Based on the title, you might think that Dear White People is a provocation aimed squarely at white people. And to some extent, it is. White people are called out for, among other things, compulsively touching black hair, dating black people to add to their street cred, whining about “reverse racism,” and the (astonishingly) still-prevalent practice of blackface. But Dear White People actually wants to start a conversation, not end one. And it’s more about how difficult it is for young black people to navigate our allegedly post-racial world than it is about pointing fingers. Ultimately, it’s about labels—in terms of race, culture, and gender politics—and how limiting they can be.
The setting is Winchester University, a made-up Ivy League school somewhere on the East Coast. We meet four black students on the largely white campus. There’s Sam White (Tessa Thompson), the host of the eponymous “Dear White People” video blog. Beautiful, confident, and self-possessed, she’s seen as the leader of the more separatist group of black activists on campus, the ones who want a residence of their own and are quick to discuss the legacy of slavery in class. But there’s more to Sam than meets the eye—she’s actually only half black and secretly dating a white TA. Then there’s Troy Fairbanks (Brandon P. Bell), son of the dean of students (Dennis Haysbert) and an aspiring politician. He’s the great assimilator—dating the university president’s (white) daughter, applying to the campus’s famous (and almost exclusively white) humor review, always befriending and accommodating white people—but is that who he really wants to be? Next we have Coco Conners (Teyonah Paris), who changed her name from the decidedly less WASPy “Colandrea,” wears a long, straight wig, and likes to deny that she’s from the ’hood. Finally, there’s the adorable Lionel (Tyler James Williams from Everybody Hates Chris), a black gay nerd—he likes Mumford and Sons and Star Trek—who literally feels like he fits in nowhere.
Here’s the point: All young people are searching for identity, for a place where they belong. But writer/director Justin Simien, in his feature debut (!), is suggesting that when you’re young and black, the expectations, the pressures, and the actual obstacles are that much greater. The film is fast, funny, and smart as a whip, although perhaps, at times, a little overstuffed. It has ideas, and lots of them—and you’ll want to discuss those ideas with your friends, both black and white, long after the film is over. Along with its insights and generosity of spirit, the thing I’ll remember most about Dear White People is the performance of Tessa Thompson. You just can’t take your eyes off her. In this film, two stars are born: Simien and his leading lady.