#blackAF

It may seem like black-ish with f-bombs, but #blackAF is still a funny, meta introduction to what Barris will be able to do with the creative freedoms Netflix brings.

On Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David makes you feel like the whole world is conspiring against him, whereas with #blackAF, it kind of feels like Kenya is out to stick it to the world. You've gotta have the goods to do that though, and this time, Barris does.

It seems like anything can happen on #blackAF. It’s that kind of unpredictability and refreshing tone that make the idea of future #blackAF seasons exciting—as long as Barris continues to follow the advice his character gets from Tyler Perry: “Tell your own experience. Can’t nobody tell you how to be you.”

#blackAF isn’t a bad watch. While the episodes are too long, they’re mostly funny and enjoyable, albeit unsettlingly familiar for obvious reasons.

Sometimes it's a post-modern exercise. Sometimes it's a sour smirk at audience expectations. Sometimes it's self-flagellation. I found it often funny and was invested in trying to decode the layers of fictional autobiography. As to whether the layers of cynicism and discomfort are actually pleasurable to watch? That's a tougher question.

It’s the Curb Your Enthusiasm to Black-ish’s Seinfeld, with monologues interspersed throughout that tackle fraught issues within the black community, like materialism and fatherhood. These interludes can be illuminating, but they—along with the framing device and too many tired family-sitcom plots (e.g., Mom and Dad do drugs)—slow the already languid pace. More engaging are scenes that depict Barris’ professional life. ... Barris’ Larry-David-like self-awareness lends authenticity to his performance. Even if it takes another season to perfect, #blackAF feels substantial enough to justify the investment.

Not all of the new show works, but the parts that do are incredibly funny and/or poignant.

In some ways, “#BlackAF” is fun. Barris ably creates an alter ego, like David, Marc Maron, Chris Isaak, and Kirstie Alley before him, and he improves with each episode. ... One of the persistent negatives is the lack of arcs, both in terms of story and character.

“#blackAF” is funny and audacious in many of the same ways [as “black-ish”] — “Curb Your Enthusiasm” to its predecessor’s “Seinfeld.” But there are an awful lot of echoes and repetitions: themes that might have been explored on “black-ish,” story lines and character dynamics that already were explored on “blackish.” “#blackAF” finds its voice immediately. It takes longer to suggest its purpose — that is, what Barris can say here that he couldn’t and hasn’t already.

You're either completely in on the joke, or have at least accepted its shortcomings enough to enjoy the lines that Barris has written at his own expense. But if you don't quite make it there, never mind. Barris is committing enough self-flagellation for the entire culture by way of an upscale reprise of past TV acts, and we are under no obligation because of anything to bear witness.

“#blackAF” is a messy show about the mess of making television. ... The other seven episodes blur into one another, lacking story or situation. I couldn’t get enough of Jones as a loving, self-absorbed, rich-bitch mom, and I will never complain about a Nia Long cameo, especially one in which she’s playing a hustler publicist. But “#blackAF” desperately needs fewer riffs and an expanded character universe to leaven its atmosphere of crushing self-indulgence.

The parents reek of entitlement and self-centeredness. The kids are various degrees of wack. The show celebrates/normalizes black families and race relations while undermining them with humor that cuts close to the bone.

Inaugurating "Black-ish" producer Kenya Barris' deal with Netflix, "#blackAF" is as messy as its title -- an unwieldy, self-indulgent show in which Barris, much like Larry David's "Curb Your Enthusiasm," plays a version of himself. It's both a tired concept and an awkwardly constructed one, something that cute hashtags and the occasional clever Hollywood/L.A. reference can't fix.

It feels like a kind of confessional — although it rarely rises above surface-level self-aggrandizing — and it meanders due to the absence of a clearly expressed series arc. ... Except for the occasional one-liner that lands, it’s just not funny, and is often tedious to watch.

The air here is thick with narcissism and self-absorption, in such quantities and misfired jokes as to make any viewer, black or otherwise, struggle with the show’s tone and intent. Barris is not nearly a strong enough actor to convey the complicated nuances he’s going for here, while it’s up to Jones to remind viewers that they are indeed watching a comedy.

An unfocused series that never hits its stride and whose audience is left undefined. ... The characters are all thin veneers for a sitcom whose cleverness appears irregularly, and whose main joke doesn’t evolve past a father hating his children.