As the most substantial film Marvel Studios has made to date, Black Panther has a lot going on. With a nearly all-black cast and few ties to the overall Marvel Cinematic Universe, the film allowed co-writer/director Ryan Coogler to dig deep into thematic issues he felt important to tackle with a story of this kind. Indeed, in telling the story of T’Challa’s (Chadwick Boseman) ascent to the throne, Black Panther forces its characters to question their place in the world—do they owe it to those of African descent elsewhere to share their technology and weapons and offset their oppression, or do they maintain their isolationist position as they have for centuries? The entry of Michael B. Jordan’s American-raised Killmonger offers a contrast between the African and African-American experience, and the film digs deep into the complex issues of racism, violence, and combatting oppression in a way that offers no easy answers.
But Black Panther digs into other thematic issues as well, and one in particular strikes as being unique in the pantheon of machismo-focused superhero movies: masculinity. Black Panther is an undeniably female-focused film. T’Challa may be the Black Panther, but his most trusted allies, advisors, and generals are all women. The smartest person in the world? Shuri (Letitia Wright). Wakanda’s greatest spy? Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o). The personal bodyguards of the Black Panther? All women, led by Okoye (Danai Gurira). This is no accident, and in the character of T’Challa, Coogler and Boseman present a man with enough self-confidence to know when the women around him are his betters. His relationship with Shuri, for instance, is not quite the James Bond/Q repartee—Shuri doesn’t look to T’Challa for acceptance or praise, she knows she’s got the goods. She’s showing them off, and even uses him as a test subject.
It’s about more than gender equality, however, as the film takes a pretty serious look at fragile masculinity and the way in which men are raised to deal with (or not deal with, more often than not) their emotions. T’Challa and Killmonger both openly weep at multiple points in the film, as two incredibly strong men struggling to come to terms with their pasts, and specifically their relationships with their fathers. But T’Challa is also strong enough to know the way T’Chaka (John Kani) led is not the way he wants to lead, while Killmonger—who lost his father as a young boy—has nothing but revenge on his mind. In his world, it’s an eye for an eye, and it shows how men can be tempted to do what’s expected rather than what’s right.
Young boys are told to “be a man” or “man up,” both of which are loaded commands. What does it mean to be a “man” in this context? Don’t cry. Don’t be overly emotional. If someone wrongs you or your family, handle it with your fists. Be strong. Fight. Don’t run. Don’t try and talk your way out, that’s for sissies. Make your dad/uncle/brothers/cousins proud. Physical violence is masculine. Diplomacy is feminine, and in a masculine-fueled world, there’s seemingly no greater sin for a man than to show signs of femininity.
Killmonger verbalizes this mentality when he arrives in Wakanda, seeking to take the throne away from T’Challa. His father was murdered by T’Chaka. He can’t change that. But he can “make it right” by fighting T’Challa to the death. He’s not here to talk or be diplomatic, he’s here to “get his.” To be fair, as per the ritual combat the Wakandan leaders do physically fight to settle disagreements of who should be in charge, but the film is aware of the silliness of that logic. Okoye says she can’t run away with Nakia, Shuri, and Ramonda because she swore an oath to protect the Black Panther whoever that may be, citing the ritual. But Nakia fires back, pointing out that just because Killmonger “won” the ritual combat doesn’t make him a good or worthy king. Screw what’s expected of you; do what’s right.
Indeed, many of the women in the film are far more advanced in their thinking and actions than many of the men. This is reflected in one strongly emotional moment, when T’Challa resurfaces and the Wakandan men look to W’Kabi (Daniel Kaluuya) to see what to do. Do they follow Killmonger’s orders and attack T’Challa, or do they stand down and turn on Killmonger? W’Kabi, driven by his anger towards Klaue for the death of his parents and desire to follow Killmonger’s New World Order—in which the oppressed rise up with violence against their oppressors—decides to attack T’Challa, and the rest of the men follow suit. Because that’s what they’re expected to do.
The all-female Dora Milaje, however, turns on Killmonger. They do what’s right. It’s a striking sight, to see the men attacking T’Challa and the Dora Milaje fighting with passion against Killmonger, and it visualizes an emotional contrast.
Black Panther’s approach to masculinity feels especially unique when compared to other superhero movies. Bruce Wayne in The Dark Knight or even Tony Stark in Iron Man respond to violence with more violence, refusing to collaborate with others, often to their own detriment. Their brand of machismo dictates that they must go it alone, do everything themselves, and that’s their cross to bear. But it’s also self-serving, as Bruce and Tony are both kings of their own isolated kingdoms, wherein saving other people is good for the savior—it feeds their egos. These films do also force Bruce and Tony to collaborate with others at times—with Jim Gordon and Pepper Potts, respectively—and both characters do so reluctantly even though it’s necessary to make them better people. But Tony and Bruce still ascribe to the brand of masculinity that meets violence with violence, and that stands tall, beating its chest.
T’Challa, on the other hand, is all about collaboration. He’s a king looking out for Wakanda’s best interests, and that means listening to his people, heeding their advice, and asking for help. He’s openly contemplating the future of Wakanda with W’Kabi, asking him if they should open their borders or remain isolated. And he steps into Busan with Okoye and Nakia at his side, working as a team, not forcing them to stay behind while he deals with the threat.
This is but one of many layers to Black Panther, yet it feels like a vitally important one. That Coogler is able to drill down so specifically into this particular idea of masculinity without detracting from the story, but actually enhancing it, is yet another testament to his talent as a filmmaker. Ryan Coogler has something to say here, and he articulates it in a way that’s accessible, succinct, and deeply moving. And in this day and age—especially in the realm of blockbuster filmmaking—that’s a rarity.
For more on Black Panther, peruse our recent coverage in the links below:
- 'Black Panther': Ryan Coogler Pens Heartfelt Thank You Note to Fans
- Marvel Studios at the Box Office: How Much Money Has Each Film Made?
- Watch: 'Black Panther' Costume Designer Ruth E. Carter on Creating the Stunning Designs
- Watch Ryan Coogler Give a Detailed Breakdown of That Casino Fight Scene
- Ryan Coogler Explains Bucky Barnes' Absence from 'Black Panther'