Queen Sugar

The unflustered audacity of the plot is just one of the elements that makes Queen Sugar a rare act of beauty and bravery on television. While it caters to the tropes and archetypes that television viewers want in addictive storylines, each episode is unquestionably cinematic in scope and execution as it weaves an enticing and unapologetically political narrative.

It’s best not to read too much about the new season in advance, because Queen Sugar springs a few doozies right out of the gate. Rest assured that the series never sacrifices emotional realism for the pop of a soap-opera twist.

The show’s depiction of loss feels universal, but at the heart of Queen Sugar is a rich and powerful portrait of a black American family.

With DuVernay leading the charge, Queen Sugar boasts a promising cast, heavily populated by black actors in their first series-regular roles, and an all-female directing team, some established but many still launching their careers--meaningful footnotes to the quality of the show, which is high.

It could all be so cheesy, but somehow it’s not. Credit DuVernay for giving us a sense of Louisiana--and black--life that rises above mere plot manipulations. You believe these people; you care for them. And that’s sweet enough.

After three episodes of Queen Sugar, there’s an overriding sense that the show has yet to take off in a big way, and doesn’t show signs that it will for at least a few more episodes, but it most definitely has potential to be a big winner when and if it finds its rhythm.

Queen Sugar, at its best, finds quiet moments to contemplate the demands of having siblings as well as being someone’s son or daughter. Those fleeting scenes are few and far between in the first three episodes, and they’re often overwhelmed by unbelievable, exaggerated moments of crises.

"Calvin: Okay when did I become the bad guy? Courtney: When you were born. Like every other heterosexual cisgendered white male."