By Nsenga K. Burton
NNPA Newswire Culture and Entertainment Editor

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The Six Triple Eight tells the important yet often overlooked story of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion, an all-Black, all-woman unit in World War II. The film chronicles the battalion’s efforts to clear a massive backlog of undelivered mail meant for U.S. troops, a task that was both vital and challenging. In a show-stopping speech atop a mountain of mail, Major Charity Adams, played fiercely by Kerry Washington, explains the importance of mail during wartime and its relationship to soldier morale. Adams, who is continuously denied promotions despite her impeccable professional performance, leads 855 Black women through 17 million pieces of mail in an abandoned, cold and drafty school rife with “vermin” to raise the morale of soldiers and bring closure to families who haven’t heard from loved ones in nearly a year.

The film features an all-star cast, including Susan Sarandon as Eleanor Roosevelt, Sam Waterston as President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Oprah Winfrey as Mary McLeod Bethune, and Ebony Obsidian (Sistas, If Beale Street Could Talk), who shows her acting chops by holding her own playing Lena, a bereaved private, opposite Washington.

Lena is a highly sensitive and intelligent young woman who is distraught over the death of her Jewish “boyfriend,” Abram David (Gregg Sulkin), who is killed in the war. Instead of attending college, Lena enlists in the army to “fight Hitler.” En route to basic training in Georgia, Lena is joined with a group of women in the segregated battalion, all of whom are running away from a traumatic past and running towards a brighter future. What emerges is a strong sisterhood that bonds the women, whether in their barracks or crossing the big pond, which is one of the highlights of the film.

The Six Triple Eight has all of the tropes of a film set during the 1940s, including de facto segregation here and abroad, the mistreatment of Black women in and out of the service by any and everybody, aggressive white men using the N-word with the hard “R,” and older Black women whose hearts are free, but minds are shackled to fear that living in segregation and being subjected to impromptu violence, ridicule, jail or scorn brings to bear.

While the film elevates the untold story of the dynamic, pioneering, and committed Black servicewomen of the Six Triple Eight, the narrative falls prey to Perry’s signature style — heavy-handed dialogue, uneven performances and a redundant script that keeps beating viewers over the head with what many already know as opposed to what we need to know. For example, a short montage of the women working with the mail is usurped by abusive treatment from white, male leaders. A film like this would benefit more from seeing and understanding the dynamism, intelligence and dedication it took for these women to develop and implement a strategy to get this volume of mail to the soldiers and their families.

In another scene, the 6888 soldiers yell out their prior professions, which would prove helpful to keeping their assignment when they come under attack again from the white military men. Visually seeing the Black women demonstrate their talents would be far more satisfying than hearing them ticked off like a grocery list, which undermines the significance of their work and preparation for war as Black women during this harrowing time in history. The lack of emphasis on their skills and capabilities diminishes the overall impact of their story, leaving viewers wanting more depth and insight into their achievements.

While the film highlights the struggles these women faced against institutional racism and sexism, it ultimately falls short in delivering a nuanced portrayal of their significant contributions to the war effort. This is a must-see film because of the subject matter and strong performances by Washington and Obsidian, but the story’s execution makes it difficult to get through.

Tyler Perry is beloved as a filmmaker because he sometimes makes films that people need to see at a particular moment in time (For Colored Girls), resuscitates or helps to keep the careers of super accomplished actors alive (Debi Morgan, Alfre Woodward, Cicely Tyson) and gives young, talented actors like Obsidian, Taylor Polidore Williams (Beauty in Black, Snowfall, All-American HBCU) and Crystal Renee Hayslett (Zatima) a chance to play a lead role when mainstream Hollywood is taking too long. One thing Perry hasn’t done is extend that generosity of spirit to the same extent to the writing and directing categories.  Debbie Allen choreographed the march scene for Six Triple Eight. What might this film have been had she directed the film?

This much-anticipated film is a love letter to Black servicewomen and a movie that audiences need to see now that would benefit immensely from stronger writing and direction. Six Triple Eight is a commendable effort to elevate an untold story, but it ultimately leaves viewers craving a more nuanced exploration of the remarkable women at its center.

Six Triple Eight is now playing on Netflix.

This review was written by media critic Nsenga K. Burton, Ph.D., editor-at-large for NNPA/Black Press USA and editor-in-chief of The Burton Wire. Follow her on IG @TheBurtonWire.

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By Magaly Muñoz

Over 600 people packed Grand Lake Theater in Oakland last week for a screening of ‘The Strike,’ a documentary about the longest hunger strike in U.S. history, conducted by incarcerated men living in solitary confinement.

The film follows different men who are part of a generation of inmates subjected to solitary confinement for years at a time, and in some cases, decades. Many of the men were housed inside Pelican Bay State Prison, a solitary housing unit or SHU built in the 1980s, which was considered one of the toughest confinement prisons in California.

These men endured years with little to no human contact, aside from interactions with prison guards, during their confinement. They were stuck in an 8’ by 10’ box for 23 hours a day with only one hour of outdoor recreation in a slightly longer cell that was isolated from the outside world. Some recreation boxes didn’t even provide an open concept for inmates to get fresh air and sunlight.

In 2011, inmates went on a 19-day hunger strike to protest the living conditions inside the prison. Inmates decided to end the strike after leaders with the California Department of Corrections promised they’d make strides with changing policy. Two years later, when no significant changes had been made, inmates went on a second hunger strike, this time, for 59 days.

The documentary shows clips of policy makers and California prison leaders both defending the choices of putting inmates in solitary confinement indefinitely, and those with regret for being part of a system that further oppressed an already vulnerable group of people.

The Post spoke with a participant of the hunger strike and the directors of ‘The Strike’ after the screening.

Director Lucas Guilkey said it was a special experience being able to document the lives of the families and formerly incarcerated men who were affected by the prison system.

An up-and-coming filmmaker at the time of the first strike in 2011, Guilkey was meeting with activists, often mothers, sisters, and wives, who were finally seeing what involuntary confinement was doing to their loved ones.

“The hunger strike was in many ways folks bringing their family members back to them. Demanding to be seen as humans deserving of dignity. And it was a powerful story,” Guilkey told the Post.

Lorenzo “Dadisi” Venton, a hunger striker, spent 31 years in solitary confinement at Pelican Bay. He told the Post that it was surprising how much life outside of prison, specifically his family, could change.

Venton said his sister would send him pictures of their family but had to label who everyone was because he didn’t recognize anyone after so many years inside confinement.

“It really shocked me that I seen pictures of my brother because I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I didn’t recognize my own brother,” Venton said. “I could even look back right now and look at pictures of me when I was younger, and I don’t see me.”

When asked how he did not succumb to the loneliness of being in solitary confinement, he said he held onto hope, even when everyone else gave up.

“I felt that eventually they would have to come to the conclusion that I no longer posed a threat or potential threats to society, and age might be a factor for a lot of us who was released, [and it did] become a factor,” Venton said.

Venton shared that it’s difficult maintaining a job and having to pay bills now that he’s out of prison. He’s living paycheck to paycheck due to the lack of savings or safety net a lot of incarcerated folks lack because of the time spent behind bars.

Even with the difficulties, he said nothing will drive him to ever go back to incarceration because he has so much he wants to do with his life.

Co-director JoeBill Muñoz said that while significant changes to the California corrections system are still a long way off, the shift in policy from where it started to the present, is drastic.

Even if the film does not resonate with people personally, it’s been amazing to see how crowds have reacted to the different stories, Muñoz said.

“There’s a big central message of the film that is about unity and coming together across differences,” Muñoz said. “It’s really powerful that [the film] isn’t just limited to what happens inside prisons, but that it’s applicable in everybody’s lives here on the outside across a spectrum of different issues.”

The Strike will be available for free streaming on PBS for three months starting Feb. 3, 2025.

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By Antonio Ray Harvey, California Black Media 

Assemblymember Mike Gipson (D-Carson), a member of the California Legislative Black Caucus (CLBC) says he supports Gov. Gavin Newsom’s proposal to expand the state’s Film and Television Tax Credit Program from its current $330 million annual budget allocation to $750 million.

Gipson, who is chair of the Assembly Committee on Arts, Entertainment, Sports, and Tourism, says, historically, that tax credit has aimed to increase diversity, equity, and inclusion” as outlined in SB 132. 

He’s counting on it to continue making diversity a priority.

“The Legislature finds and declares an overall trend toward increasing diversity based on existing research on diversity in the motion picture production and television industry,” the bill language states.

In a statement, Gipson told California Black Media (CBM) the tax credit, “would allow our state to be more competitive against states with tax incentive programs of their own, such as Georgia, New York, and New Mexico.”

“The film and television industry is iconic to California, impacting thousands of jobs for below-the-line workers on film and television crews, as well as many others working in hair and make-up, food services and transportation, costume and set design, and more,” Gipson continued.

According to the Governor’s office, the increase would uplift the state for capped film incentive programs, surpassing other states. Gipson says he agrees with Newsom’s assessment and the notion that the program would bring more business back to California.

“California is the entertainment capital of the world, rooted in decades of creativity, innovation, and unparalleled talent,” said Newsom on Oct 27 in L.A. at the unveiling of the tax credit.

Newsom’s tax credit proposal is expected to appear as a bill during the next legislative session, raising concerns about diversity, equity, and inclusion for some lawmakers and advocates.

Gipson’s CLBC colleagues Sen. Lola Smallwood-Cuevas (D-Los Angeles) and Assemblymember Tina McKinnor (D-Inglewood) led a faction of legislators who demanded answers from Hollywood last year after several Black women left high-profile executive positions in Hollywood.

A number of those Black executives who left those prominent roles were leading DEI initiatives at major entertainment companies such as Netflix, Disney, British Broadcasting Company, Warner Bros., and the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences.

Speaking on behalf of Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) employed in the industry, McKinnor and Smallwood Cuevas insist on holding television and film studio executives accountable as they benefit from taxpayer support but often appear reluctant to support Diversity, Equity and Inclusion initiatives.

“I was highly offended to see the industry’s response to a $1.6 billion tax subsidy by quietly eliminating Black women from executive positions with a number of studios,” said McKinnor. “Many of these women were involved in their studios’ diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts, which raises a serious question about their commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion in the film industry.”

The legislation for this year’s tax credit program has not been written, but Gipson’s staff has indicated that he will not introduce it – even though the issue is close to his heart.

“I applaud the work being done by the California Film Commission, the studios, and the entertainment unions, and I look forward to supporting this proposal next year as it moves through the legislative process,” Gipson said.

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