I’m watching now didn’t see reviews
but man the 1st 15 is dope af
but man the 1st 15 is dope af
Official Queen & Slim Thread
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bytch nikka this is a message board.
Token Moltisanti
All Star
There were a few corny moments such as the way they died and fell on top of each other & the part about him kissing her scars or some shyt. Bokeem killed it and I feel the first hour or so was the strongest. Worst moment of the film has to be the sex scene mixed with the boy killing the cop. Tf was that about 
This movie was dope fukk whoever say otherwise. The chemistry was dope. The acting was dope. And anytime I almost cry that mean your movie did it’s job.
I enjoyed it a lot. The movie was dope
I enjoyed it a lot. The movie was dope
Busby
Real name no gimmicks..
I really enjoyed this movie. I can see why some folks won’t like it but to me I didn’t mind it to much. And to be honest if something like that would happen in real life I wouldn’t be surprised if the exact same thing would go down.
Wouldn’t be surprised if this gets some Oscar nods..
Wouldn’t be surprised if this gets some Oscar nods..
OGBIGBOY187
Superstar
Was Still Tippin used in the movie and was it good use?
@hex Remove @śïñe•qúå_nøn from posting in this thread. Dude is spamming the thread with drivel ad naseum like he's a serious movie buff/film goer or some shyt.
As far as the film itself - the entire audience was into it. There's a lot to unpack here in regards to theme(s): determinism vs. non-determinism being the biggest one. With that being said, I genuinely enjoyed the film.
As far as the film itself - the entire audience was into it. There's a lot to unpack here in regards to theme(s): determinism vs. non-determinism being the biggest one. With that being said, I genuinely enjoyed the film.
It was used well. Didn’t add to the scene. But it was dope to hear. Damn near played Slim Thug whole verse while they were driving
Man I clicked on this thinking she was a film critic. This bird got all but 1 like of 3 posts about her movie review
Y’all kill me posting shyt from random ass people
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a commoner is not a good standard of quality.
Thats like telling me males in your family likes 4 button suits
stan nap kill me posting shyt from random ass people
fixed it for ya. he's the only one trying so god damn hard to post reviews/opinions that mirror his/ same way he spams the fukking booth
Agree 100% with Martin here 
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Professional Black Woman Review...this is damning...
‘Queen & Slim’ Is a Hollow Black Lives Matter-Fueled Saga
This is an accurate view.
‘Queen & Slim’ Is a Hollow Black Lives Matter-Fueled Saga
‘Queen & Slim’ Is a Hollow Black Lives Matter-Fueled Saga
First, the scene I liked: the eponymous Queen & Slim, never thus named in the film, meet a young fan, the son of the unsympathetic black mechanic who charges full price to fix their teal Catalina, the getaway car. The boy takes the pair on a walk down the river; they confide in each other. The boy, thinking of the various, unpredictable ends to his life as a black person, worries about being remembered; Queen, borrowing a line from Slim, tells him his family will remember him.
The rest of the film, unfortunately, rings frustratingly false, from the stilted dialogue to the gorgeously retro threads, which are wedded with an undulating wave of seriousness that tells us how much these black lives are in threat. Don’t be fooled by the film’s strong ideas—they come from the Black Lives Matter and prison abolition movements that have fought for the rights not only of those deemed innocent, but those who are, like all of us, human. But Lena Waithe’s script, rather than creating a language for these ideas that is born out of life, follows mainstream movie convention, with characterization that relies on shorthand rather than imagination to get the talking points across. Director Melina Matsoukas, who has directed much of the TV series Insecure as well as music videos like for Beyoncé’s “Formation,” never manages to make the story otherwise cohere—we get a series of stylized vignettes with gorgeously lit black actors in highly competent costuming, not much more.
Queen & Slim comes from a story by the infamous writer James Frey (who faked much of his memoir A Million Little Pieces for commercial reasons) and Waithe. The result is a commercialization of black thought under the guise of an indie aesthetic. Even the title is surface-level branding: As far as I could tell, the names Queen & Slim have no resonance in the film’s action; rather, they culminate into a smart marketing tool for the movie itself. Who will forget the cool, already audience-tested name-plus-name formula, tailored for two gorgeous fugitives (e.g. Thelma & Louise, Bonnie & Clyde)? Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) is like a stiff, traumatized Grace Jones and slim (Daniel Kaluuya) is a loose yet devout short king; their images are more carefully constructed than their lives. Still, the two leads each bring a subtle physicality to their roles—especially Kaluuya, who is a master of the gaze and shift. He tells a story of trying to be both tethered to and free of a body at once.
The story itself evades mastery. It goes like this: A white cop, who we later find out shot a black man who was walking his kid to school, shoots Queen, a defense attorney, in the leg during what TV media often inexplicably calls a “routine” traffic stop. In an attempt to protect her and himself, Slim shoots the cop, killing him. The couple were at the tail end of their first date, which hadn’t gone very well; now, they must make a life together in their run from the law. To their credit, Turner-Smith, Kaluuya, and the rest of the cast, including Indya Moore (again playing a sex worker), make much of the contrived material engaging, which includes a series of bizarre decisions during the traffic stop that I can’t imagine many black people making. This isn’t to victim-blame—the cop would’ve been in the wrong no matter the pair’s conduct—but the film takes pains to concoct the altercation, thwarting respectability by demonstrating that black people shouldn’t need to play dead in order to live. It’s a noble approach, but one that doesn’t actually work in the film—it doesn’t seem to follow what we’re told about the characters and requires that they shirk into a startling naivete in order to get from first date to police chase.
This kind of fumbling determines the rest of the film—choices are made for the characters that seem otherwise divorced from who we’re supposed to believe they are. In this way, the politics of representation have always troubled me because they can make the act of showing something more important than what you actually do with the story you’re telling. Queen & Slim is a film that, by regurgitating rather than thinking through ideas about justice, takes almost no risks at all. Of course, it’s a net positive that these actors get to play unapologetically black characters on screen—meaning, black characters unmediated through the lens of white approval—but there is not much in the film beyond that simple act of representation. Here you go, Queen & Slim seems to say to black Americans, have your trophy.
The final scene, my least favorite, begs us to take the film seriously, which nearly worked—you can’t help but be overcome with emotion, but nothing leading up to the moment earns it. Let me be more specific: The film presupposes violence, which makes sense. We live in a violent society, in which black people, specifically, are most likely to be on the receiving end of that violence when enacted by the state. But the film also presupposes itself in that its existence is necessitated only by its existence; it is self-contained, uninspired, and, at the very end, tries to make us forget. It is a gesture toward a film, a thesis about a film, a meme, a montage, a well-executed Vimeo staff pick. It falls short, wagering that many black people, grasping for this very story to be told or “represented,” will lift it up.
First, the scene I liked: the eponymous Queen & Slim, never thus named in the film, meet a young fan, the son of the unsympathetic black mechanic who charges full price to fix their teal Catalina, the getaway car. The boy takes the pair on a walk down the river; they confide in each other. The boy, thinking of the various, unpredictable ends to his life as a black person, worries about being remembered; Queen, borrowing a line from Slim, tells him his family will remember him.
The rest of the film, unfortunately, rings frustratingly false, from the stilted dialogue to the gorgeously retro threads, which are wedded with an undulating wave of seriousness that tells us how much these black lives are in threat. Don’t be fooled by the film’s strong ideas—they come from the Black Lives Matter and prison abolition movements that have fought for the rights not only of those deemed innocent, but those who are, like all of us, human. But Lena Waithe’s script, rather than creating a language for these ideas that is born out of life, follows mainstream movie convention, with characterization that relies on shorthand rather than imagination to get the talking points across. Director Melina Matsoukas, who has directed much of the TV series Insecure as well as music videos like for Beyoncé’s “Formation,” never manages to make the story otherwise cohere—we get a series of stylized vignettes with gorgeously lit black actors in highly competent costuming, not much more.
Queen & Slim comes from a story by the infamous writer James Frey (who faked much of his memoir A Million Little Pieces for commercial reasons) and Waithe. The result is a commercialization of black thought under the guise of an indie aesthetic. Even the title is surface-level branding: As far as I could tell, the names Queen & Slim have no resonance in the film’s action; rather, they culminate into a smart marketing tool for the movie itself. Who will forget the cool, already audience-tested name-plus-name formula, tailored for two gorgeous fugitives (e.g. Thelma & Louise, Bonnie & Clyde)? Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) is like a stiff, traumatized Grace Jones and slim (Daniel Kaluuya) is a loose yet devout short king; their images are more carefully constructed than their lives. Still, the two leads each bring a subtle physicality to their roles—especially Kaluuya, who is a master of the gaze and shift. He tells a story of trying to be both tethered to and free of a body at once.
The story itself evades mastery. It goes like this: A white cop, who we later find out shot a black man who was walking his kid to school, shoots Queen, a defense attorney, in the leg during what TV media often inexplicably calls a “routine” traffic stop. In an attempt to protect her and himself, Slim shoots the cop, killing him. The couple were at the tail end of their first date, which hadn’t gone very well; now, they must make a life together in their run from the law. To their credit, Turner-Smith, Kaluuya, and the rest of the cast, including Indya Moore (again playing a sex worker), make much of the contrived material engaging, which includes a series of bizarre decisions during the traffic stop that I can’t imagine many black people making. This isn’t to victim-blame—the cop would’ve been in the wrong no matter the pair’s conduct—but the film takes pains to concoct the altercation, thwarting respectability by demonstrating that black people shouldn’t need to play dead in order to live. It’s a noble approach, but one that doesn’t actually work in the film—it doesn’t seem to follow what we’re told about the characters and requires that they shirk into a startling naivete in order to get from first date to police chase.
This kind of fumbling determines the rest of the film—choices are made for the characters that seem otherwise divorced from who we’re supposed to believe they are. In this way, the politics of representation have always troubled me because they can make the act of showing something more important than what you actually do with the story you’re telling. Queen & Slim is a film that, by regurgitating rather than thinking through ideas about justice, takes almost no risks at all. Of course, it’s a net positive that these actors get to play unapologetically black characters on screen—meaning, black characters unmediated through the lens of white approval—but there is not much in the film beyond that simple act of representation. Here you go, Queen & Slim seems to say to black Americans, have your trophy.
The final scene, my least favorite, begs us to take the film seriously, which nearly worked—you can’t help but be overcome with emotion, but nothing leading up to the moment earns it. Let me be more specific: The film presupposes violence, which makes sense. We live in a violent society, in which black people, specifically, are most likely to be on the receiving end of that violence when enacted by the state. But the film also presupposes itself in that its existence is necessitated only by its existence; it is self-contained, uninspired, and, at the very end, tries to make us forget. It is a gesture toward a film, a thesis about a film, a meme, a montage, a well-executed Vimeo staff pick. It falls short, wagering that many black people, grasping for this very story to be told or “represented,” will lift it up.
This is an accurate view.