
A definitive 5.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Pickaninny Blues remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, probably not. Unless you’re a film history nerd or someone obsessed with the weird, uncomfortable corners of early animation, Pickaninny Blues is going to leave a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a relic of a time we’ve (thankfully) moved past.
If you like checking out stuff like The Tales of a Thousand and One Nights just to see how the craft evolved, you might find something here. But for a casual Friday night? Hard pass. 😬
Margie Hines is doing her best, I guess, but the whole thing feels like it’s held together by duct tape and bad ideas. There’s a frantic energy to the movement that makes my eyes hurt after a few minutes.
It lacks the charm you find in, say, Katok. It feels colder, somehow. Like the people making it were more interested in hitting a quota than making something that actually breathed.
It’s strange how some of these films—like The Hunchback and the Dancer—have this weight to them, while this one just feels like smoke. It floats by, it’s unpleasant, and then it’s gone.
I found myself wondering if they even had a script, or if they just pointed a camera at a wall and hoped for the best. Some of the cuts are just jarring. It jumps from scene to scene like a record skipping.
Look, I’m not saying it’s the worst thing ever made. It’s just... empty. It’s a movie that tries to be lighthearted but ends up feeling like a chore. Maybe give it a miss and watch something else.