Critic Reviews

The cast handles the whip-smart dialogue perfectly. It’s hardly a surprise Barris and Rashida Jones are terrific, but it ain’t easy finding a half-dozen young to very young actors who are so authentic, so skilled at comedic timing, so good at creating original characters who are believable even in his heightened comedic atmosphere. And oh, the subjects “#blackAF” tackles with hilarious, unblinking truth and humor.

On Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David makes you feel like the whole world is conspiring against him, whereas with #blackAF, it kind of feels like Kenya is out to stick it to the world. You've gotta have the goods to do that though, and this time, Barris does.

It may seem like black-ish with f-bombs, but #blackAF is still a funny, meta introduction to what Barris will be able to do with the creative freedoms Netflix brings.

It seems like anything can happen on #blackAF. It’s that kind of unpredictability and refreshing tone that make the idea of future #blackAF seasons exciting—as long as Barris continues to follow the advice his character gets from Tyler Perry: “Tell your own experience. Can’t nobody tell you how to be you.”

#blackAF isn’t a bad watch. While the episodes are too long, they’re mostly funny and enjoyable, albeit unsettlingly familiar for obvious reasons.

Not all of the new show works, but the parts that do are incredibly funny and/or poignant.

It’s the Curb Your Enthusiasm to Black-ish’s Seinfeld, with monologues interspersed throughout that tackle fraught issues within the black community, like materialism and fatherhood. These interludes can be illuminating, but they—along with the framing device and too many tired family-sitcom plots (e.g., Mom and Dad do drugs)—slow the already languid pace. More engaging are scenes that depict Barris’ professional life. ... Barris’ Larry-David-like self-awareness lends authenticity to his performance. Even if it takes another season to perfect, #blackAF feels substantial enough to justify the investment.

Sometimes it's a post-modern exercise. Sometimes it's a sour smirk at audience expectations. Sometimes it's self-flagellation. I found it often funny and was invested in trying to decode the layers of fictional autobiography. As to whether the layers of cynicism and discomfort are actually pleasurable to watch? That's a tougher question.

“#blackAF” is funny and audacious in many of the same ways [as “black-ish”] — “Curb Your Enthusiasm” to its predecessor’s “Seinfeld.” But there are an awful lot of echoes and repetitions: themes that might have been explored on “black-ish,” story lines and character dynamics that already were explored on “blackish.” “#blackAF” finds its voice immediately. It takes longer to suggest its purpose — that is, what Barris can say here that he couldn’t and hasn’t already.

In some ways, “#BlackAF” is fun. Barris ably creates an alter ego, like David, Marc Maron, Chris Isaak, and Kirstie Alley before him, and he improves with each episode. ... One of the persistent negatives is the lack of arcs, both in terms of story and character.