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Why âSamurai Champlooâ is getting me through lockdown
âThis work of fiction is not an accurate historical portrayal. Like we care. Now shut up and enjoy the show.â With these title cards the anime series âSamurai Champlooâ announced itself to me with amusing aggression three years ago. It saved me during a lonely period stuck at home, and Iâm still comforted by it now. It follows a vagrant, a rĆnin and a young girl as they travel across Edo-era Japan to find âthe samurai who smells of sunflowersâ. Their adventure is weird, wild and moving. The man behind it, ShinichirĆ Watanabe, already gave us the jazz-tastic sci-fi âCowboy Bebopâ (check it out at Funimation). Also blessed with seriously Spotify-able theme music, âSamurai Champlooâ marries hip hop and Japanese history â all with a thoughtfulness that I love and deep themes that include repressed feelings, intergenerational change and frayed familial bonds. It immediately ticked all my boxes. Its epic odyssey is a balm at a time when the living room walls seem to be closing in ShinichirĆâs love of splicing genres seeps into every detail, from Mugenâs breakdancing-like fighting style to scene transitions that use record scratches. âChamplooâ offers an electric combination of chanbara (sword-fighting) and a frankly incredible soundtrack. But itâs not just the style that keeps me coming back. Its epic odyssey story is a balm at a time when the living room walls occasionally seem to be closing in. The showâs in-your-face style also makes a lot of room for gentle contemplation about
Listings and reviews (2)

Education
Thereâs been nothing in recent memory quite like Small Axe, an ambitious, deeply empathetic series of films by Steve McQueen. Each of its five dramas about Londonâs West Indian communities across the decades has returned to interconnected themes of collective resistance, changing familial ties and the hope of making your mark on the world. These familiar, personal issues may as well be the entire universe as far as McQueen is concerned, and Education, the final film in the series and its most personal tale yet, illustrates as much in its first shot: the stars themselves mapped on the face of Kingsley (Kenyah Sandy), a young boy gazing awestruck up at the planetarium presentation, dreaming of being an astronaut. Of course, the rigid and anti-Black structure of British systems belittle such aspirations, and do everything in their power to phase Kingsley out. Heâs picked on in class by his own teachers, all unaware or wilfully ignorant of his dyslexia; McQueen and co-writer Alastair Siddonsâ script homes in on his struggle with being moved out of sight to a âspecialâ school. In this context, the move is simply a pretence for racial segregation within the British school system. Kingsley is compartmentalised for the schoolâs sake; left to his own devices the moment he arrives. He isnât disruptive because of a lack of interest in learning. In fact, he desperately wants to learn. Instead, itâs the lack of accommodation and outright hostility from his teachers that turns him against

Ma Raineyâs Black Bottom
Set during a long recording session of the album of its title (itself named for a popular 1920s dance), the subject of Ma Raineyâs Black Bottom isnât quite the âMother of Bluesâ Ma Rainey herself (played by a typically commanding Viola Davis). Despite the title, Chadwick Bosemanâs character, the ambitious horn player Levee, is the axis around which the film revolves. The role is a perfect showcase of the late actorâs potential for provocative volatility, a fiery counterpoint to the steadfast charm he brought to some of his best-known roles. His presence shouldnât endure just because itâs his final on-screen role, but because of how well he plays it. It should have been another stepping stone on the way to greater things. Instead, this committed performance is a fitting epitaph for a great lost talent. Those looking for a biography about Ma Rainey, however, will likely come out somewhat disappointed. Despite Davisâs blazing authenticity, the blue singerâs presence feels close to incidental to the story. That said, sheâs fascinating in the scenes she has, especially in the depiction of her characterâs thorny relationship with the exploitative white music producers looking to hijack the genre for cash. But despite Ma Raineyâs fidelity to the August Wilson stage play it adapts â or perhaps because of it â it feels like a missed opportunity to further illuminate a history of pioneering Black women so often overlooked. As for the look of the film, the blown-out lighting, straightfo