The latest sitcom from Showtime is yet another incarnation of anti-white animus by blacks, this time in the form of a satire whose run of jokes appear to all revolve around awkward (liberal) whites (or, because it’s Hollywood, liberal Jews) constantly virtue signaling and always trying too hard to not appear ‘racist’. From a product page:
Jay Pharoah stars as Floyd Mooney, an African-American comedian whose star is on the rise. But the path to stardom is a minefield that Floyd must navigate to maintain his credibility while trying to become “white famous.”
‘White famous’ appears to be a pejorative term among blacks, designating a black comedian or other celebrity whose wealth and fame are the product of adoration by white middle America.
From an overall positive Salon review written by one Melanie McFarland, who by her picture appears mulatto:
Performers of color have long known that the place is far more libertine than truly liberal, and we see Floyd live that truth as he break through layer upon layer craziness in his quest for fame.
Floyd is a successful comic with a devoted black fanbase, and the series opens in the midst of his stand-up performance… Pointing out the lone white woman in the audience, he gets laughs by calling her to the stage and announcing she’s been adopted by the community. The room breaks into convivial laughter.
I can envision this scene playing out again later very differently, after Floyd’s brand has exploded and his audience’s racial makeup has shifted…
But what about all that misogyny which saturates the black male subculture?
“White Famous” has its flaws, particularly with regard to the pilot’s denigrating view of gender; in a key scene elements of femininity are used, literally, as a tools of emasculation. (Kapinos’ humor palette is overwhelmingly male-centric, as he proved in “Californication,” so this isn’t particularly shocking.) Even so, it’s a legitimately pointed examination of the perils of attaining mainstream fame, exposing the apprehensive churn people like Floyd are subjected on their way up the ladder. For Floyd, there’s the matter of being true to his brand while expanding his profile. His fans adore his down-to-Earth nature, but his idol wants to offer him a shot — contingent on a condition Floyd finds to be embarrassing.
McFarland quickly gets beyond this caveat, hoping to elevate the show towards its apparent (and socially never ending) black concern with Racism™, as well as ghetto ‘authenticity’ and its war against assimilation.
At just about every step Floyd is objectified and taken advantage of in ways he rarely seeing coming. Entitlement, cluelessness, bravura and simply craziness rule the world around him, and he’d be more than happy to opt out of the madness entirely.
But the series also suggests that our new age of rampant capitalism and branding the cautionary concept of “selling out,” while not entirely obsolete, may be antiquated. Floyd doesn’t believe that to be the case in his heart of hearts, and his best friend Ron Balls (Jacob Ming-Trent) co-signs that idea when he warns Malcolm to help Floyd stay true to the fans that brought him up. But Floyd also has a son to raise, Trevor (the adorable Lonnie Chavis) and a girlfriend to win back, Sadie (Cleopatra Coleman).
The show sounds absolutely unbearable.