Like most people sitting in those theaters around the world, I only knew Chadwick Boseman for a brief time. Our paths never personally crossed, though he slowly became a figure that we talked about with great joy, eager to see what his next move would be. Here was a man who embodied a superhero that mainstream cinema just hasn’t seen before.
If one taboo was broken over the 2010s, it was the idea that only white male superheroes could top the box office, making billions internationally. If your name wasn’t Batman or Iron Man, you might as well not try. It was a more limited way to view things, but one of the few blessings that Marvel bestowed upon modern audiences is the idea that anyone can lead a blockbuster, whether it be Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) and these wacky space raccoons, or in an even more symbolic achievement (and one that seems obvious in hindsight): an African-American superhero story, as told by those who know the culture best.
For me personally, the journey to Black Panther (2018) began years prior when I had seen Boseman in 42 (2013), playing Jackie Robinson. Whatever made it a conventional biopic was improved because of his performance, finding a role that came at the right time. Cinema was coming to terms with The Obama Administration, trying to find a more progressive way to talk about race, and that included tackling the baseball player who broke the barriers. Even as he was pelted with insults, he found himself able to get up and keep playing. He was stoic. Boseman seemed to come out of nowhere with this role, leaving a promising future ahead.
Among his other noteworthy roles was Get On Up (2014) where he played The Hardest Working Man in Show Business™, James Brown himself. For a moment, it felt like Boseman would be a great actor on the biopic circuit, playing every significant Black icon throughout American history. It’s not a terrible way to go, but he was almost too much of a chameleon, never quite becoming a household name despite delivering these immersive performances that brought them to life in such meaningful ways.
More than 42, Get On Up gave me faith that this actor was capable of something greater. Here was a man whose whole existence was exaggerated, from his fancy foot work to his voice that ranged from a raspy, mushy tone to a loud and triumphant cheer. What made Brown incredible was how he was capable of surprising you with his work ethic, constantly looking like he was about to lose it only to turn around and write another masterpiece. At the end of the day, Brown is one of history’s most fascinating musicians because of this, managing to deconstruct the music structure in favor of something more authentic and full of soul.
On the one hand, Get On Up was another conventional biopic, but to watch Boseman in the role throughout those decades is to see an even more accomplished actor. He’s able to play every wild move with a focus and energy that draws you in. While it can be called imitation, it was something that you admired because he was committed. He was bringing something substantial to the role that made you like and understand Brown as an individual.
Another thing to consider with these two films is why these characters were significant. Robinson breaking color barriers improved baseball and cultural understanding for the better. Brown would go out and sing “Say It Loud (I’m Black and Proud)” as an affirming anthem.
As a concert begins following the death of Martin Luther King Jr., eyes turn to Brown. The crowd wants to break out into a riot. How does one man stop the world from burning? In that way, the concert sequence is incredible, watching Boseman’s Brown play to emotion, trying to unify the crowd while not rejecting their fears. It’s one of those moments that symbolize what makes Boseman’s entire career such a rewarding experience.
At his best, he was playing characters that were leaders, able to push through the chaos and find hope inside everything. If there was any problem, he didn’t have a definitive role. He was building towards one, but it became disappointing to know that he wasn’t yet a household name. He deserved more awards attention for Get On Up (itself ironic given that this was the first year of Oscars So White), and deep down I’m saddened that he hadn’t quite gotten there. There is still time, with his final film Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020) still yet to be released.
In a lot of ways, his role in Black Panther came at the exact right time. Oscars So White had caused The Oscars to expand their voting branch’s diversity. There was talk about hiring more diverse writers in TV and film. Years later, Frances McDormand would give an Oscar speech where she introduced the world to the phrase “inclusion rider.” There was the sense that Hollywood was ready to cast a wider net. They had done a decent job during The Obama Administration, finding ways to expand how cinema talks about race relations, but when it came to billion dollar-grossing movies, it still had yet to be proven that diversity mattered at all.
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| Ryan Coogler (left) with Chadwick Boseman |
One thing that helped was the inclusion of director Ryan Coogler, who became a hit out of Sundance with his debut Fruitvale Station (2013). Finding Michael B. Jordan as Oscar Grant III, it reflects his final day living in Northern California and the various details that helped to define him. He was a son, a friend, a father, and to some a criminal. It’s a small narrative, but one that feels worth revisiting now that Black Lives Matter makes these police brutality narratives painfully relevant. Following this, Coogler relaunched the Rocky (1976) franchise with a film about antagonist Apollo Creed’s son in a film called Creed (2015).
There was clearly a shift happening, where the need to be more honest with The Black Experience was becoming more central to cinema. Coogler was becoming a hot commodity, and it’s likely what drew him to Black Panther. The hero was himself inspired by the 1960s civil rights group The Black Panthers, though has grown to be more reflective of African-American identity.
It was a perfect symbol for Boseman’s career. He had embodied history with icons like Robinson and Brown, but he was needing to have a role that was personally his own. If Marvel wanted to defy expectations, they would allow Coogler and Boseman to shape the character of T’Challa in their own image. The world had seen what happened when Black characters were created solely by white filmmakers, and they were never as genuine as they could be. Here was a character whose very name held the weight of history. For most, it would be the world’s introduction to the character, and given that this was an era when talking trees dancing to E.L.O. was a major hit, it made sense that they’d be ready for this.
While Marvel had flooded the market with an astounding amount of movies, it felt like the world was changing from the moment that first trailer dropped. It lead to talk of Afrofuturism, of wondering what this world of Wakanda truly was about. Everything was so vibrant, unlike any mainstream film of equal reputation. Nobody dressed like that. Nobody talked like that. The best part was that it wasn’t being sold as an “other,” but just another part of this big cinematic universe, itself reflecting a tolerance that nobody was entirely ready for.
For me, it was exciting given that I’d followed Coogler and Boseman for years. The world had a small teaser of T’Challa in Captain America: Civil War (2015), though even then he was a supporting player. While it lead to a significant story of him losing his father T’Chaka (John Kani), it was a smaller piece in the story of Iron Man fighting Captain America at an airport. His journey was yet to be seen. At that point he was still just an idea, waiting to reveal what he was hiding in Wakanda.
Cut to 2018, sitting in that theater. The lights go down and suddenly this world is introduced, first through centuries-old mythology conjured through sand. The world only grows from there, dropping audiences into Oakland, CA and featuring Black characters hiding their supernatural identity inside housing complexes. What was this world, where details clashed and characters were allowed to say that Wakandan warriors looked like Grace Jones?
This was only the start. Wakanda would be even greater. A civilization hidden from the world, holding onto a special element called vibranium. The story would focus on the clash of ideals between American and African identity and ideology. It would deal with colonization, the feeling of abandonment, and what it takes to be a leader. For a mainstream blockbuster, it was dealing with some hefty themes. Most of all, it was presenting a world of peace in Africa, where an entirely Black population lived in harmony and ignored the outside world. They had battles atop waterfalls. The score by Ludwig Goransson mixed acoustics and tribal chants with hip-hop.
This was the future, and it remains an incredible thing to behold. Every detail feels so lived in, creating one of the most exciting communities in any superhero movie of the 21st century. Wakanda was a place that inspired hope, and it only helped that Boseman played a leader, willing to maintain order. Even then, he was a man who spoke with an African accent. The Wakandan language was based on Xhosi. He wasn’t compromising for American conventions. Boseman made a character that was all his own, even managing to make simple things like his playful banter with sister Shuri (Letitia Wright). He spoke to his ancestors in these rituals, seeking guidance on how to live a just life.
If anything, it was the perfect thesis for Boseman’s characters. Every major role owes some credit to self-reflection, this need to move on and push himself. It helps that Black Panther was one of the most shamelessly confident and singular films, pushing boundaries and recontextualizing what a comic book movie could have. The Black community can speak to it more than me, but the influence brought hope and told them that they could be heroes, worthy of a film that was so successful that it was still in theaters months later, headbutting into the second Black Panther movie of 2018, Avengers: Infinity War (2018). Again, it works more as a cameo, but it reflected a leader trying to be greater than himself.
I’m sure that I wouldn’t be alone in assuming that Boseman was going to follow a familiar path for Marvel stalwarts. He was going to use his newfound acceptance to do those prestige projects that he was passionate about, finally getting an Oscar nomination much like Scarlett Johansson this past year. Everyone saw the 43-year-old actor and thought that this new beacon of Black pride and power was going to last. After all, here was a man who could be shot at and absorb their energy, using it against his foes. He embodied so much in these small creative decisions, and it’s a relief that The Oscars made it the first comic book movie to have a Best Picture nomination (at four, it also ties with Dick Tracy with most wins for a comic book movie).
Though what makes it all the more incredible is to think that Boesman achieved his greatest achievement midway through a four-year battle with colon cancer. Here was a man about to have a career-making performance, playing a singular role that he got to shape himself, and he was about to die. Many have noted how impressive it is that he filmed 10 movies during this time, though it speaks more to what made him great all along. He was willing to push himself, questioning what it took to be a leader. He played T’Challa in a state that many would find debilitating, and yet he persevered, becoming an icon. Does this make Black Panther as a film more impressive? If anything, it creates a perfect subtext, saying that those battling cancer are superheroes in their own rights.
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| Boseman in Da 5 Bloods |
The world was a better place for having Boseman. Much like Anton Yelchin, who died in 2016, he is a man who was taken too soon. There are decades of work you’d expect to see from him. Still, don’t feel cheated for not having them, but be thankful that he existed at all, allowed to play these men who pushed boundaries, asking for greater unity and acceptance. Whether it was through his roles or his collaborators, he symbolized a significant change in media that will hopefully never be forgotten. He was always grappling with his legacy and mortality, and in hindsight it becomes bittersweet. It makes one of his final films, Da 5 Bloods (2020) even more touching, reflecting on a need to pay respect to a fallen friend.
I didn’t know Boseman, but I still loved watching him over his brief time with us. I hope that this only will contextualize his career in ways that elevate the work that he has left us. In such a short time, he brought so many roles worthy of discussion, which helped to shape how cinema is seen today. Even if they don’t seem alike, roles like Robinson, Brown, and T’Challa show a progression of The Black Identity that all owe something to each other. They all reflect a leadership that we can learn form, and that alone makes him worth remembering.
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