Blue Corridor 15: Navigating The Passageways of Black Womanhood
Editor-in-Chief, Theophina Gabriel, reviews Blue Corridor 15, a short film written by Dubheasa Lanipekun which addresses this challenging nature of discourses around colourism and texturism through a lens of Black British girlhood.
The granular magic of Blue Corridor 15 allows it to transport any former state school pupil instantly back into their secondary school classrooms. Showcasing a touching portrayal of the delicately tense relationship between light-skinned and dark-skinned Black women cast through an almost carefree lens of adolescence. Blue Corridor 15 succeeds in its intimate portrayal of Black British girlhood, and the challenging conversations that are opened but ultimately left unfinished for the sake of solidarity.
The melancholic whispers of Mazza by Lex Amor introduces the opening shots of Blue Corridor 15 and gently submerges us into the inverted world of Elizabeth. Varying images of her pensive face as she makes breakfast reveal the young teenager’s inner worries of living in temporary accommodation with her family who have fallen on hard times. Lex’s Amors raw lyrics are audibly faded in and out of the growing tension of a boiling kettle, which paired with numerous close-shots wonderfully convey the disorienting and dissociative effects of Elizabeth’s reality.
Every shot in Blue Corridor makes for a stunning still, and in the next set of frames we are transported to a close up of Elizabeth’s friend Tobi, who is having her hair styled by her in an empty school classroom. The dialogue begins with a question that Tobi poses to Elizabeth, ‘So when do you think you’re gonna start charging’, introducing the viewer to the age-old homing beacon for Black girlhood; the recurring motif of hair. The intersections at play are both economic and social; Elizabeth’s hair braiding hustle is used within the script to launch dialogue around economic independence at the cost of culture and the ethics behind light skin people’s usage of it. At first Elizabeth asks Tobi whether the rate she is looking to charge is acceptable and Tobi affirms her; there is a sensitivity towards the exchange of service and accessibility. However, when Tobi expresses discomfort while her hair is being done, Elizabeth responds dismissively simultaneously embodying the classic dynamics of Black motherhood while also subtly foreshadowing her inability to recognise her darker-skinned friend’s pain.
The message with Blue Corridor 15 then seems to focus on the complexities of identity, and the inability to extract elements of it from each other, and as the final trio to the squad, Nana, bursts loudly into the classroom full of energy, she brings the news that Elizabeth’s former client Joyce’s braid fell out during class. Hair therefore becomes a thematic emblem of accountability and care that rings throughout the rest of the short. Nana describes the solidarity of Black womanhood that took place as Ola, another schoolgirl offs her wig to cover Joyce’s shame, and descends the class into chaos to mask the embarrassment of Joyce’s hair loss. However, Nana’s motive is as much about accountability as it is sensationalism, she implies that the incident is Elizabeth’s fault as the person who braided Joyce’s hair. Elizabeth’s response is one of avoidance, and later scenes eventually reveal that accountability is something Elizabeth is ultimately unwilling to hold herself to.
The debate of Elizabeth’s ‘too tight’ or ‘too loose’ braiding brings into the fore questions of perspective and distance to and from the culture. The broken plane is understanding, and the request of Joyce for Elizabeth to not braid too tightly leads to Elizabeth’s lack of discernment with just how tight to make the braid, which leads to it falling out. This proximity to cultural understanding is unbalanced, and Nana is quick to contextualise this within the framework of Elizabeth’s proximity to whiteness, ‘you have a white mum, and it shows.’ The heavy discourse is broken up however and interwoven between fun and carefree moments of shared teenage Black girlhood. This is shown in Nana’s coughing at the Caribbean spice in Tobi’s lunch which Tobi begrudgingly shares with her friends before jokingly impersonating an American incel whiteboi. The topic of what his hair would look like momentarily mobilises the groups solidarity as they laugh at the prospect of mohawks and mops. Still, this moment of shared understanding on the subject of white identity is broken when Elizabeth restates the importance of her economic standing and talks about charging for her hair service out of need. The silent acknowledgement of her predicament is centred with care as her friends inquire about the situation, with Tobi even offering to pay for the services she’s just received and Nana asking about when she thinks the situation might end. Unwilling to dig into the fore of her emotions, Elizabeth deflects their questions, with generic answers and an averted gaze.
Nana’s care is shown to be multifaceted as she again broaches the topic of how accessible Elizabeth’s hair services are. She broaches texturism and Elizabeth’s inability to cater to 4c hair types. The question posed is one of accountability, but Elizabeth immediately closes off in disbelief, centring her economic need over the honesty of her abilities and the consequences of her actions. Tobi tries to draw Nana away from the subject, but she remains steadfast; to her honesty must be at the core of Elizabeth’s approach. Nana’s motive reads ultimately as one not one of blame but a request for care. Tobi and Elizabeth chide Nana, but she continues to push for honesty, even willing to trust Elizabeth with her own hair, but her request for honest reflection is denied with Elizabeth saying that she backs herself on this. Her lack of willingness to listen causes Nana to also raise her back, ‘watch how you talk to me’, pushing Elizabeth into the climax of her hostility, ‘I don’t care, I just need this to work.’ Through the lens of socio-economic pressure, Elizabeth is willing to forsake accountability to any dark-skinned schoolgirl clients for the sake of security, and Nana’s response of kissing her teeth is symbolic of the continued frustration of dark-skinned Black girls as light-skinned women continue to skirt around the accountability of their impact for the sake of their own needs.
The scene is broken by the authority of a faceless white voice who evicts them from their heated classroom debate, and they head outside into an autumnal sunshine. All animosity dissolves when Nana takes Elizabeth’s hand playfully and their adolescent covers them all together once again. In this way, the contextual setting communicates an important message about the placement of these challenging conversations. Inside is where the discourse happens, but in the outside world, solidarity rises to the surface naturally as life inevitably continues. It is to be noted however that it is Nana who broaches peace and not Elizabeth, despite Elizabeth’s lack of willingness to discuss, reflect or listen to her. As they walk off the playground headed for Morley’s in unison, Lex Amor’s warm vocals in Clocks once again bookmarks the end of the short, the lyrics adding a sense of timeless upbeat nostalgia that marks the trajectory from Elizabeth’s solitary pensiveness, to a mellowed sense community.
Blue Corridor 15 is an open pathway to conversations about the challenging discourse of colourism. It asks us which doors we request each other to leave open and the boundaries of the ones currently being kept shut as we continue to navigate community as well as the outside world. Blue Corridor 15 deftly weaves into its fore the continued pleas of darker-skinned women for care and accountability from our lighter-skinned counterparts as we continue to walk together through our differing passageways of Black womanhood.
Blue Corridor 15 is written and directed by Dubheasa Lanipekun and co-produced by Tobi Kyeremateng and Ias Balaskas. It is available to watch here on BBC New Creatives.
This interview is part of Onyx Magazine’s series for International Women’s Day 2021, view other features here: