‘Blood & Water’: A New Foundation for Meaningful Representation
Blood & Water - Netflix
In a desperate search for accurate representation, media has fallen down a rabbit hole of self-serious sentimentality that showcases underrepresented communities’ grievances instead of their character. In POC-driven stories, especially Black-centered stories, pessimism and brutality are the unifying characteristics of their communities. Every POC-centric story relies on police brutality, institutional discrimination, and issues of acceptance to pitifully evoke empathy from the audience. This is not to say representation of these stories isn’t important, but modern representation often bases its sincerity on how much trauma it can cram in — the more trauma, the more sincere. Rather than letting characters breathe on their own, media now relies on a brutality that sears a damaging pessimism into communities of color. As a result, media egregiously exploits these stories by insisting sincerity comes from its ability to shock audiences and depict trauma as an inevitability.
Netflix’s Blood & Water does the opposite. Its characters are people first and their experiences are independent of their identities. The series isn’t a groundbreaking teen drama, but it does highlight an issue of American media: Black stories of racial and institutional struggles aren’t the only Black stories worth telling. The media often portrays the Black experience through a racialized lens, and rightfully so, but it begs the question of whether these are the only stories allowed to be told. Where are the innocent coming of age stories with Black youths? The cheesy romance dramas featuring Black leads? The dramas where being Black is not the sole root of their problems? These stories exist, but they’re detached from the mainstream, leaving hopelessly defeatist Black media as audience's only option.
Blood & Water tells the story of Puleng (Ama Qamata), a South African high school girl who desperately tries to find her missing sister, Phume (Khosi Ngema), after she was stolen as a baby. The series is dark and twisted, and while its fourth season jumps the shark in an abrupt manner, the series is exactly what Netflix needs. Black stories about struggle raise important discussions about Black history and the current culture, but it's equally important to portray Black stories of mundanity. By keeping Black stories locked behind a wall of police violence, racism, and poverty, we risk only representing half of the Black experience. Blood & Water showcases that other half, with a Black story that decentralizes race from the narrative. It’s fresh and bold, breaking the conventional mold of what a Black story is supposed to be.
Season 1
Puleng has come to hate Phume’s birthday. Her parents treat it like a memorial, and Puleng can only dream about the life they could’ve spent together. After a strange encounter with Fikile (Khosi Ngema), a rising socialite at Parkhurst High, Puleng becomes convinced Fikile might be her missing sister. Her detective work soon begins after her father is arrested under suspicion of child laundering and selling his daughter. Her methods contrast her parents’ passive approach to her sister’s disappearance; she is vocal and assertive, actively putting herself in harm's way to know the truth. She begins a cat-and-mouse chase with an unknown entity who sabotages her at every corner. Becoming paranoid and self-reliant, she desperately clings onto hope as she tries to befriend Fikile. Qamata presents a wide range of emotions throughout the six episodes, and she shines above the rest with her heartfelt passion and self-destructive obsession. But her detective skills come at a crossroads in the final episode, and the season ends with a truth bomb that will change Puleng and Fikile’s lives forever.
Enlisting the help of Wade (Dillon Windvogel) later in the season, the two become a dynamic duo difficult not to root for. He is introverted but bold when it comes to protecting those he loves. Windvogel and Qamata have a subtle passion between them and as the show progresses, it becomes harder and harder to watch them remain friends. They risk their lives for each other and share tender, quiet moments with one another, yet they don’t pursue each other. The season charmingly sets up their potential romance through small, intimate moments that fill every scene with tension and emotional suspense.
The plot involves statutory rape, child trafficking, and betrayal, all while remaining relatively detached from the characters’ identities. Because Blood & Water originates in South Africa, its Black stories are rooted in traditional genre narratives without harping on the actor’s identities. The series proudly depicts its characters as characters, and that is what American media should strive towards. Aside from some minor hiccups in sound and story, Blood & Water is nothing that American media has brought us to expect of a Black story. Every actor pushes their limits, scenes are beautifully shot, and the narrative tightens until it culminates in a season finale that forces you to keep watching. It’s bleak but ultimately provides Netflix with a new foundation for accurate representation.
Season 2
After the bombshell revelation at the end of season one, Fikile begins seeing the school therapist and files a restraining order against Puleng and her parents. Her perception of reality is slowly unraveling, and Ngema portrays this with a surreal performance, elevated by her subtlety and evocative fits of rage and confusion. One negative DNA test later and Puleng is left more confused than before. They find the original case detective and a dark revelation about her parents puts her family into question. This pushes Puleng over the edge as she begins erratically searching for answers. Fikile is plagued by obstructive thoughts about her family, leading her down a path of paranoia and intense skepticism. These turbulent emotions culminate in a mid-season confession that questions both teens’ family histories.
This season is about female companionship as much as it is about Puleng’s sister. Both teens spent much of season one fighting, and season two presents a softer side to both of them. They both want to be strong but realize they need each other more than anyone else. Blood & Water is rarely as hopeful as it is in the second half of season two; it’s refreshing but knowing the show, things will get worse. After they confirm their sisterhood, they tell their parents to disastrous results. Fikile’s parents aren’t who they say they are and are quickly apprehended after an intense standoff with the police. We aren’t told who her fake parents were or why there’s a large conspiracy about her lineage, but season two pleasantly sets up season three with even more questions than it answers.
Season two is just as thrilling as season one, just a bit more theatrical. Certain plotlines jump out of nowhere without any setup and mix terribly with the series’ tone. The season finale creates enough mystery to keep audiences engaged, but the introduction of a new villain is incredibly cliché, coming across like a Marvel post credit scene. Despite not matching the tone of the season, the series has enough gas to keep the ball rolling. It nicely weaves unfamiliar faces into the narrative, even if it gets sidetracked along the way. Nevertheless, the series is eye candy for those obsessed with intense teen dramas and it doesn’t plan on slowing down soon.
Season 3
Season three begins with a central question: who is Fikile’s real dad? After the examiner’s DNA test revealed Puleng’s mom’s infidelity, Fikile is now without a family and without answers. It’s revealed that her father is an artist living in the city, and just as Fikile is about to disclose her identity to him, someone from her past returns and she leaves without another word. Puleng’s plot spirals out of control when her ex-boyfriend’s mom, Lisbeth (Sonia Mbele), returns home and threatens to destroy her life. Lisbeth is calculating and consumed by her need for revenge, even at the cost of her own safety. She is a great foil to Puleng. Both are determined to get what they want, but one is a teenage girl looking for answers, while the other is a renowned human trafficking organizer ready to shut Puleng down.
This season begins to fall apart shortly after Lisbeth comes back to town. She pushes the show into darker territory, seemingly out of nowhere. Puleng suffers the worst as her incessant detective skills catch up with her in troubling and evil ways. While season two hinted at a darker secret lying dormant, season three delves deep into the brutal world of human trafficking without much consideration for the topic at hand. It feels incredibly rushed, and the series jarringly pivots away from the grounded story in season one. On top of this, unnecessary side plots involving school politics get in the way of the narrative and derail each episode with tonal whiplash, not to mention the insipid performances given by its secondary cast.
Season three dives into the pitfalls of stereotypical melodramatic teen dramas in its final episodes. It answers season two’s questions with an eagerness to move on that ultimately undermines its setup. If you don’t mind the series turning into an exaggerated mystery crime thriller, the show will reel you in. Despite its mediocre ending, season three nicely concludes its character arcs with enough mystery for season four to build off. Sadly, this season ends on a sour note and betrays the heartfelt plot that drove its previous seasons.
Season 4
If season three dipped its toes into muddied water, season four dives straight in without a second thought. The season opens up with a lavish house party where Puleng hooks up with a student at Parkhurst. Unfortunately, their intimacy was secretly recorded by a third party under the moniker “Poolboy,” who decides to blackmail Puleng into solving a mystery for them. As Poolboy’s mystery unravels, we learn that Fikile was involved in the torture of a student at her old school. In order to save herself, she releases the sex tape and chaos unravels within the school and Puleng’s personal relationships. This moment marks where Blood & Water loses its plot. Throughout the series, we’ve seen Fikile grow from a snotty high-school rich kid into a sincere girl looking for acceptance in the world, and this plot decision completely destroys her character arc. It’s unlike Fikile to do this, especially given how she took a bullet at the end of season three to protect Puleng.
There is beauty in the show, with incredible acting, cinematography, set design, and costumes. However, there comes a point when visual beauty isn’t enough to lift a by-the-numbers high-school drama out from the hole it dug itself. The series feels less like a heartfelt story about reunited siblings with every passing season, becoming more like stereotypical, hyper-exaggerated teen dramas. Much like the last season, season four is riddled with high school subplots that are uninteresting and uninspired. Season four is so excited about its repetitive kidnapping plot that it disregards season three’s questions. Most insultingly, it forgets about Fikile’s parents, the show’s main plot.
Despite this, Qamata, Ngema, and Windvogel work wonders to elevate the script with their performances. Fans of the show may question the direction of the series, but its characters continue to be its shining light. However, the series has forgotten the nuance of its characters and the subtlety of its mystery. Blood & Water pivots drastically for the worst and raises more eyebrows than it answers questions.
What It Can Teach Us?
Blood & Water becomes more unhinged the farther it progresses, but its ability to tell an engaging story without relying on stereotypical Black narrative archetypes is what makes the series standout. It’s important to showcase lived Black experiences, and it’s equally as important to normalize the presence of Black actors on screen without their stories revolving around their identities. Media showcases negative depictions of Black environments, the damaging institutions society funds, and the collective harm done to Black communities throughout America’s history. These are important stories to tell, but Black trauma should not be the only kind of Black story that garners award nominations. Representation matters, not just because of the stories people of color get to tell, but because its progression toward creating true equity. Blood & Water exists in a society where being Black is normal, and while we like to think America has made progress, normalization requires a lot more than history lessons. It requires integration into the collective social consciousness in order to truly make a difference.