Look, y’all. Netflix’s newest original Marvel series “Luke Cage” isn’t on my list of things I’ll watch again. I tried not to admit that, or at least not publicly share my thoughts. But after spending 13 hours of my life watching Mike Colter try to convince me this series was good, I figured I earned the right to speak my piece.
So, why do I feel so much shame for outwardly disliking it?
The modern version of Luke Cage’s character was first introduced on “Jessica Jones,” a Marvel series (also on Netflix) about a superheroine turned private investigator. Now, first let me say that I’m no comic book enthusiast. The extent of my knowledge begins and ends with the fancy, new Marvel blockbuster films. Beyond that, I’ll phone a Blerd friend for additional facts on a character, and that’s if I care enough to inquire. With Luke, though, I was instantly intrigued by how a black man found himself at the center of the Marvel universe. I had high expectations for a show centered on the revival of a seventies superhero and explained how Cage acquired impenetrable skin. A black superhero fighting honest-to-God Harlem gangsters to the beat of Wu-Tang’s “Bring Da Ruckus”? What’s not to love?
Despite all odds being in favor of me digging this new arc, the story created by Cheo Hodari Choker was about three episodes to long. It dragged at times almost exhaustingly.
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