The 2018 news that "The Woman King" had been greenlit stirred in me a mixture of joy and something between curiosity and confusion. The joy should be obvious. No major studio had ever adapted an action movie based on a chapter from African history, let alone one starring dark-skinned Black women. Casting Viola Davis and (at that time) Lupita Nyong'o meant two very famous actors would provide the faces of that story. This was not the shape of a quiet release but one meant to arrive triumphantly.
That other sensation – let's call it intrigued bemusement – stems from the subject the film would feature, the Dahomey kingdom's woman warriors. Those fearsome figures provide one of the major reference points for modern incarnations of Amazons because they were encountered by 18th- and 19th-century Europeans, as major facilitators in the trans-Atlantic slave trade.
Other histories centering mighty African women don't directly pick at the gigantic unhealed sore at the heart of American culture. "African Queens: Njinga," narrated and executive produced by Jada Pinkett Smith, is one of them.
But therein lies the rub. Americans are terrible history students, both of their own country's lore and European studies. Beyond our section of North America and the countries romanticized by "The Crown," "Emily in Paris" and "The White Lotus," forget it.
This queen's life is a landscape of peaks and psychological canyons that would have made Shakespeare salivate.
Then again, that's true of all historic and cultural study that deigns to be more complex than the extensively rewritten accounts of the United States' economic reliance on chattel slavery, its marginalization of Black people, and minimizing of Black contributions to culture and innovation.
Viewed from that perspective – one that mirrors much of its stateside audience, sadly – it's incredible that "The Woman King" was financed, produced, and distributed, or that it was critically acclaimed and exceeded expectations for its box office earnings.
In the same way that "The Woman King" would not exist if "Black Panther" had not proven there was a market for these tales, we would not be privy to Njinga's story if those films hadn't blazed a trail.
This queen's life is a landscape of peaks and psychological canyons that would have made Shakespeare salivate . . . if only she had existed a century or two earlier. And had an admiring European biographer.
Adesuwa Oni's sensitive, fierce performance is an admirable beginning to make up for our collective knowledge gap. The British actor's portrayal is an artful balance of athleticism with the emotional and psychological dexterity required of Njinga, the favored daughter of a wise, too-trusting king.
Her father died under suspicious circumstances, only to be succeeded by Njinga's dangerously impetuous and envious brother. He is ill-prepared to confront the Portuguese enslavers making incursions into Ndongo and Matamba, a territory that comprises Angola today. But he's also the slain king's male heir. Faced with the choices of annihilation or submission, the young king chooses his sister Njinga to stand up for their kingdom.
Is it appropriate to say "and the rest is history" if that history has been ignored until now?
Hollywood is fine with African queens . . . from Egypt, and only when they're played by a range of white actors. Sub-Saharan history is tougher to Europeanize without featuring the colonial perspective, relegating the Black Africans who have existed there for generations to background roles.
Njinga was deleted from mainstream accounts of history for the same reason she's being remembered now: she chose to resist.
There's also been the often-exploited strategy of drawing inspiration from other cultures' histories without directing people toward them. One of Africa's most famous warrior queens, Amina of Zaria, is said to have inspired a certain Warrior Princess who conquered popular culture in the late '90s.
Meanwhile, the entertainment industry finds dozens of ways to fictionalize European history from multiple angles, the latest being inclusively casting movies and TV series that previously would have solely featured white actors. This is a positive evolution.
But it also makes a person wonder why a series like "African Queens" is a novelty even now. Njinga's life was rich with reversals and defiance, qualities the producers mentioned in the series' post-script as inspiring Angola's modern push for independence. It's also merely one of many from this part of the world that could speak to an audience craving stories they haven't experienced.
Cleopatra inspired one of Hollywood's most ostentatious films and has turned up in many other scripts, but we have yet to see a feature about Egypt's Hatshepsut, a woman Pharoah who dressed and ruled as a man.
Like her, Njinga's story has relevance at a time when the public is divided between honestly confronting the role slavery played in Western culture and "moving past" it by erasing it from textbooks. Although America didn't exist during her lifetime, her dilemma exemplifies the atrocious choice forced on the continent's people as European colonialism expanded.
She could either allow them to enslave people from neighboring territories or see her people subjugated and enslaved themselves. Njinga was deleted from mainstream accounts of history for the same reason she's being remembered now: she chose to resist European invaders in every way possible.
"African Queens" is a hybrid docuseries scripted by NneNne Iwuji and Peres Owino, not a purely scripted drama. Oni's work and that of her co-stars Chipo Kureya and Marilyn Nnadebe validate their ability to carry one if that option were ever available. Of course, most of the audience isn't familiar with either the cast's faces or names, or the history they're portraying. Those factors make the choice to buttress the script's facts with filmed input from academics sensible, if a bit of a letdown.
Black experts from across the diaspora, including observations from a modern Woman King, Queen Diambi Kabatusuila of the Bakwa Luntu people, assist Oni in bringing Njinga to life. The details drawing her as a leader capable of expansive nobility and grave horror are enthralling, but the actor realizes her as a woman whose family is the source of her strength and a significant military weakness.
Oni's finest moments land in the way she wears a formidable smile in the face of Europeans from whom she forces respect and, eventually, fear. One destined to stick in the memory is her first meeting with a Portuguese governor who haughtily believes he can assert a power move over her by inviting her to sit on the floor in front of him. Her reaction is both badass and squeamishly exploitative of her elevated position.
In such moments, however, the series' specialists provide context to place her actions in context, defying the surefire inclination to judge Njinga differently than they would a man or a European person faced with a similar scenario.
Nevertheless, storytelling by re-enactment remains the bane of historical purists and arbiters of decent television since basic cable spent many years cheapening that approach. But this production makes a decent argument for embracing it since many people strain to believe excerpts from histories they've never heard of. Hell, a distressing percent are more inclined to believe fables than fact-based narratives originating from cultures Westerners have been taught to devalue or ignore.
Njinga's ledger isn't spotless. She murders to secure power and makes unthinkable compromises to gain some battlefield advantage in the face of overwhelming colonial forces. Show us the king or queen who hasn't – indeed, show us more of them from the African continent and other places. A two-season commitment means "African Queens" has a second opportunity to do so . . . although reportedly that run is devoted to that superstar of Egyptian rulers . . . sigh . . . Cleopatra.
"African Queens: Njinga" streams Wednesday, Feb. 15 on Netflix.
