A King Like Me isn’t your average Mardi Gras documentary
Roughly towards the end of the new Netflix documentary A King Like Me, Terrence Rice, a black New Orleans man and proud member of the Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club, is holding court on a neutral ground with friends, discussing the current state of being black in America and what Zulu means in today’s world. Speaking lively and fueled by a few drinks, they are suddenly confronted in conversation by an eavesdropping bystander, who immediately engages with his own assessments. “I’m part Scandinavian,” the man blurts out, to the shock of Terrence, who instantly labels him as another black man.
Terrence Rice is the beating and bleeding heart character of A King Like Me, and rightfully so. Deeply passionate and wonderfully opinionated, Mr. Rice takes the film by the loving grip and acts as an almost guiding figure through his city, his community, and its history. He’s not necessarily the central individual of the show, of course – this is a movie of many strong and loving black men, neighbors, and members all – and individualism isn’t necessarily built into the story or to Zulu itself, at least as explained. But, Mr. Rice could be easily picked as the protagonist, simply for acting – not performing – in place of everyone watching, which brings up the question of universal resonance.
Is A King Like Me “universal?” No, and it’s best that way. This is the tale of being black in America, of celebrating blackness through times of darkness and light, and of collective strength through brotherhood. The film isn’t a mere primer for the ignorant, but rather an expression on their private conversations, their external public appearances, and their internal conflicts with a world that only continues to oppress. A King Like Me is entirely a conversation starter without a finish, and maybe to never having a total finish is the point. Their point, and their decision. A decision that can’t be “universal.”
Through thick and thin, time and time again, the Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club proves to be an ever resilient entity. Not invulnerable, but resilient to major outside factors, such as Hurricane Katrina and COVID-19. Those two tragedies, both of which are still felt by many, are but pieces of a whole story, and the placement of those disasters in the film is shown as being obstacles to overcome instead of ongoing struggles.
A King Like Me isn’t like the rest of the Mardi Gras documentaries that exist in the ether of wannabe cinema. There are outliers in greatness, like Big Chief, Black Hawk, but most tread the same territory with little more to say. The common denominator between the great flicks of this sub-genre usually has to be in how truly local they are. People from here, telling stories about here. However, A King Like Me is not exactly directed by a local. Filmmaker Matthew Henderson, hailing from Brooklyn, New York, does an extraordinary job in ensuring the cast can say what is both wanted and needed, and never intrudes. When speaking from behind the camera occasionally, he does so in whispers, and only to find clarification. It’s not his job with this movie to start with his thesis but to find one throughout that belongs to the city’s black residents. And in doing so, he’s able to get at some bangers of truth.
The Zulu parades at Mardi Gras will showcase members wearing black face, which is their redefinition of what was a racist way of impersonating black people in media, now turned on its head by becoming an expression of present confidence. But, to the rest of America and some residents, it’s seen as insulting and hurtful. The topic divides members of both Zulu and the community at large, from civil talk between the youth and the elders – Terrence Rice and A Scribe Called Quess engage respectfully at one point – to a more excited and heightened affair. A King Like Me, to its great credit, maintains its scope strictly to New Orleans and to black New Orleanians, who hold the question of whether or not to continue that practice with great importance. It’s interestingly depicted in the film, and the focus on the topic shows just how much reverence and laser-precise attention the director, Henderson, and crew have for the brotherhood.
Instead of being everything for everyone, instead of shifting from confederate monument removal to cancer alley and back to Zulu, A King Like Me is all Zulu. The past, the present, and the future are seen through their eyes and minds, and while some aspects of the monument and cancer alley topics are covered – among others- they’re never done out of pity or to establish anything outside of Zulu’s gaze. All in all, A King Like Me is perfectly realized. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the best New Orleans movies ever and, perhaps, one of the best films of the year.
Mr. Terrence Rice, going back to the group chat on that neutral ground with his friends and that one “part Scandinavian” brother, remained startled for minutes and perhaps longer once the man walked away. To Terrence and for the film, it was a moment that went from upsetting tension to playful punctuation pretty quickly. Terrence makes it clear in this sequence and in the rest of his scenes that to deny one’s blackness is a travesty, and is one that has often been repeated by many of his community. Will doing so bring about acceptance in America? Not to Terrence, who has always felt the pressure and the stress of being a black man.
In the movie’s most sensitive scene, Mr. Rice is in his backyard, saying both to the camera and to the world just how hard things were and have been just being who he is. Tears come down his face, which he acknowledges as soon as they happen. Such acknowledgment of the tears and beyond strongly shows why A King Like Me is a brilliantly captured and composed story. Through personal pain, there is relief in shared experiences. In brotherhood. When the Zulu members get together for some drinks in the alley outside of their club, it’s all honest words and heartfelt camaraderie. There is power in participation. 5/5
A King Like Me is now available on Netflix.
Bill Arceneaux has been writing about movies in Hollywood South since 2011. He’s a voting member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association and has a newsletter blog called Moviegoing with Bill. Follow him on Letterboxd and Bluesky.
