Maya, a Clark Atlanta University alum, started as a recurring character on sister CW show All American before starring in All American: Homecoming, her spinoff show that takes place at Bringston University, a fictional historically Black college in Atlanta. The campus serves as the backdrop for the series while Maya’s character navigates young adulthood as a mother and student-athlete, and Maya’s time as an HBCU student aided her portrayal, she said.

Andscape spoke with the Los Angeles native Friday about the final season of All American: Homecoming, Simone’s love triangle and the impact of a television series set at an HBCU.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

How was it being an HBCU student in real life and then portraying one on the show?

It’s very serendipitous. … In this life that we all live, there’s certain things that we do without any expectations of it actually coming to fruition. So I think me being able to portray an HBCU student from LA, it was just mine. It was always a part of my purpose, and I’m grateful that I had a showrunner like Nkechi Okoro Carroll, who saw that in me and gifted me with the opportunity to portray this role in a way that is reflective of little girls that look like me, that come from backgrounds like mine, and just allows me to honor the fact that these stories really do matter. … This is what I believe is my purpose, which is to tell stories. 

How much of your personality is reflected in Simone?

Where the humanity aspect comes in with acting, in general, is to just bring a bit of yourself to the role no matter what it is. I think the majority of [Simone’s] personality, when it comes to the goofiness and when it comes to the little moments of South Central LA, even though she’s from Beverly Hills. It just wouldn’t be right to not play her in that way. Because, again, don’t get it twisted: Black is Black. So you could be from Beverly Hills, but you have aunts and cousins that are in Crenshaw or so – it doesn’t matter. I just knew that I wanted to bring a little bit of my LA upbringing to the character and really to every character that I play. … I just want to be authentic, so I had to bring my South Central roots to this little Beverly Hills girl.

Season Two ends with a cliffhanger of Simone deciding between two suitors. Does the love triangle get resolved this season?

It definitely does, and I think it gets solved in a way that is more so for Simone than anyone. And I feel like that’s me not saying much at all because there’s so much that happens in the season for her. But I think in regards to love, I think it gets solved for her. That’s the most important part of this puzzle, her and her decision for herself.

What is it like portraying a character in a love triangle?

Simone has had more suitors than I’ve ever had in my lifetime, and I’m not mad at her for it. I think especially [with] the girls, let them live, let them have options. Just in hindsight, at my age and stage in my life, I don’t think you should have put all your eggs in one basket, because you sincerely just don’t know. Whether it’s a man or a job, life is about living and experience, so I always implore women to explore life in all it has to offer.

What can viewers expect to see from Simone this season? 

I would say resilience because I feel like when you’re younger and you’re experiencing so many trials and tribulations of life, we don’t really look at it as if it’s something that’s happening for us but more so to us. … When you’re able to change your perspective … and you are able to, like, look at it from the lens of growth and maturation and evolution and really surrendering to life and all that it has to offer to you, whether good, better and different, I think you just have a different perspective on coming out of the fire. 

I think that Simone definitely will experience a lot that will aid her toward her growth as a person, as a woman, as a mom and as an athlete. There are so many hats that Simone wears. But I think this is a lot about her resilience for herself, and it was really beautiful to play this season. … I know people are so invested in Simone and this love triangle because it’s fun. We want the girls to win, but at the same time, life happens, and when life hits, it does transform you. It does change you. … It was really refreshing to be able to play a more nuanced, grounded version of her this season.

How do you think All American: Homecoming’s portrayal of an HBCU will impact the next generation of students? 

I think the impact will be just more visibility and more of an opportunity to see themselves. One thing I will say is just being in the business as long as I have your purpose for doing it starts to shift. I believe that Homecoming was not an opportunity that was solely for me, my dreams, my purpose and my work. It was really for the generations of children who want to go to a historically Black college or university, who want to learn more about the legacy, who want to act, who want to play tennis, who want to be the main character or who want to tell stories. So I think this opportunity is extremely weighted. But I think the impact is a blessing. … I’m grateful to look at my art, in any and everything that I create, as something that’s just beyond me. I’m happy to serve the generation in that way, so I hope it inspires people to just keep doing what they want to do and going for what they want to go for.

How important was it for the show to portray issues that were happening on HBCU campuses?

As Black people, we have a responsibility that we don’t necessarily ask for, but we have a responsibility to reflect truth, authenticity, resilience, elevation, art, culture and history. … It’s too important because of how we impact other people, not just our people but literally the world. Everywhere in the world is influenced by Black culture. … That’s why it’s major that history is trying to be taken out of schools. It’s, like, you can’t erase history and then sit here and celebrate other cultures and history because, again, it’s all in the fabric of this world, of this country. … We have to give credit where credit is due. And you know Black people, that’s just how we move, that’s just how we work. So, it deserves that amount of visibility, time and education because … we are real people with real impact, and we matter.

This will be the final season of All American: Homecoming. What was your initial response to the show’s cancellation?

I’m really proud of this season and despite our fate being what it is, I mentioned this earlier: It is about quality, not quantity. And I think the quality of work that we’ve done in a matter of three seasons, it has impacted people.

My character being a guest star to recurring [on All American], I didn’t know if they would attach to this version of this world, especially coming off the height that All American still has. It’s still doing an astronomical job at celebrating culture and giving back to these kids and families that really love the show. I didn’t know what Homecoming was actually going to do, and it surpassed what I thought. So I think that how we started and definitely how we finished is rooted in so much more than how long we’ve been on.

Directed by Dawn Porter, Prime Video’s new documentary Power of the Dream gives viewers an intimate look inside the 2020 WNBA season. Although isolated in a bubble – affectionately known as the Wubble by fans — at IMG Academy in Bradenton, Florida, Power of the Dream gives an exclusive look into how the W’s 144 players navigated the coronavirus pandemic while preparing to start the season, advocated for women who died after encounters with police, and directly affected the 2020 elections. To say the story was compelling would be an understatement.

“Once they started describing what it was, I was like, ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I want to talk about how the WNBA helped save democracy.’ So that’s how it started,” Porter, who directed award-winning documentaries on civil rights activist John Lewis and slain presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy, told Andscape.

Following a year of production, archival footage, and film from retired U.S. star soccer forward Megan Rapinoe‘s cellphone, the documentary shows viewers the initial meeting with future U.S. senator Raphael Warnock, the printing of Vote Warnock T-shirts, and the intense collective meetings about whether to postpone games following the shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, Wisconsin in August 2020.

Recently, Andscape caught up with Porter to discuss Power of the Dream, the influence of the WNBA and the impact of the film.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Why was it so important to include a deep dive into the origins of the WNBA and its history of advocacy in this documentary?

That is a really important question that gets to the heart of this film. As we bring new fans to women’s basketball, you want to make sure people have some understanding of the struggle that has helped to get the women’s game to where it is today in terms of respect, but also understand how they got to this place was through advocacy. Advocacy for themselves and for their sport for respect. They all like to say it’s in our DNA to fight for things. They don’t have the luxury of people just assuming that they’re fantastic and top-tier athletes. They have to demand respect. As a group, they have always had this history of working collectively because they had to work collectively to increase their pay [and] get travel support.

When there were all these social justice crises happening in the United States, they were not going to be quiet. They said, ‘We fought hard for this platform, but who we are as individuals, is people who care about people who look like us.’ And they were not going to sit by while people were being murdered in the streets.

For faithful WNBA fans that were following the action from the Wubble live, what are some exclusive behind-the-scenes footage that they should expect to see in Power of the Dream?

[Megan Rapinoe’s] cellphone footage is some of the footage that we’ve got to use in the film to show what the conditions were like, what their protests meetings were like, and how they navigated. Not everybody feels the same way. Not everybody was positive that they should be collective but they worked through it to come to a group consensus. So you see all that in the movie. How they got to the idea of wearing those T-shirts and then you see them printing them up. You see that meeting with Raphael Warnock and you see their advocacy started way before the lockdown. You see the history of what they had been doing all along, and you see that their advocacy during the pandemic was an extension of what they have continuously been doing.

Given the divisive media controversy that has plagued the league so much this season, how do you think this film offers more insight into the players in the league?

[Sue Bird] makes the point that the league is so much more about supporting each other, but they’re competitors. They play a physical game and I think people who have not watched them play might have been surprised. I don’t know what they expected. Basketball is a physical sport and they’re playing in a physical game. They’re competitors. But that doesn’t speak to hostility or anger. People are imposing that narrative on folks. I think when you see what the [WNBA] has done collectively and consistently over so many years, that to me, is actually who they are. So I think the film helps. We’ve been making this for over a year. So this way precedes all of this controversy, it wasn’t like we were looking to tell a certain narrative. We just told the narrative that was already there.

What did you learn about these WNBA players throughout the filming process?

I was so moved, inspired, and proud of these women. They’re smart, strategic, persistent, fearless, and honest. It would start to get really heavy for them, and there’s one point where Layshia Clarendon, who was on the Dream at the time, said, ‘I gotta step back for a moment — it’s too much.’ Then Sue Bird stepped up. You see them saying this is what I need and then you see the people coming in and helping.

So I definitely think you see a story of collective action that is so mature, mature beyond the years beyond their years. All of that, asking, seeking, petitioning, and pushing. They’ve poured all that energy and skill into working to get a Democratic senator elected, who then, by the way, flipped the Senate, secured control for Democrats, and was able to vote for [Supreme Court Justice] Ketanji Brown Jackson.

What do you hope both new and seasoned fans take away from this documentary?

I hope that they see another dimension of the league. But I also hope that they get, we have some really fun sequences where you’re just seeing some great basketball. So we don’t lose the basketball for the activism. The basketball is there. So I think I hope people have an even deeper respect for the W coming out of this. They might have come for the game, but I think they’ll leave for the women. So I’m very excited for people to see just even a little bit more about who some of these other players are. [People] are starting to talk about ‘Say Her Name,’ and I think they’re gonna be saying some more names.

Jordan Emanuel, 31, a cast member on Bravo’s Summer House: Martha’s Vineyard and 2019 Playboy Playmate of the Year, recalls what she wore her first time appearing on Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen.

I’ve always been into fashion. It’s so funny because my parents were very masculine people — both my mom and my dad. My mom was a tomboy, so I was the girliest girl, and my mom used to joke around. She was like, ‘Where did you come from?’ I always loved hair, makeup, fluffy dresses, all of it. My favorite thing to do when I was younger was shop. I mean, it still is, let’s be serious.

I go in when it comes to packing what I will wear on the show. I pull inspo photos and hop on Canva because it’s my favorite thing besides Pinterest. I will start pulling different things I already have in my closet, or I’ll [have a stylist] pull for filming. And then I’ll figure out how I can mix and match it. So I’m not packing 35,000 pieces of luggage, right? Yeah, which I do anyway, but I try. This year, I feel like a lot of us stood out as a cast. We stepped it up, fashionwise. I cannot wait to see a couple of Lapointe dresses on camera.

My weakness is shoes. Most of my fashion dollars go to my shoes. For Watch What Happens Live, I bought these maroon, almost wedge, asymmetrical-like, cool geometric heels from Attico. That was my first big purchase after the show premiered.

I already knew what I wanted to wear: this dark blue vest pants suit from Dana Foley. I wanted the shoes to stand out because you can see everything when you’re sitting on Watch What Happens Live. Being such a shoe person, I didn’t want to wear a normal platform or something that’s been done before. I wanted to like you to see it, and you’re like, ‘OK, that’s cool.’ I saw them immediately, and they’re like this patent leather, so they’ve got that shine on top of the color and shape. I was like, yeah, this is a moment.

I was talking to my dad the other day, and I was like, ‘I wish there were something that I loved as much as men love sports.’ They eat, breathe, talk about it to their friends, and have group chats about it. My dad was like, ‘You do: shopping.’

He saw me after Christmas, and I was like, ‘Watch me spend $1,000, but watch me get everything,’ and he was like, ‘No, that’s not possible. It’s just not possible.’ The way I looked for discount codes and coupons, every little coupon I could find, My dad was like, ‘This is a sport. This is you studying the stats.’

As a Black man, it’s stressful to watch other Black men on reality dating shows. It’s beautiful when Black men appear on these shows and demonstrate emotional intelligence and true, genuine love and care for Black women. However, so often these men show up, bringing their own brand of colorism and misogynoir with them. Love Is Blind, the Netflix dating show, now in its sixth season, where strangers propose to each other sight unseen, has been rife with problematic Black men, as well as a few who give us hope.

Clay Gravesande, one of the protagonists of this season of Love Is Blind, started as a stereotypically troublesome one-dimensional character. But as the season continued, he evolved into one of the most complicated depictions of Black masculinity, generational trauma, and internal tumult in reality television history.

Clay started the Love Is Blind season as an easily identifiable villain. When we meet him, he tells his potential partner, Amber Desiree Smith (known as AD), that he won’t choose a woman unless he knows what she looks like. “I just have to be attracted to you,” Clay explained. “My favorite attribute is lips, butt and all that stuff. That sounds so shallow but hearing what your best attributes are, if I’mma propose, that’s something I need to know.”

Eventually AD and Clay get engaged in the pods before heading on a vacation to the Dominican Republic, and then returning home to figure out if they want to get married in a few weeks. Those weeks were spent with Clay exploring his pathology, fears and doubts about marriage.

And his problematic comments continued, namely when he told AD he won’t let her gain too much weight because he’d tell her to “get to the motherf—ing gym.” He even went so far as to say he’d make her work out when she’s pregnant. After seeing that, I rolled my eyes, frustrated again that we were getting another Black man on a reality dating show who was primed to mistreat a Black woman.

As the season progressed, though, Clay leaned into discussing the deeper issues at play in his life. We learn that his father, whom he greatly admires, has played a major role in his insecurities about marriage. On several occasions, Clay described his dad as a suave ladies’ man. Later we find out that Clay’s parents, Trevor and Margarita, were married for more than two decades and his father was unfaithful for most of that time. According to Clay, his dad took him on “infidelity trips” as a kid when he was cheating on his mother. And the issues Clay has with his father have colored his relationship with AD — so much so that at every turn, he talks about how much he’s worried about failing in marriage. Most of their scenes together revolve around Clay’s fears about infidelity and his readiness to be a husband.

While he’s dealing with his own internal struggles about marriage, Clay constantly affirms the way AD helps him and “checks” him when he’s wrong. Throughout their relationship, AD displayed tremendous patience and always reassured Clay that he’d be able to see their relationship through. However, the show doesn’t highlight exactly what Clay does for AD, though we see him take her on a romantic date just days before their nuptials. What plays out on screen is a classic “Black woman builds up Black man with nothing in return” scenario. The drama left me screaming at the screen for AD to see the red flags and leave Clay alone before she’s doomed to decades of pouring into a man who doesn’t have anything to offer her. As the show goes on, it feels inevitable that this will be their fate.

Of course, the two make it to the season finale, where they prepare for their wedding and decide at the altar if they want to actually get married. But before the ceremony can begin, Clay’s dad visits him. Their dynamic is immediately apparent. Clay’s face lights up as soon as he sees Trevor, who doesn’t waste any time telling Clay — and, thus, the audience — about his athletic prowess as a kid and how he almost made the Olympics. During the conversation, Clay transforms into a kid again, looking to his dad for approval about his decision and where he is in life.

The lead-up to the wedding makes Clay’s decision feel like a foregone conclusion. He’s celebrating with his brothers and friends beforehand. He never mentions any hesitation. And he’s all smiles when the ceremony begins, even reciting his vows — like, “I want to thank you for your patience” — mostly about what AD does for him. All signs point to them both saying yes.

But things don’t go so smoothly.

AD said, “I do.” Clay, though, shockingly says no. “I don’t think it’s responsible for me to say ‘I do,’” he tells her. “I still need work. I still need to get to the point where I’m 100% in … I know I’m not fully ready for marriage and you deserve the best.”

I couldn’t believe it. Social media viewers couldn’t either. At first, I was outraged for AD. 

How dare Clay say no to a woman who has done so much for him and been so patient? But the longer the episode went on, the more I realized something: Clay’s rejection of AD is the first time we see him show her genuine love that puts her first, whether that was his actual intention or not.

Everything Clay said at the altar was absolutely right. He wasn’t ready to marry AD. He wasn’t ready to give her all he had. The vows he said to her before saying “no” were proof. Clay could have married AD and seen his life markedly improve by being with a woman who wanted to help him grow. Most men simply opt in to that kind of marriage, gladly benefiting from the fruits of a woman’s hard work and “building” them up. Clay — in a moment that was somewhere between panic, insecurity and selfless love — spared AD from years of pouring into a man who wasn’t ready to pour anything into her.

Clay’s denial of AD was one of those unforgettable reality show plot twists. But, a later scene turned the entire episode into something we rarely see on television, reality or otherwise.

As AD and Clay deal with the aftermath of his decision, his parents are left to reckon with what they’ve just seen. Their conversation is transformational, and they discuss how the fallout from their marriage and divorce impacted Clay’s entire life. Margarita is firm in her demands that Trevor have a serious conversation with Clay so he doesn’t continue to carry his shame and fears into future relationships.

At that moment, the cameras captured a real moment I can’t stop thinking about. While talking to his former wife, Trevor pauses, rubs his nose and chokes up a bit. As he does this, the camera focuses on Margarita as she looks at him, pure frustration on her face, and she gives a slow eye roll from the bottom of her spirit. Margarita knows what’s coming. She saw it for over two decades and is ready for what’s next: “I never had the best role models,” Trevor explains, as he goes into a monologue about how his father passed down trauma to him. Margarita’s reaction was so real to anyone who’s had to live with explanations (and excuses) that don’t come with much work to heal and evolve. It’s especially real for Black women who’ve had to endure marriages like hers.

After Margarita cuts Trevor’s excuses off, they have the most important exchange yet.

“Tell him to meet somebody like his mom,” Trevor says with a smirk as if his lighthearted moment would smooth over the conversation.

“Yeah, but you met me,” she tells him. “But you wasn’t good to me.”

It’s a word. A declaration. A demand that the hurt she’s experiencing anew after hearing about Trevor’s “infidelity trips” with Clay be acknowledged as well. It’s a refusal to capitulate to Trevor’s charming gaslighting. And it’s a cry for help for her son, who is in pain.

The scene felt too deep for something as usually vapid as reality TV, but it’s also the type of scene you can’t script. For a Black woman to have an honest reckoning with her former husband who wronged her for decades and to be heard feels like a pivotal, cathartic moment.

Clay’s rejection of AD likely means they will not have the conversation that his parents just had. But it frees AD to find someone better, someone worthy of her goodness and who will give it back to her.

At the end of the episode, AD is devastated, questioning why men often leave relationships better off after experiencing her love, but she’s left with nothing. I hope she sees Clay’s decision as a chance to change that. I hope she can look at their last moment together, after the rejection, where Clay is still trying to glean emotional comfort and affection from her without offering any comfort in return. I hope it reveals that men like him will never be for her.

Which brings me back to Clay. When we last saw him, he was sad, embarrassed, and unsure of his decision. He looked shell-shocked, and he walked away with his head down. I don’t know what’s next for Clay. I don’t know if he’ll ever change. He has so much generational pain and trauma to work through.

And he needs to talk to his daddy. 

On first watch, it’s easy to see Clay as just another troubled, problematic man in the history of problematic brothers on reality TV dating shows. However, this season showed us so much of what brought him to this point in his life in a raw, unfiltered fashion that we just don’t see often in entertainment. Whatever happens next, Clay Gravesande will be one of the most talked-about figures we’ve seen on reality TV.

On Jan. 12, he and longtime friend, co-host and News4 anchor Tony Perkins aired the final episode of the much-heralded The Donnie Simpson Show on MAJIC 102.3 in Maryland. When much of the conversation focused on the end of an era with the departures of NFL coaches Bill Belichick, Nick Saban and Pete Carroll, it was Simpson who gave less than two weeks’ notice over the airwaves. Perkins stressed that neither he nor Simpson were retiring. Simpson will continue working on his podcast and spearheading the reboot of Video Soul on BET+.

Listening to the final episode of Simpson’s show stirred up many emotions. There is, of course, the ever-changing reality of the media landscape. And with MAJIC transitioning to syndicated programming all day (except for its morning show), the decision could have been made for Simpson instead of the other way around.

Simpson’s voice is a staple, particularly for Black folks. Better yet, it’s an irreplaceable orator of Black life. His career began when he was just 15 years old in 1969 at WJLB-AM in Detroit, a year after the assassination of civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr., just months following the protest led by Olympic track and field medalists Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the Mexico City Games, and the inauguration of President Richard Nixon. His show became the No. 1 radio show in his hometown, but because of child labor laws, “The Love Bug” (his nickname then, because of his piercing green eyes) couldn’t work past 10:30 p.m. He moved to Washington in 1977 when he was 18 and became program director for WRC, now WKYS. Six years later, he start hosting Video Soul on BET until 1997. In 1993, he joined WPGC and departed in 2010.

This isn’t a retrospective of each step of Simpson’s career. It’s long, it has many chapters, and thanks to his time on radio and TV, the list of figures he’s interviewed over the decades is unfair even to begin listing. But Simpson’s presence and stature helped make Washington, once known as “Chocolate City,” a destination for artists. There was, and still is, a soothing nature in his voice that elicits Zen-like calm. It’s a voice that’s carried over airwaves for nearly every critical moment in Black life since before many of his listeners were born. He represents a cross-generational connection.

Before he turned off his mic, if drivers cut on the radio shortly before rush hour, they were bound to hear Simpson’s voice. He made sitting in hellacious Washington-area traffic manageable at the least — and, depending on the topic, an escape from reality at best. In his later years, he and Perkins’ chemistry had come to define a part of the day in the nation’s capital. Whether they were discussing serious topics like voting rights, the Jan. 6 insurrection at the Capitol in 2021, or violence in our communities — or, if you were lucky, listen to Simpson and Perkins trade dad jokes for what felt like forever — there was always a sense of home. The show became a sounding board in a city that was used to constant political change. In its own way, The Donnie Simpson Show became a relic of a city that was not just changing — it was desperately clinging to the culture that made it identifiable nationwide as one of America’s premier Black cities. Between 2000 and 2013, more than 20,000 Black Washington residents were displaced. Washington was 61% Black in 2000, Simpson’s seventh year at WPGC, and that number dropped to just 45% by 2022.

In Washington, Black neighborhoods are being gutted for high-rise apartments and expensive grocery stores, so it makes unfortunate sense that a show like The Donnie Simpson Show would eventually meet a similar fate.

The loss of Simpson’s show — and ultimately his transition out of radio — comes on the heels of what’s now seen as a definitive period in Black radio. The Tom Joyner Morning Show ended in December 2019 after 25 years, even as it stood as the No. 1-rated syndicated urban morning show. Last month, Russ Parr announced the end of his nearly 30-year run with the Russ Parr Morning Show. Simpson’s decadeslong tenure feels almost unapproachable in a constantly shifting media world defined more by layoffs and mergers than creative control.

In early 1991, singer Whitney Houston sat down with Simpson for an episode of Video Soul. The segment felt more like a conversation between friends. During the interview, Simpson asked Houston if she had seen an early screening of director John Singleton’s Boyz N the Hood. It’s one of those uniquely ’90s moments with the gift of time and the grief — Houston and Singleton have since died — that comes with it.

“I know you’re on the road now, but really, it’s one of the most touching movies I have ever seen,” Simpson said. “And [this] young guy … 23 years old to put together a film like this. He’s brilliant!”

“I’m really proud of him. I don’t even know him and I’m proud of him,” Houston said. “Because he’s young, and he’s Black and he’s doing it.”

These are the sorts of conversations that define Simpson’s career. His catalog is beautiful because so much of it lives online, mostly on YouTube. It’s easily accessible and, for the most part, isn’t behind a paywall. History lessons of who he was and the conversations he generated are a click away. At 70, Simpson’s time creating doesn’t seem to be over. Yet, an irreplaceable void exists now that his voice will no longer be a security blanket on the radio.

Perhaps Simpson’s most valuable contribution was documenting history. He always appeared to live in the moment, which allowed him to define so many of them for the rest of us. Podcasts come a dime a dozen these days. But it’s Simpson who spoke into mics long before shows were uploaded and downloaded.

More than three-quarters of Simpson’s life has been dedicated to public service and making sense of the senseless. The innocence that comes with simply laughing, no matter how cheesy or corny the jokes may have been. The charm in his voice and his eyes symbolizes an American institution that revolutionized even the most universal tasks: talking and listening.

Calling Simpson a living legend, icon, or any title of that magnitude is not an exercise in hyperbole. With more than a half-century in radio, telling the story of American airwaves without him is as impossible.

His radio show may have ended. Yet, Simpson’s show still goes on for generations of Black men and women who have treated him, his voice and his presence like a family heirloom.

Thankfully, that’s all behind us now, and Hollywood is back up and running, which bodes well for 2024. But despite the upheaval, this year still managed to have some bright spots. From romance and historical dramas to sci-fi and comedies, 2023 had some onscreen hits.

TV shows we loved

The Bear

I know there is a lot of talk about Hulu’s The Bear, a comedy-drama about Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) turning his family’s Chicago sandwich shop into a fine dining restaurant and whether he and his sous-chef Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) are a thing (they shouldn’t be until he sees a therapist), and for good reason. The writing is so good, I’ve seen both seasons twice — minus “Fishes” (season two, episode six), once was enough, thank you — and Robert Townsend, who plays Sydney’s dad, is such a treat each time. – Channing Hargrove

I didn’t know what to expect when I tuned into season one of The Bear, but I’m so glad I took a chance on this show. It’s one part workplace comedy, one part family drama, and it’s a fun watch. Season one followed the drama and pathos of Carmy, one of the most esteemed chefs in the world, as he returned to Chicago after his older brother’s death to run his family’s take-out spot. But season two is where the magic happens. In the latest season, we dive deeper into each of the characters — Carmy, Sydney, Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), Marcus (L-Boy), and Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas). While the whole season is a great watch, episode seven (“Forks”) stands out. I don’t know about you, but I definitely shed a thug tear at the end of that one. – Britni Danielle

The Last of Us 

When it comes to zombies, you can usually count me out. But after hearing about The Last of Us video game from one of my friends, I knew the show would have more to offer than just plowing through the undead with reckless abandon. Like the game, HBO’s TV adaptation follows Ellie (Bella Ramsey) and Joel (Pedro Pascal) as they traverse post-apocalyptic America after it’s been overrun by a fungal plague that’s turned people into zombies. While the show definitely has its fair share of creepy monsters and jump scares, the real magic happens between the characters — and the show’s guest stars. Though there are several standout episodes (shout out to Nick Offerman and Murray Bartlett for episode three), my favorite of the season is episode five, “Endure and Survive.” It’s action-packed, exciting, and heartbreaking, but the best thing about it is the performances by Keivonn Woodard and Lamar Johnson. – Britni

Julia

I didn’t immediately watch Julia, Max’s look at chef and author Julia Child as she pioneered her own cooking show on public television when it premiered in 2022, but I started this year and worked my way to season two. The shots of the food are glorious, and watching Alice Naman, a Black production assistant, rise through the ranks at the network is just as rewarding. — Channing

I didn’t grow up watching Julia Child on television, but I did enjoy seeing her life play out in the 2009 film Julie & Julia. So when Max debuted its new drama Julia, about the life of the acclaimed chef, in 2022, I was hooked. This season has seen Julia break more barriers, but the standout for me is Alice Naman, played by Brittany Bradford. Though Alice is a composite character based on many women and Black TV producers in the 1960s, I appreciated her addition and perspective to the show. Also? I love that Alice has a fine-a– boo named Isaac, played by Tosin Morohunfola, and a full life. On Julia, Alice isn’t the token Black girl in the show. Instead, she brings heart, smarts, and an interesting storyline of her own. — Britni

The Gilded Age

HBO’s period drama The Gilded Age was created and written by Julian Fellowes, the man behind Downton Abbey. The nighttime soap opera’s drama is very subtle, and the wardrobe is a major focal point, but the real draw is Peggy Scott, a Black writer from Brooklyn, New York working with editor T. Thomas Fortune. — Channing

Ball gowns and fancy teas and drama — oh my! The Gilded Age is like the 19th-century version of The Real Housewives of New York, with way more money and no fist fights. The show follows New York’s oldest and richest families, fighting for influence and acceptance in polite society. I’ll be honest: I tuned in for historical white nonsense (my fave!) but was pleasantly surprised by the addition of Peggy Scott (Denée Benton), an upper-middle-class Black woman who ends up working as a secretary for Agnes van Rhijn (Christine Baranski), an OG of the old money New York families. Despite the show taking place just a few years after the Civil War, Peggy is able to move about New York society, writing stories about women’s suffrage and the plight of Black people to boot. Give it a try. — Britni

Abbott Elementary 

Listen, if you want to laugh, this is a solid bet. Quinta Brunson’s Abbott Elementary is a wholesome network comedy that illuminates the hilarious — and serious — issues facing public schools and gives us a dose of workplace drama. Now that the strikes are over, I’m glad we’ll get a new season this February because we definitely need to know how things play out between Janine (Brunson) and Gregory (Tyler James Williams). I’m shipping them hard, but we’ll see what the folks at Willard R. Abbott Elementary School have in store for us. — Britni

Gen V

If you’re a fan of Amazon Prime Video’s The Boys, you’ll love Gen V. The show is an extension of The Boys universe and follows a group of college-age superheroes as they learn how to use their powers, presumably for good. But of course, everything isn’t what it seems. Instead of being forces for good, these young heroes are spoiled, entitled, reckless, and some are even dangerous. I won’t give too much away, but I’ll say this: If you hate full-frontal, lots of foul language, heroes behaving badly, and absurdly bloody fight scenes, this one is definitely not for you. But the rest of us are patiently waiting for season two. – Britni

Honorable mentions: Primo, Fargo (season 5), and Only Murders in the Building

What could have been…

The Morning Show

In A Bronx Tale, Lorenzo tells his son, “The saddest thing in life is wasted talent.” Apparently, the folks behind The Morning Show never got that message. This season, Nicole Beharie joined the Apple TV+ drama and immediately started putting up buckets. To the writers’ credit, they let her cook — but only for exactly one episode — before benching her to tank for a top draft pick. The result? Season three is a mess, partly because they didn’t maximize the cast’s talent. A tip for the show’s writers: Nicole Beharie is a generational talent. Stop playing and build around her. – Britni

Films we loved 

Renaissance: A Film By Beyoncé 

In September, I saw Renaissance, the tour in Houston, Texas, and still enjoyed watching the concert film on the big screen. My major takeaway is that wherever I see Beyoncé, and the level of execution she puts into her craft, I’m left wondering where I can execute to the best of my ability in my life, whether professionally or personally. – Channing

Rye Lane

If you know me, then you know I love a good rom-com. And a British rom-com? Count me in double! Directed by Raine Allen-Miller, Rye Lane follows Dom (David Jonsson) and Yas (Vivian Oparah), who encounter each other in a bathroom when Yas hears Dom crying over a break-up. When they finally see each other at an art exhibit, they spend the rest of the day hanging out and walking through South London’s Rye Lane market. After a series of hilarious— and vulnerable — hijinx, Dom and Yas grow closer, but will they have a happy ending? You’ll have to watch to find out. – Britni

Honorable mentions: Cypher and Across the Spider-Verse

“I remember turning to my wife and asking her, ‘Is this funny?’ ” Braugher told Variety in 2020. “I couldn’t really judge.”

All these years later, the verdict is in, and rather emphatically: More than just funny, Braugher, who died Monday at 61, was hysterical as Raymond Holt.

His dramatic roles in Homicide: Life on the Street, Glory and The Mist prepared him to play off different types of characters. Braugher infused his character with a wit that contrasted with the zaniness that often characterized Nine-Nine. His droll delivery hit every joke perfectly, his facial expressions often became exclamation points for punchlines, and he mastered subtlety so well that Holt just raising his voice became funny.

Of course, he played the straight man in every pairing (even with Cheddar, Holt’s dog). Still, Braugher added different levels to that standard comedic role. Some pairings allowed him to find the comedy in Holt’s curiosity. Some channeled Holt’s inner cheerleader. Others gave him the chance to play petty and revel in said pettiness. One particular pairing found value in a surrogate father-son relationship in which the father (Holt) is so stuck in his ways that his refusal to express any emotion to someone who desperately needs that affirmation became a recurring gag for eight seasons.

“Holt is a really, really wonderful character, but I think in anybody else’s hands, it might have been something foolish, something silly,” Braugher told Variety.

That was the other part of his genius. Braugher took a character in this silly police precinct who was Black and gay yet never played him stereotypically. The rest of the characters on Nine-Nine and the audience didn’t know much about the man when the show started. As the seasons unfolded, Holt’s backstory came into focus. With every added layer, Braugher imbued Holt with dignity and authority.

Even when the character grew, his baseline remained the same. The other characters expect to see something different from their boss when the show introduces Kevin (Marc Evan Jackson), Holt’s husband. Perhaps he’s more affectionate at home or cuts loose. Maybe he even yells! It turns out he does act differently with Kevin and their dog. Still, the joke is that only Kevin and Holt understood those differences.

Their arguments were so discreet that Kevin or Holt usually played interpreter for the group. Holt apologized for “raising his voice” or embarrassing himself in front of his squad while the members of the squad exchanged puzzled looks. Even Holt’s affection for Cheddar stretched the word’s definition, but it all served a purpose. It made those moments when he joined games like Nine-Nine’s annual Halloween episodes hit harder. Braugher had the one thing all comedic actors want but seldom have once the audience becomes familiar with their work: the element of surprise.

Braugher felt the weight of playing a high-ranking Black police officer while the country grappled with police brutality and systemic racism in policing. Those feelings were heightened in the aftermath of the death of Freddie Gray, who died after he was injured while in police custody in 2015, which followed the killing of Michael Brown by police officer Darren Wilson in 2014. As a character, Holt acknowledged the almost insurmountable difficulties he dealt with throughout his career because of the melanin in his skin. He also helped his precinct’s Black and Latino members navigate the pitfalls he barely avoided.

Season Four dealt with the elephant in the room when a white officer almost arrested Terry Crews’ character Sgt. Terry Jeffords for being Black and fitting the description. That all-too-familiar situation let Braugher showcase his trademark seriousness as the show’s most prominent Black characters got honest with one another about their careers and the system that writes their checks.

With fewer years inside the system, Terry Jeffords believes he must file a complaint, thus bringing it to the department’s attention. While never once disagreeing on the situation’s seriousness, Holt believes putting their heads down and doing the work inside the system is their best move, especially with Jeffords in line for a promotion that puts him in a position to make real change. We saw two Black men figuring out the best way forward for them and the people coming behind them. Holt eventually supports Jeffords after realizing that he never had a commanding officer have his back when he faced similar racial discrimination.

Those scenes worked in this workplace comedy only when someone with Braugher’s talents was at the helm. He understood that earnest moments play best when the actors treat them seriously. Plus, if a show designed for laughs tries tackling heavy issues, it needs character depth to make it work. Holt contained multitudes. He wasn’t just a boss, husband, or co-worker, he was a person. Braugher found Holt’s humanity and nuance in a world that increasingly demands answers be black or white.

And none of that works if the producers had picked a “funny” actor for Raymond Holt. Instead, they chose a man who had trained at Juilliard, won two Emmys, and developed a career that ranged from playing cops to voicing one of Superman’s most ruthless enemies. Because Braugher approached everything professionally, Holt did as well.

Even the jokes.

Revolt announced Combs’ decision on social media Tuesday. It’s not clear when he will return to his media company — which said Combs previously had “no operational or day-to-day role” at the network.

“This decision helps to ensure that Revolt remains steadfastly focused on our mission to create meaningful content for the culture and amplify the voices of all Black people throughout this country and African diaspora,” the network said in the statement.

Combs, a founder of Revolt, declined to comment further on the matter. The network has been preparing to celebrate its 10th anniversary.

Earlier this month, R&B singer Cassie accused Combs of raping and beating her over the duration of their decadeslong, on-and-off relationship — which began in 2005, when she was 19 and he was 37. The singer, whose real name is Cassie Ventura, alleged that Combs raped her when she tried to end the relationship in 2018.

One day after she filed the lawsuit, she and Combs reached a settlement to their “mutual satisfaction.”

“We have decided to resolve this matter amicably. I wish Cassie and her family all the best. Love,” Combs said.

After Combs and Ventura’s settlement, two more women came forward to accuse him of sexual abuse. Both suits were filed last week on the eve of the expiration of the Adult Survivors Act, a New York law permitting victims of sexual abuse a one-year window to file civil action regardless of the statute of limitations.

The filings detail acts of sexual assault, beatings and forced drugging allegedly committed in the early 1990s by Combs, then a talent director, party promoter and rising figure in New York City’s hip-hop community.

Combs has vehemently denied the allegations. He accused the two women of seeking to exploit the New York law that temporarily extended the statute of limitations.

Combs is among the most influential hip-hop producers and executives of the past three decades. He is the founder of Bad Boy Records and a three-time Grammy winner who has worked with a slew of top-tier artists including The Notorious B.I.G., Mary J. Blige, Usher, Lil Kim, Faith Evans and 112.

The mogul created the fashion clothing line Sean John and produced the reality show Making the Band for MTV.

This year, he released his fifth studio album The Love Album: Off the Grid, which earned two Grammy nominations this month.

In 2015, the actor, then in his 70s, was portraying the dad of Mary Jane Paul, a beautifully imperfect woman struggling to get her real life as together as the one she projected on camera for her cable news talk show. The show, of course, was Being Mary Jane, BET’s juggernaut dramatic series, which aired largely between 2013 and 2019. It was the creation and, at times, almost too real vision of a once aspiring journalist, producer Mara Brock Akil. My friend Gabrielle Union brought the title character to life.

Roundtree, whom I’d spoken with a few times over the years, once told me that outside of his portrayal of slave Sam Bennett in the 1977 series Roots, this was his best experience he’d ever had on television.

I asked him why, considering he’d spent decades creating some of the most iconic characters we’ve seen in TV and in film.

Roundtree, who died Tuesday at his home in Los Angeles of pancreatic cancer, said it was the education he was getting via his character. Referring to one of the show’s storylines, he noted, “My oldest daughter is an ESL teacher here in Los Angeles, and charter schools is a big subject with her. I’m learning different points of view on it, and it’s really enlightening.”

But it was more than that. It was the response he was getting from people who ate up the relatable themes of the show, from egg freezing to rising suicide rates among Black men to the politics of charter schools.

His character, Paul Patterson Sr., and the chats he’d had in character as the family’s patriarch, made him wish he’d been armed with things to say to one of his own children, he told me. 

“I wish I could be that forthright. I wish I could have been that forthright with them and it shows — the unnerving part is it shows my shortcomings with my own kids,” he said.

“I am so proud of what he stands for. I was in a diner in Atlanta on Piedmont having lunch and peripherally I see this woman coming towards me and I said, ‘Oh, my goodness, I know she’s going to go into the whole Shaft thing and whatnot.’ ”

Then he paused. Because many people believe that his most lasting impact was bringing to life private detective John Shaft in Shaft, directed by Gordon Parks, in 1971. He ultimately revisited the role another four times, most recently in 2019 with Samuel L. Jackson portraying the title character and Roundtree playing a remixed version of the role he came back to in 2000, as Shaft Sr.

That first Shaft film was hugely influential. Not only did Roundtree give cinemagoers a Black leading man, that film helped create the blaxploitation genre, which dominated theaters for a decade in the 1970s with stories of Black empowerment and, of course, besting The Man. There were some 200 blaxploitation films in total and whether you loved them or hated them, these films gave Black actors work. And they moved Black actors beyond roles of train porters, mammies, and the grotesque stereotype of shiftless field workers.

So much of the success of blaxploitation movies start with Roundtree. In today’s dollars, those films would account for hundreds of millions in box office receipts. Surely he walked through life understanding how very real and how very important that was.

But in that moment in that Atlanta diner, Roundtree learned something new. He learned he was still making an impact. Even at his age. 

“…. she said to me, Mr. Roundtree, I don’t mean to interrupt your lunch, but I’ve got to tell you, I wish with all my heart that my dad had spoken to me the way you spoke to Mary Jane. I would not have made these stupid decisions that I made along the way.”

As he reflected on that story, he pondered what his full imprint on the world would be. Yes, he was introduced to much of the world in Shaft. But the work of representation lasted decades past that film. His work had meaning. And the work – regardless of the medium – never stopped. He was constantly finding new audiences and new audiences were constantly discovering a new reason to love him. And importantly, see themselves in him. 

I could hear in his voice that day that he needed that validation. He needed to know that even as an actor in his 70s, as he continued to create new roles, that the work was truly never done.

And he most certainly wasn’t too old to learn that.

In her new series, Survival of the Thickest, streaming on Netflix, Buteau is simply the fabulous star of her own rom-com. Adapted from her 2020 memoir of the same name, Survival of the Thickest offers a welcome entry into the microgenre of New York Creative Millennial stories. Usually these tales — think Girls, The Bold Type, Broad City, season two of Love Life — feature protagonists in their 20s who are figuring out cash-poor adulthood in one of the most expensive cities on the planet. But Buteau’s Mavis Beaumont is a 38-year-old fashion stylist forced to reset her life after discovering her more established photographer boyfriend dipping his wick into a skinnier doppelgänger.

Mavis finds some internet renown when her client, a maturing supermodel played by Garcelle Beauvais, wears an outfit she’s assembled to the funeral of Beauvais’ first husband leaves a scandalous deposit in his casket. From there, adventure and opportunity abound and Mavis begins styling drag queens at her local bar, CC Bloom’s. (Yes, CC Bloom as in Beaches. Its star may be straight but this is an extremely queer show.)

The plotline is nothing fancy. Buteau’s acuity with rom-com tropes is on full display: her somewhat hapless heroine is guided by a council of pithy friends played by Tasha Smith, Tone Bell, and RuPaul’s Drag Race alum Peppermint. Mavis shares a humble Crown Heights walkup with a harmless, if eccentric, roommate who always smells like salad dressing thanks to an olive oil fixation.

Visually, the show is situated squarely in the contemporary TV rom-com world in which every bar always seems to be awash in the saturated violets, fuchsias and blues that became the defining palette of the 2010s.

Swift action, zippy dialogue, and goofy visual gags keep this eight-episode romp through Mavis’ postbreakup life easy and engaging. (As much as I appreciate the intellectual challenge of prestige TV, it’s nice to have a bingeable confection that doesn’t require the close analysis of say, Succession.) Survival of the Thickest is contained, but not airless. It’s solid, well-executed, unpretentious TV.

Though the star proudly proclaims herself a size 18/20, it’s a relief that Survival of the Thickest is not a show built around a fat character’s fraught relationship with her body. This is not to say that Mavis’ world isn’t filled with skinny privilege — she works in New York fashion after all — but the show proceeds with a refreshing normalcy. Survival abounds with jokes about Mavis’ ample rack, but Buteau’s body isn’t something that has to be addressed, or hidden, or obsessed over.

It’s the character who has benefited most from existing at the center of a skinny-centric fashion culture — Beauvais — who struggles with accepting her own curves and is terrified of appearing in anything form-fitting without the safety net of shapewear. Forget spandex. Mavis fights to wrench a corset from her boss’ stubborn clutches.

Over the past 15 years, fat acceptance/body positivity/health at any size philosophies have been ascendant. And along with these ideas, mainstreamed across social media by influencers such as Gabi Fresh and validated by designers such as Christian Siriano and retailers such as Eloquii, 11 Honoré, Universal Standard, and Dia & Co, came television that dug into the relationships millennial women have with their bodies. Shrill (2019), the Hulu series starring Aidy Bryant, adapted from Lindy West’s memoir, Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman, was an improvement over earlier forays into the lives and emotions of fat women, such as Drop Dead Diva (2009) and Dietland (2018). Both shows starred fat women as their main characters, but their personalities were heavily defined by their displeasure, if not disgust, with their figures. They existed in a broader culture in which the only acceptable way to be a fat woman in public was to be miserable and obsessed with one’s size, always making a visible effort, no matter how Sisyphean, to shrink.

Furthermore, these shows, and even ones like Girls (2012), were about how white women experience being fat. As with so many aspects of American life, there are significant cultural differences among various racial groups regarding weight. Whereas a white woman in the South might be gazed upon with pity and considered “chubby,” a Black woman of the same size might proudly carry the designation of “thick.”

Conversations about weight have evolved beyond Barbie dolls and fashion magazines as the sources of self-hatred and harmful dieting. See, for instance, the breadth of topics covered by Aubrey Gordon, the author of “You Just Need to Lose Weight” and 19 Other Myths About Fat People and co-host of the popular podcast Maintenance Phase, where Gordon and her co-host Michael Hobbes delight in discrediting junk science used to propel fat stigma. Lately though, there’s been some upheaval, as the introduction of GLP-1 agonists such as Ozempic offer new tools for dropping pounds at the same time singer Lizzo has arisen as everyone’s favorite twerking vegan flutist. There is angst that the recent progress made by fatty baddies will be drowned out by the marketing budgets of Novo Nordisk and Eli Lilly and Company.

The charm of Survival is that it doesn’t feel the need to take on all of these issues. Instead, it’s wholly a creature of Buteau’s infectious humor and personality. Buteau delivers a bubbly, scene-stealing ebullience that remains consistent across her performances, such as those in the 2019 feature rom-com Always Be My Maybe and the BET+ series First Wives Club.

Buteau has long been a fixture of the Brooklyn comedy, acting, and podcasting circuit (she and Jordan Carlos co-host the WNYC podcast Adulting) and her borough buddies Nicole Beyer and Carlos appear in Survival of the Thickest along with Sarah Cooper, who achieved early pandemic virality with her lip-synched TikToks of President Donald Trump’s news conferences.

Under the guidance of costume designer Keia Bounds, Mavis’ looks are daring and playful, informed by an adolescence spent flipping through Vogue and an adulthood of amassing the creative hacks to adapt them for her body and wallet. Bounds is not working with the costume budget of Patricia Fields’ heyday at Sex and the City. But she’s also not dressing characters with the resources for legacy brand luxury goods, which opens the show’s wardrobe to New York designers such as Brandon Blackwood. Early middle age looks different on millennials, thanks to the Great Recession and an unshakable albatross of student loan debt.

The first season of Survival concludes with Mavis hosting and styling an alternative prom for queer kids who were banned from their school prom. Clad in a frothy, baby blue puff-sleeve Selkie dress, Buteau becomes a modern fairy godmother, dispensing an earnest, grown-up, cheery self-love to herself and all who encounter her. With that in her pocket, Buteau is bound to do more than survive — she’s a woman built to thrive.