Say there was a person at your job or in your family or wherever that just loved fried catfish. Whenever you went to a restaurant that’s what they ordered, whenever they came over to your house, that’s what they wanted to eat; fried catfish and a side of French fries. For them, it’s the perfect comfort food, something that’s easy to make, cheap, and pretty unadventurous. You love this person, you know they’ve been through a lot, and in a lot of ways they’re still having some problems. The problems that they have are much bigger then what they like to eat; they have social issues, money problems, and find themselves in violent situations far too often. So when you take them out, and they always want the same thing, you don’t care, and at first you don’t think it means anything, you get it.

That doesn’t mean that deep in your heart it doesn’t bother you. It bothers you that your friend won’t try some more complex flavors. It bothers you that they sometimes miss out on dishes that could offer them some much needed nutrition or a new opinion of what’s delectable. I mean, even if they tried something different and didn’t like it, isn’t it worth it just to take a chance? Doesn’t that help you understand what great cuisine is?

Now that I have you all equal parts hungry and confused, let me tell you in plain English what I’m getting at. In the restaurant of film, Tyler Perry’s movies are fried catfish and French fries. Before I go on this tangent, let me just say something. As a Black man, it’s refreshing to see another black dude so successful at what he’s doing. This sentiment is pretty universal for Black people actually. If you look at our Hip Hop influenced culture from the outside looking in, it seems like we sometimes glorify and revere some pretty vile and unsavory figures. Our admiration for those people doesn’t have so much to do with what they did, and more with what they made, which was a profit. We’re a success starved group, so even hinting at criticism of someone who’s been so prosperous is normally difficult for us.

So why would I, an aspiring young filmmaker who shares the same home state as Tyler Perry have anything halfway negative to say about his films, business model, or overall impact on Black America? It actually has very little to do with the films themselves. The movies for the most part, don’t even matter. Even if you enjoy them, they’re completely forgettable and almost disposable in a way. There are no lessons learned from a Tyler Perry film that you can’t garner from an after school special or a rerun of “Good Times.” The basic things that you get from Perry’s Fried Catfish cinema are as follows: drugs are bad, black women are unappreciated, family should always be first and God will fix everything. Most would argue that those are all lessons that Black America needs to learn, and I certainly agree with that. What I don’t agree with though, is that we need to be spoon fed those themes. I don’t think that we need any art that seemingly assumes we aren’t sophisticated enough to discern those messages from more complex material. Very simply, we don’t need any art that doesn’t challenge us to some degree, especially if it is intended to inspire.

While all of this seems like an indictment of Perry and his take on Black American film, there is a scarier much more unsettling reality lurking beneath the surface of the discussion. See, while watching a Perry film everything is given to you. Cue laughter when the guy in drag shows up as the old woman. Cue boos and hisses when the mother who cares more about her drug dealer boyfriend then her own kids spouts off silly one liners. Cue tears when the wife who married the successful yet abusive man realizes that there is a male model looking janitor or mechanic or sheriff waiting to sweep her off feet. Perry gives you a roadmap to the ending that you can see in the first scene. That scary notion I was talking about earlier is that that might be exactly how black audiences want it. That was the purpose of the overwritten Catfish analogy from earlier. Tyler Perry is just making the art that he’s always made since rising from being almost homeless to the top of his field. It’s not his fault we like him as much as we do.

After all, it’s not as if we don’t have brilliant filmmakers who have tried to give us more. Spike Lee gave us all the themes of Perry (minus the overtly religious ones), but he also gave us pace, beautiful cinematography, and story concepts that actually made us look inward and ask if we were not part of the problem. John Singleton and a host of other filmmakers tried as well, but what they mostly got were disappointment. This disappointment came in the form of bad box office due to flimsy support from its target demographic. So then it’s us right? It’s black people. We like fried Catfish. As a matter fact we like any food that tastes good and is easy. Anything that doesn’t go down easy, anything that takes a while to digest, that you have to work for, we don’t want it. Is that it? To me, that’s terrifying. What does that say about us? I don’t know If I even begin to believe that.

As for Perry, the reality is that he’s talented and has the ears and eyes of Black America. He hangs out with Oprah; he pals around with Obama from time to time. I wonder sometimes if he realizes where we are as a people. We’re in a time to where speeches and pats on the back aren’t good enough. We have to now show that we’ve made enough progress to be taken seriously. Therefore anyone who carries the flag for Black film has a responsibility to push it forward and not roll it backwards. I’m not talking about Precious type melodrama either. I’m talking about real stories about real people. I’m talking about actual art that can be appreciated for years to come. Enduring art that’s sometimes hard to eat and harder to swallow. At this point, Tyler Perry is our most popular chef with the keys to our most popular restaurant. Please Mr. Perry, no more fried Catfish.