up both “First Wives Club” and “Average Joe,” of which the company is producing a second season, but only after both showed success on BET+.
“There’s still this trying-out phase,” Durham said.
Even if a show passes that trying-out phase, it can still get pigeonholed. If the show doesn’t, at least in some way, speak to White audiences, Durham said, it’s left to those very narrow spaces, i.e. a BET+ or a niche bucket on Netflix.
More Black stories is a net positive, experts say
Still, the reality of the brutal television industry means that some shows, predominantly Black or not, are simply not going to make it. Streaming services’ propensity for cancellations — in one case, pulling one show before it even aired — has been well-documented. It’s not a streaming-only trend; between 2009 and 2012, two-thirds of new network shows were canceled within their first season.
Black-led shows are no different, and some might argue they’re more likely to be let go. Max’s “South Side.” STARZ’s “Run the World.” Freeform’s “Everything’s Trash.” All canceled after three seasons or less.
There are upsides. With more niche stories finding homes on streaming, and with broadcast ever-so-slightly widening its slate, stories about the Black experience, whatever that means, are more diverse than ever. The aforementioned “Bob Hearts Abishola” on CBS is the one of the only sitcoms highlighting an African immigrant experience. STARZ’s “P-Valley” showcases a queer southern story. Even “How to Die Alone” finds new ways to explore Black womanhood in relation to size and desirability.
“There’s a vastness in terms of, Black does not equate to straight African-American,” Durham said. “The way in which we understand Blackness is also opened up in this new television landscape.”
TV still has a ways to go in telling stories from non-White people. In the meantime, though, there’s shows like Rothwell’s.
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