Who Are we?

I grew up in the 70s in a neighborhood in the Northeast Bronx called Baychester. Saturdays, I could usually be found at the Melba, a neighborhood movie theater where a dollar got you into a double feature. Plus, they never carded for R-rated movies! I spent whole days there, watching everything from Shaft to Cotton Comes to Harlem. Movies that are often derided as “Blaxploitation.” An ethnic subgenre, a scrap from the big table for an audience that didn’t fully matter.

But these movies filled the screen with people who looked like me, and I loved it. I didn’t need American Graffiti, I had Cooley High! Something I could relate to as a Black inner-city kid, with hopes that my high school days would turn out as fun Preach and Cochise’s. Then, as I entered high school in the 80s, these movies faded away. Where once I had entire Black stories, now I had to be satisfied with Black characters inhabiting minor roles. Or maybe the comedic sidekick, if we were lucky. Occasionally, there were films with a Black lead, but they did little to fill the void.

While many in the industry pat their own backs over our “progress,” what I see is a country where whole states have banned Toni Morrison novels. Progress has hit a roadblock. We might even be going in reverse. It feels more urgent than ever to have films that offer audiences a wide spectrum of Black artists, and yes, provide those with limited exposure to Black people with a window into Black storytelling.

That’s why I founded Cool Oz Productions. We’re a Brooklyn-based production company that focuses on Black folklore, whether told through genre and sci-fi, or set against a modern urban backdrop. Gabriel’s Horn will be our first feature to go into production. For this story, I envision a Black Heaven. A Black archangel struggling with his faith. A Black artist in search of a new foundation, on which he might build a future where the sins of the past no longer limit his hopes for the future.

In some parts of our country, of course, this vision will be considered blasphemy, no matter how elegantly or fully realized it ends up. But for that kid who grew up in Baychester, it will fulfill a promise he made to himself over 40 years ago, in a darkened theater, on countless Saturday afternoons.