Two Distant Strangers is a short film about a Black man, named Carter, who finds himself stuck in a time loop. All he wants to do is get back to his dog, but he’s trapped inside the same day, unable to escape his fate of getting killed by a cop.
I was invested in the plot. As a Black American, the message of the film (inescapable police brutality) resonated with me. I enjoyed the film, in spite of the atrocious acting from the woman who played Perri in the film and the corny addition of having the blood pour out of our slain narrator in the shape of Africa. I even recommended the short film to a few people. It felt “deep” and “heavy”, it evoked strong emotions from me . I cried a little bit (although in all fairness I’ve cried at Cheerios commercials), and any work that evokes emotions must hold some weight. Immediately after watching the film, I would’ve given the short film a strong review. I liked the non-traditional route of the Groundhog Day framework to speak on an issue such as police brutality. Then, I got on Twitter. The movie, in addition to several other films, shows, and directors, was being targeted for promoting Black Trauma. As someone who enjoyed the film, I initially brushed off the critique as an overreaction. Is there no room for civil rights stories or depictions of hard times that many Black Americans endure? Not one to bend so quickly to the hive mind, I resisted the harsh criticism. Then, I thought some more about the short film, and slowly but surely, I had a change of heart.
I initially praised the film for making me feel emotions and for being heavy. But, watching the short film was painful. It did not feel good or helpful to watch the main character be murdered over and over again. I felt helpless and hopeless. I felt anxious, because I knew that the next murder was coming sooner than later. When I wasn’t feeling anxiety towards the impending violence, I was feeling anxious that the filmmakers would pander and try to make a cute, unrealistic resolution in which black America and cops could slap a band aid on their rocky history and hold hands and sing kumbaya. I was grateful that the writers took a more realistic approach, and then I was disheartened that this is our reality. That black Americans are trapped into this never-ending loop of oppression.
Essentially, watching Two Distant Strangers made me feel similarly to how I felt after watching the George Floyd murder. It wasn’t quite as heartbreaking, because I know Joey Badass is still alive and well. But the feeling wasn’t too far off. Police brutality did not need to be fictionalized. Cops murdering Black people did not need to be sensationalized. We have the real footage. The truth was earth shattering enough. Asking us to relive this experience didn’t do any of us any favors. Black people did not need the painful reminder. I considered the idea that maybe Traevon Free aimed to use this film to convince ultra conservatives of our humanity. But if watching the George Floyd murder footage didn’t disgust them, no artistic work will change their minds or hearts.
There is more to Black life than Black trauma. I’m not suggesting that art and politics can never mix. I don’t think the solution is to ignore Black pain. But I do wish that creators, especially Black creators, would focus less on the struggles of Black people and make room for our triumphs as well. We don’t deserve to be inundated with black trauma in art forms when we already deal with it in real life. I think it’s time to shift black shows and movies back to black joy, or at least to just black existence and black humanity. Every black film doesn’t have to make us weep.
