No plot spoilers, and in no particular order:
* Method Man appears as himself, and his scenes might be my favorite parts of the series.
* I think of Daredevil as being about guilt, and what we do when we feel responsible. Jessica Jones is about trauma, and how to get power back after being a victim. Luke Cage is about … Name. Reputation. Standing in a community. Relationship to community. History. Legacy. The number of times I got earwormed with “the world’s gonna know your name / what’s your name, man” while watching this show was many.
* Rosario Dawson as Claire Temple is the beating heart of the street-MCU. There is no scene she does not improve by merely being in it.
* There were a number of moments, of interactions between characters, where I realized “that moment was not for me.” References I did not get. Cultural values phrased in ways I had to translate. I was so happy to see this. Because the world does not need another superhero show by, about, and for white people. And Luke Cage is by, about, and for African-Americans. It was right, good, and proper that I didn’t understand all the jokes and references.
* Watching this show made me increasingly angry that we have not done this already. Before. That instead of a Misty Knight movie, we are getting Doctor Strange. That instead of a Claire Temple series we had season two of Daredevil. I’m not saying cancel Doctor Strange, just, push it back in the production queue. Like Captain Marvel got pushed back.
* The acting talent in Luke Cage was, overall, fantastic.
* As in the previous three NetFlix Marvel series, the writing lagged in the middle bits. I strongly feel that all four series so far needed to be ten episodes, not thirteen.
* As in the the previous three NetFlix Marvel series, the more cartoon-y villain is less frightening than the quiet, systemic, white men in nice suits with power, villains. Street-level MCU is very clear on where real evil lies, and it rests in the hands of privilege and white male authority.
* There is a bit in the series where black men in Harlem begin wearing hoodies with fake bullet holes in them, in solidarity with the bullet-proof black man.
I cried. I drive past the community memorial to Philando Castile every week. I cried, watching Harlem celebrate the power to not be shot by police.
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