Luke Cage, Season 1 review

Created: Cheo Hodari Coker

Produced: Marvel Television, ABC Studios

Distributed: Netflix

Released: September 30th, 2016

Since Luke Cage was the first Defenders series I watched, I was not sure what to expect from these series. I was teetering on the fence of how invested I would be in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, admittedly leaning toward not paying much attention (I had not watched Captain America: Civil War or Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2 at the time, so I was unaware of how much steam there was in this engine). Still, I tried this series. Ultimately, it was not like anything I had seen before. This felt like a grounded television drama; only one character had super strength and (mostly) unbreakable skin.

The story starts Luke Cage, an ex-convict looking to lead a quiet life in his home town of Harlem. In the day, he works in Pop’s barbershop. The parlor is a community institution, and. Pop himself is a well-respected man, so his property is neutral in reverence of his impact on the neighborhood. By night, Luke works in a jazz club owned by a man named Cornell Stokes, un-affectionately referred to as “Cottonmouth.” If Pop is the warm pre-Reagan cultural icon, then Stokes is a monument to the post-Reagan hustle and ruthlessness. Cottonmouth’s ambitions are venomous in Harlem, and one violent act too far causes Luke to take action.

One thing to notice right from the beginning is how proudly black Luke Cage is. The superhero story is a part of the whole, but the focus is squarely on recognizing Harlem as a hotbed for black culture, for good or for ill. The show goes to great lengths to recognize Harlem as more than just a rough ghetto slowly being eaten by Columbia University. While it does not dismiss the crime and violence, there is a concerted effort to bring culture (music, art, community, knowledge, etc.) to the forefront. Unlike Hell’s Kitchen, chiefly depicted as a gang-infested warzone, Harlem is a place worth saving.

The appreciation from Harlem forms the foundation on which Luke Cage discusses issues facing the black community. There are the problems one might expect, police relations being a big one. While brutality and fraternal vindictiveness (the frantic hunt for cop killers) come to the forefront, the real struggle stems from the difficulty people face when trying to change the systems from the inside. I was surprised that the black Defender treated the police generously, when compared to Daredevil (2014) or Jessica Jones, when the officers were helplessly corrupt or hopelessly inadequate.

We see this dynamic played out through Misty Knight, a Harlem local who joined the police force and ended up involved in Luke Cage’s story. She has a hard time reconciling police mistreatment of misguided kids and their inability to stop the people disrupting the neighborhood to begin with. It gave the impression of a team in an uphill battle against the forces that make men like Stokes. Drugs and weapons trafficking are not fun; Reaganomics made them economic necessities, and in his own demented way, Cornell Stokes is a job creator for a neighborhood with few options left.

Stokes’s apparent inevitability leads to a set of incredibly complicated discussions that I have to navigate with my whiteness in this review. My intention is to simply articulate the questions this show was trying to ask its audience. I can neither ask nor answer these questions, but remarking on them is a pretty important part of explaining how the show so good. Like Jessica Jones before it, Luke Cage wanted to make an exhaustive statement that sparked nuanced discussion, and it will continue long after this review is published.

Considering the allusion to Biggie Smalls and the bad-ASS guest feature by Jidenna, Luke Cage really wants to talk about how to reconcile building proud blackness on a foundation of exploitation and crime. Much like the rappers involved, how do men like Cornell Stokes, or his sister Mariah Dillard, sleep at night knowing that they became leaders in their community by making it more infected? He makes a living as a crime boss, using gangs to run his enterprise. We see Mariah talk about Harlem as a haven for black culture, when much of her delightful optimism is just affected respectability. Their image of powerful blackness is tainted by the violence they inflict on their people.

I mentioned Reaganomics, but did not go into detail about how his presidency ruined many cities. His policies pulled money from infrastructure, healthcare, education, and public services in inner cities. The racist/classist propagandizing painted a vile picture of the urban poor, particularly black families. “Welfare Queen” was a Reagan buzzword meant to smear black mothers on social services. As homelessness and run-down buildings kept creeping up, the malignant neglect prompted jobs and schools to abandon cities, allowing drugs to fill the void after Iran Contra.

At the same time, financial necessity or not, drugs and guns have a horrible effect on areas trading them. Going back to the rappers, many express a crisis of conscience when looking back on what they have done. Luke Cage wants to present the dilemma that comes with balancing pride and shame over what some people had to do to survive. It juxtaposes the optics of individual black success with the consequent suffering of black people. The show boldly asks, “Did your victory make it worse for the next generation? What did you do for the home that fostered your victory?”

This question becomes more intense when Cornell Stokes has to ask it of himself. Flashbacks to his childhood show us Mama Mabel, who coopted a cruelty equivalent to white supremacist, patriarchal systems in order to succeed. Now Stokes’ uncle, Pistol Pete, was a kinder man only when his nephew was not looking. In spite of his fortune, he still acted in a way that maintained oppressive systems. I am being vague because this is a big spoiler, but Pete hurt Mariah and Mabel in an unforgivable way. Stokes had to choose between the man who showed him kindness and loyalty to his people, a choice that brewed a lethal resentment inside of him.

“Stephen, why did you just spend all those paragraphs talking about social issues? No one wants to listen to you talk about your leftist agenda! Go be an SJW somewhere else. You obviously don’t even like Marvel enough to give it an objective review without… blah blah blah. ” Look! All of that sociopolitical discussion exists to explain why a black man with unbreakable skin is such an important figure in the cultural canon. Listen to a bit of rap, and you will pick up on how many successful black people fell conflicted about their achievement. As a result, Luke Cage is a great black superhero because all of the struggles afflicting the black community literally bounce off him. He is unflinching in the face of the evil that affects so many.

He survived the prison system and seemed poised never to go back. He faced the violence in his community head on; the fear that influences so many people could not break him. Everyone knows where gangs do their work, but Luke Cage was strong enough to take them down safely. He cut out a huge part of the criminal element, and he looked after the boys who threatened to follow the same path as Stokes or even himself. Luke is like the stories you hear about Chance the Rapper, Akon or Colin Kaepernick using their money to strengthen the communities they grew up in.

Not only was Luke Cage able to take down crime, but he could do it with control. This was not Frank Castle’s vengeance-fueled massacre; Matt Murdoch’s trial of self-hating Catholic-boy penance; or Danny Rand’s series of naïve and rash decisions. Luke could excise the criminals from his home because his character and convictions were strong. The violence and fear aimed at him crumbled at his feet, rendered impotent by a man who would not bow to it. I do not know who Luke Cage was in the comics, but in the show, he is such a hopeful figure.

So, it is an incredible shame that Luke Cage could not keep up the momentum all the way through. Once the main villain Diamondback becomes a key player, much of the interesting conversation and conflict surrounding Cornell Stokes just ends. From that point on, the show drops its masterful weaving of story and social commentary, focusing on a more routine hero/villain battle that just does not live up to what came before it. We spend time learning more about Luke, his past, and his powers, but the final third of the season loses much of the punch established in former episodes.

Diamondback himself is part of the problem. Cornell Stokes was a powerful, complicated, and scary man. In the same way that David Tennant and Vincent D’Onofrio breathed sinister life into their respective roles, Mahershala Ali gave a phenomenal performance as the most ruthless crime boss in Harlem. Yet Diamondback was supposedly capable of intimidating even this urban chieftain. For someone with so much buildup, all we got was a simple and petty motivation more suited to a final fight scene than a satisfying conclusion.

Like Method Man said himself (phenomenal cameo appearance, by the way), “There’s something powerful about seeing a black man that’s bulletproof and unafraid.” Luke Cage is a hero, and he is stronger than the suffering around him. His strength in the face of desperation and oppression make him an inspiration to Harlem. They see his power, and they believe in him because of the hope he brings. When Luke Cage is about that kind of black heroism, it shines. Everything else appear in moderation, lest the show wear out its welcome.