Deirdra Harris Glover
Managing Editor
Super-powered Luke Cage is a literal blockbuster, able to crash through concrete walls and tear through reinforced steels with hands. Even a corporation giant like Netflix—the series’ network—staggered under the weight of the latest Marvel series: millions of eager viewers crashed the video subscription service within hours of its Sept. 30 release.
Marvel has more room to flex in its 13-episode Netflix seasons. Daredevil and Jessica Jones both hunker down into compelling storytelling, and Luke Cage is no different in this regard. The three series are moody, thoughtful examinations of pressing contemporary power struggles, and it results in improbable but utterly relatable consequences for their reluctant heroes.
While the Avenger’s plots move through our world like catastrophic forces of nature, the denizens of Hell’s Kitchen and Harlem are simultaneously on the fringes and in the thick of the everyday and fantastic.
Unlike billionaire Tony Stark, who is a celebrity before he dons the suit, Luke Cage is working two jobs, trying to make rent after a series of unfortunate events in Jessica Jones. Much like many of us, he is torn between wanting to keep his head down and rising to his own true power.
Harlem has its problems, but it is burgeoning with greatness. Politicians and entrepreneurs try to strike a balance between corruption and community, fighting to keep Harlem synonymous with black triumph. The streets are rough, but named for giants.
The villains have names like hip-hop artists—Cottonmouth, Diamondback—sinuously weaving their way between the slick majesty of Harlem nightlife and the hyperviolence of their illicit pursuits. They swear like sailors but monologue like Shakespeare.
Our hero Luke—a name cribbed from the Bible—is most comfortable in a barbershop, a community hub centered on fellowship and devoid of pretension. In what may be the most overt imagery of the show, Luke Cage, a bulletproof black man, wears hoodies.
Not a hoodie. This series has a hoodie cast of thousands, all ridden with bullet holes, a clear metaphor to police violence against young black men. Luke Cage sheds these tattered hoodies like a snake sheds skin, growing in resolve and purpose each time.
The casting is pitch-perfect, from Mike Colter’s ruling steady presence as Cage, to the lean and hungry menace of Cornell “Cottonmouth” Stokes (Mahershala Ali). Alfre Woodard as Stokes’ cousin Mariah Dillard is equal parts rage and poise, a woman who’s climbed too far to stop before the summit. Rosario Dawson is back as Claire, the “Night Nurse” of Hell’s Kitchen. Simone Missick nearly steals the show from Colter as detective Misty Knight. Fans are already clamoring for a standalone Misty Knight series.
Luke Cage is about power and ambition, and it delivers. The series’ cinematography is mesmerizing, a play in light and color on dark skin. The show is many things—political commentary, police procedural, a superhero story, a litany against brutality against black bodies. At times, the storytelling is as stretched as Colter’s shirt seams. Show runner Cheo Hodari Coker obviously has so much to tell his viewers, and that’s great. The show’s immediate success intimates a second season could be on the way.
Jessica Jones was a metaphor for and, as such, a gift to survivors of sexual assault and abuse. I haven’t watched Luke Cage, yet, but it sounds like it contains a similar gift.