Written by Ryan W. Kinney a.k.a. Brother Ghoulish

Okay, yes, The Obituary of Tunde Johnson is about an unarmed Black teen being mercilessly slain at the hands of White police officers in a continual loop, like that on Groundhog Day and Happy Death Day. And yes, it is uncomfortable to sit through those scenes. I don’t blame anyone for choosing not to. Prioritizing your mental health and wellness should always take precedence. For everyone else, let’s talk.

The Obituary of Tunde Johnson premiered on February 26, 2021 (which happens to be my birthday). When I first saw the trailer for this film, I was excited to see a Black gay lead, Tunde Johnson—played by Steven Silver from 13 Reasons Why. Although I was scared to see someone who looks like me continually subjected to modern-day lynching’s, I decided to take the risk. Also, I loved the idea of supporting a film written and directed by Black men, Stanley Kalu and Ali LeRoi, respectively. Although the genre of this film is technically a drama, it’s a horror to me.

Although the title is a mouthful, it’s apropos. The Obituary of Tunde Johnson shows the many potential deaths a Black gay man in America may encounter physically and spiritually. As Black people, there’s the fear of death when encountering white police officers, as visited in this film and real life. As gay Black men, there’s the fear of a myriad of physical and spiritual deaths due to the embracing of our sexuality.

I’m NOT doing a full walkthrough of the film, but I will look at the scenes leading up to Tunde’s first death. The film begins with a voiceover reading of Tunde’s actual obituary. As the overall film shows the death of at least one of Tunde’s perceptions of self, this proves to be well placed. This also doubles as a foreshadowing of what the trailer showed us.

Next, we see a candid video of Soren, who later turns out to be Tunde’s DL lover and the sexual partner of Tunde’s best girlfriend Marly (Nicola Peltz, who played Bradley in Bates Motel). Tunde discreetly takes a hit of something and dances around his bedroom singing love songs before slipping into deep thought.

Meanwhile, Tunde’s mother and father - Yomi and Ade, respectively - are in the living room watching the news report on an unarmed Black teen killed by white police officers. Yomi expressed disdain for Ade’s decision to use that pain for his art. Their exchange, though short, resembles both sides of a currently ongoing conversation between Black horror fans regarding our depictions in the genre. Then, Tunde enters. The time has come for him to come out of the closet.

Ade, Tunde’s father, primes the conversation with what I perceive to be passive-aggressive subliminal messaging around the ‘deconstruction of Black masculinity.’ One of the touchier subjects I’ve been privy to growing up was this idea of homosexuality somehow being an attack on Black masculinity. So, at this moment, Ade represents the culture, traditions, and beliefs of many Black families. Another layer is the still playing news report, which is the unfortunate zeitgeist for all Black families just trying to live our everyday lives. This scene accurately illustrates some of the nuanced pressures of Black gay intersectionality.

Tunde’s parents are surprisingly supportive, something I’m both shocked and elated to witness. With the first of Tunde’s many promised deaths lingering, I’m instantly on edge when he gets into his car and drives out into the night with his music blasting. When he calls Soren to share the good news, the sultry voice of a woman whispers to Soren: “Baby, get off the phone.” Crestfallen, police lights fill Tunde’s car from behind as he’s pulled over and things escalate.

Two white male police officers assemble on either side of Tunde’s car and talk through the driver and passenger side windows. Initially, I was going to say something like ‘despite being respectful, Tunde was gunned down.’ However, I decided against it. A history of mistreatment from those who swore to serve and protect us is reason enough for Black people to not have sunshine pouring out of our asses when pulled over by police. Being respectful is not a requirement just as being disrespectful is not a crime punishable by death.

Tunde’s life slips away after a hail of bullets. Immediately after, he gasps awake and finds himself in his bed and inexplicably time looped back to the start of his day. Despite the dread riddling his body, he drags himself out of the bed and starts his day again. It’s a lot like being depressed over seeing yourself killed, and yet going through your day because you must - oh, wait. Does this similarity to our experience as Black people in today’s climate make this film’s central concept simply one Black death too many?

In a YouTube interview on the Black Girl Nerds channel, Stanley Kalu explains why he chose the film’s central concept. He starts by pointing out that “the nature of violence against Black bodies in this country is cyclical.” Then, he reflects on having grown up across Africa where he wasn’t a minority and how moving here to the US five years before the film’s release impacted him: “It really troubled me to see people who look like me die every day...so the time loop was an obvious convention. This is actually what’s happening, it isn’t a metaphor. This is real.”

Kalu points out people who say things such as ‘If this person had done this or not been there,’ and calls it cultural gaslighting. Changing Tunde’s final acts and location but keeping the outcome the same shows how ridiculous those notions are. Granted, Kalu wrote this film when he was 19 years old, but the themes discussed hit Black people of all ages.

Kalu also points out a character flaw in Tunde’s belief in protection due to his proximity to White-ness, which I find fascinating. Before hearing this, while watching the film, I was reminded of a book titled Two Thousand Seasons by Ayi Kwei Armah. Though not completely related, there are cautionary tales in the book detailing the destruction of our ancestors, many of whom shared a similar mindset as Tunde’s.

So, yes, The Obituary of Tunde Johnson is one Black death too many, just like those in the real world. It’s several deaths too many. However, it seems that Stanley Kalu went in knowing this and used it to make what I consider to be a bright and ambitious piece that will, understandably, not be everyone’s taste, especially in respect of today’s climate. Overall, I enjoyed the film and gave it a 4 out of 5. The first 30 minutes of the movie are a slow burn, but afterward, it picks up. The overall run time is 105 minutes, and it’s available on Prime Video if you’re interested in watching.

About the Author

Ryan W. Kinney a.k.a. Brother Ghoulish is a writer and host of the Brother Ghoulish’s Tomb podcast where he celebrates the horror genre. In addition to horror movies reviews from a Black queer lens such as the one above, he also shares his original horror fiction short stories featuring queer POC leads. You can find Brother Ghoulish’s Tomb on the popular podcast platforms.

Social media links – @brotherghoulish on Twitter & IG. Website – www.brotherghoulish.com