Diary entries forThe Last Black Man in San Francisco
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
the score, the storyline, the cinematography, the editing. wow. literally the most beautiful movie i've ever seen.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
okay, so i'm going to watch this a million more times
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
my my my such a beautifully shot movie! every shot is handled with care!
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
The Last Black Man in San Francisco is a film filled with so much adoration and love, it clearly shows through the intimate portrait of the iconic city. I’m still speechless after watching this film, and am upset with myself for not taking the opportunity to see this film in theaters, rather than watching it in my living room early in the morning. This film truly is a vision, and one that I cannot wait to experience again. It’s an intimate film about a city that I love, and truly is one of the year’s best.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
THAT scene is the definition of pure cinema
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
Jimmie and Mont are capital H Homies and that makes watching them struggle together infinitely more interesting. Excellently shot, acted, and directed. This one slaps and offers an incredible message about the struggles of being not only poor but poor and black. Please watch, its v good.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth, I just wanted it to be true. this line by jimmie fails reflects the overall struggle of the characters to hold onto a sense of identity and belonging in a city that's transforming around them
The Last Black Man in San Francisco
Having lived in the damned city for 5 years, I often heard, "San Francisco cares more about dogs than black people." Which is true, and here's a film to prove it. The film begins and feels full of allegory as we sweep in with majestic shots soaked in sunshine. It's hard not to doze off in the peripherals of the film as they all feel so familiar. My old love for the city settled back. I miss my friends. I miss the walks through the city, the time to myself. I miss the way the air felt, as if the sea breathed alongside me, in a city. When we talk about history in San Francisco, we talk about first of firsts. We talk about where the first best burrito best rested. In the Mission? But what about that one by Dolores Park? What beats a burrito at the park? With a pick-me-up from Bi-Rite? Interestingly enough, landmarks are not part of the story. Rather, the backdrop of the city. The rolling hills, the same-faced houses, and choosing where we belong. Tribal distinctions exist in the city, but for a black person in the city, that tribal distinction expands, needs to be specific. Are you OG? From the Fillmore? Or the projects around Japantown? Or straight from the Tenderloin? Are you the vibrant artist in Oakland? Or do you hide in the shadows of McArthur BART? We get this when we see the herd of manchilds exert their powers onto each other in front of Mont's grandpa's apartment, as if power needs to belong somewhere, pressure itself upon others. But people have choice, and some choose to leave old homes, gangs. As we watch Jimmie float from neighborhood to neighborhood, we come to realize that "people aren't one thing". And that is San Francisco. San Francisco is more than one thing and ever-changing. So when you heart people complain about the techies, about the yuppies, about gentrification, you forget that this has happened in the city countless of times based on ethnic neighborhoods around the city for so many years. San Francisco is more than one thing. It demands to be because it is for everyone, struggling, hungry, ambitious, and grateful. One thing and everything.
