Jahanna Bolding

Marvel Studios owns the world. I know, I know; this sounds like an exaggeration, but Marvel dominates the film industry right now, producing multiple blockbusters a year to keep their fans happy and pocketbooks full. To some degree, Marvel deserves the fame they have with their top-notch visual effects and intricately woven storylines. However, many of their plots and character arcs seem overly dramatic or contrived. They want to complicate every detail of every film to keep making more films (and more money). It’s all a ploy, right? Does Marvel even make decent films anymore? Do they have anything new up their sleeve?

Black Panther, the most recent addition to the Marvel franchise, is a heart-wrenching action adventure about leadership, foreign policy, and racial identity, among many other things. This film has been outrageously well received by fans – for a stand-alone film about a new, exotic character (breaking Marvel’s whitewashed stereotype), Black Panther is standing quite well on its own two feet, and doesn’t reek of corporate pocketbooks.

Years ago, ancient African peoples discovered vibranium, an element from a meteorite that sets the people’s technological ability light-years ahead of the surrounding tribes, and when ingested, gives the King the power of the Black Panther (their goddess) via superhuman agility, strength, and cunning. These people eventually come together to form Wakanda, a tribe with a miraculous secret weapon. The Wakandans have to keep the gift safe, though – they must protect their own people during colonization. So, the Wakandans protect themselves by allowing the rest of the world to progress in ignorance, believing Wakanda to be a third world country. They shield themselves from discovery for years through certain invisible force fields and such due to their incredibly advanced technology.

The movie begins where Captain America: Civil War left off: with the death of Wakanda’s king, T’Chaka. Prince T’Challa is grappling with his father’s death as he is crowned king of Wakanda and the official Black Panther (protector of Wakanda’s people, resources, land, and traditions). The movie details a shift in Wakandan culture and foreign policy as they attempt to locate and restrain a dealer of vibranium in the West.

Eventually, the real antagonist appears: N’Jobu (or Killmonger), T’Challa’s long-lost cousin who grew up as an exile in Oakland, California with his father (brother to the king of Wakanda, and traitor to the secret of vibranium). Growing up in the thick of racial injustice in Oakland in the 90’s, Killmonger faced issues with his racial identity that T’Challa never did. Raised as an outsider, Killmonger surfaces enraged and ready to perform a traditional battle with T’Challa for the rights to Wakanda’s throne. He wants to use Wakanda’s store of vibranium not only to provide a higher quality of life to the Africans living in poverty through distribution of food, water, technology, etc., but also by providing weapons to the oppressed peoples so they can finally fight back against the rest of the world. He wants his people to claim international dominance for the first time in their history. Quite a plan, huh?

After T’Challa’s near-death experience and civil war within the Wakandan tribes, the movie ends with Killmonger’s death and T’Challa’s shifted perspective: Wakanda will use its resources (specifically vibranium) in moderation to aid the rest of the world in the fight against evil and oppression. They will no longer sit silently in the shadows, protecting their own as the world suffers, but they will join the fight.

As evident in the brief plot and character evaluations, identity is one of the main themes of the film. Killmonger struggles to find his place in the world – to find his real and true home. Bitter at his oppressors, he seeks to use their tactics against them, unwittingly becoming the very thing that he despises. His hatred and rage blind him to the prospect of reconciliation – indeed, in the end, he rejects grace and healing and instead deals the final blow to his own body. His death is intensely painful because he perishes in a state of utter blindness. There is no hope for him because he eradicates it all.

T’Challa, on the other hand, struggles with establishing his own identity – disassociating his desires and actions from his father’s. He has access to his lineage for generations and generations. Instead of offering stability or freeing him from doubt, this causes turmoil as he learns to grapple with some his father’s horrid misdeeds. Until now, T’Challa has lived according to his father’s example. But now, he learns to be his own man and make his own decisions for the good of his people – a process that is painful but beautiful. As the film closes, T’Challa makes the (somewhat controversial) decision to change the course of Wakanda’s history by making their true identity public. He gives their resources to the nations out of an inborn sense of kindness and justice. The final scene of the movie portrays a young, unknowing boy in Oakland walking up to T’Challa and asking him, “Who are you?” T’Challa, instead of floundering or doubting, merely smiles. This question thrills and pierces the hearts of viewers as the camera pans out and the credits (and tears) begin to roll.

Another aspect of this film that deserves critical recognition is its soundtrack. The Black Panther soundtrack has gained insane popularity from many different circles, and rightly so. The album was essentially put together by Kendrick Lamar, a prominent rap artist and social justice warrior who speaks with sober humility and honesty to current issues such as race, politics, and religion. His artistry has taken the world by storm, and his voice in popular culture (specifically in discussion of race) is so mighty that the soundtrack of this film would not hold the same weight without his specific influence. Lamar lends his name and his perspective to the film’s credibility and vision, and viewers have devoured his additions with good cause.

Truly, this film is so visually rich and thematically complex that it merits many late-night ponderings. What makes a good ruler? A good society? A good man? A good woman? What is kindness? What is virtue? What is justice? Who are you? These questions are posed, but the film does not necessarily attempt to answer them overtly or simplistically. It merely contributes valuable perspectives to very, very necessary conversations, and is doubtlessly one of the most well-crafted Marvel movies that has gifted the silver screen in quite some time.