During his wokeness, his life crumbles. He loses his syndication deal and his inspiration. He works through a mental health crisis and wonders aloud what his art should say, even while he’s afraid to say anything of note. Most of all, he grapples with his perceptions of Blackness in a gentrified San Francisco. While the eight-episode Hulu series “Woke” satirizes the definition of Blackness and artistic integrity, its inert discussions lead to few laughs.
To most white people—especially his agents at Bloom and Hill syndication—Keef isn’t Black. Walking around in a Dead Kennedys t-shirt and a flat cap, with a satchel bag across his shoulder, he’s a non-threatening hipster. Though none of these characteristics decide Blackness, politically, Keef is untethered from his culture. For instance, when approached by Ayana (Sasheer Zamata, a series highlight), the assertive activist-editor of the local San Francisco newspaper The Bay Arean, to create drawings imbued with social commentary, Keef declines. He explains, “I’m just a cartoonist … I like to keep it light.” Keef would rather save his energy for Golden Con, the event where Bloom & Hill will announce his syndication, than rock the boat.
When navigating white America, Black creatives must either suppress or express their racial politics. The former sometimes offers a quicker path to wealth. Docuseries like “OJ Simpson: Made in America” and “The Last Dance” provide sports examples of the phenomena. Both OJ and MJ remained apolitical for fear that such heady subjects would tarnish their brand. Keef’s outlook changes when cops—racially profiling him as a local mugger—mistakenly tackle him to the ground. The incident not only leaves him shaken, but he soon imagines that his pen, malt liquor bottles, and waste bins can talk. Meant as lampoons of Black stereotypes, yet rarely funny, they accuse Keef of ignoring his Blackness for financial gain. And they’re not too far off.
For instance, in the premiere, “Broke is Woke,” Keef seeks help at Darnell’s Barbershop. His visits to this institution—the Barbershop being a cultural hub for debate among Black people—have become so infrequent, he doesn’t even know the owner sold the place to a bunch of white hipsters, who are now appropriating the business’ legacy for local cred. Instead, the only assistance he finds is in these personified objects. Likewise, Keef’s mental health journey, stemming from a bout of PTSD after the police incident, never peers past the artifice of these animated objects to deliver any real substance.
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