The New York Times Bestseller Harlem

Amazon’s Harlem is familiar. Like Sex and the City and Girlfriends, the show focuses on four women as they manage their romantic lives, careers and friendships. And similarly to Starz’s Run the World (also set in New York’s Black mecca) and Issa Rae’s masterwork Insecure, Harlem is retrofitted for a contemporary audience hungry for self-reflection served with a side of fantasy.

By that metric, the show, which will undoubtedly draw comparisons to the recent Run the World, succeeds: The straightforward humor, enviable wardrobes, winks to previous sitcoms and questionable character antics are likely to keep many viewers hooked. Harlem The Bottom Line Tons of potential. Airdate: Friday, Dec. 3 Cast: Meagan Good, Grace Byers, Shoniqua Shandai, Jerrie Johnson, Tyler Lepley, Whoopi Goldberg, Jasmine Guy Executive producers: Tracy Oliver, Amy Poehler, Kim Lessing, Mimi Valdes, Pharrell Williams, Dave Becky Camille (Meagan Good), an anxious adjunct anthropology professor at Columbia University, anchors the show, and her lectures, which she delivers with aplomb to bleary-eyed collegians, thematically steer each episode.

Quinn (Grace Byers) is a former banker turned designer who regularly asks her parents for money to keep her boutique afloat. She lives with Angie (Shoniquia Shandai), a brash singer who has been out of a job since her record label dumped her five years ago. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is, by conventional standards, the most successful of the group.

Her wardrobe is, quite frankly, to die for. The quartet convene over small bites and drinks in a stylish Harlem restaurant whose location becomes one of the show’s greater mysteries. During the first episode’s opening sequence, Camille, sporting an oxblood red coat, struts across a sliver of campus that clearly belongs to City College and not Columbia University, where she teaches.

Harlem’s characters, thankfully, fare better than its locales. Camille, Quinn, Angie and Tye add to the current offering of TV shows reflecting the strength of Black women’s friendships as well as the turbulence of modern living. Should she leave a prestigious workplace that ultimately does not value her?

How Many Episodes Of “Harlem” Are There?

The Black women of “Harlem,” a 10-episode streaming comedy premiering Friday on Amazon, are decades younger than — and a few ZIP Codes apart from — Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte. (Samantha, absent from “And Just Like That…” presumably landed back in L.A.) But they still eloquently saunter and drunkenly stumble in the stilettoed footsteps of those 20th century, Cosmopolitan-sipping pioneers.

The characters at first appear cast from the very mold used by HBO more than 20 years ago: Camille is the responsible one who overthinks things, pining after her ex and making bad choices when she second-guesses herself. (She is also, in a move that can’t help but call to mind Carrie Bradshaw, the series’ voiceover.) Tye is a disciplined, confident businesswoman with a commitment problem.

And Angie has no edit button, especially when talking about men, sex, men and more sex. Advertisement But “Harlem,” created by “Girls Trip” writer Tracy Oliver, eventually has much more to offer than a modern Black overlay on a beloved but very white series. Each character grows more interesting as the series proceeds thanks to strong character development and sharp writing, and the chemistry among the performers becomes the bond that carries the show as the women become entangled in one another’s relationship disasters and work dilemmas.

But when Quinn is ripped off by a bad date on Long Island (adding insult to injury), Angie shows up like a superhero. (“Harlem” also tweaks the girls-in-the-city formula by adding a gay character to the inner circle with Tye.) Shoniqua Shandai in “Harlem.”

And the gentrification of Harlem is part of the story here too. Locals are getting priced out of the neighborhood and landmarks are being snapped up by chain stores: “Do you think we’ll live long enough to see a Sephora change back into a jazz club?” one girlfriend asks another. But “Harlem” doesn’t drown in its social consciousness, either.

Dating provides more of the quick-witted banter that makes this series pop. Hopeful romantic Quinn keeps getting catfished, so when she finally connects with a real, flesh-and-blood man on a video chat, her friends cheer.

What Is Grey’S Anatomy?

Still, in the age of the reboot, it’s actually quite rare to watch a completely new premise unfold on the screen. Whether we like it or not, we’re seeing an unprecedented number of classic storylines be retold for new audiences with modern updates, and the remake train doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. And, if we’re going to take it a step further, there is no shortage of white shows that are following the same prescription on primetime television and across streaming platforms.

Even in the reality dating space, the shows are only slightly varied; we’re dating in the wilderness (Naked & Afraid of Love), dating on an island ( Bachelor in Paradise and Love Island ), getting engaged or married and then dating without ever seeing the person first ( Love is Blind and Married at First Sight). Same recipe, different ingredients.

What Is The Name Of Issa Rae’S Seminal Hbo Comedy?

I don’t want to start this review by talking about Insecure, Issa Rae’s seminal HBO comedy about four Black twenty-to-thirtysomethings in LA that broke ground for Black female friendship onscreen and built a pipeline for Black creatives off it. Amazon’s Harlem, a 10-episode series about four Black thirtysomethings in the storied New York neighborhood created by Girls Trip writer Tracy Oliver, should be measured on its own merits. But it’s hard not to map one on to the other, from buzzy soundtrack to stylish wardrobes to similar themes – the lingering question of an ex who’s maybe or maybe not moved on, dating apps, annoying white people, parental pressure.

The show’s quartet, like the group on Insecure, are best friends from their college days (swap Stanford for NYU), 10-plus years ago. Camille (Meagan Good) is beautiful, headstrong yet chronically awkward, an assistant professor of anthropology at Columbia hungry for a tenured position, validation and another shot with her ex, Ian (P Valley’s Tyler Lepley), who unexpectedly returns to the neighborhood after several years abroad. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is the most financially secure of the bunch, the masc lesbian founder of a dating app for queer people of color whose icy exterior shields an intense aversion to vulnerability.

Quinn financially supports Angela (newcomer Shoniqua Shandai), attempting to relaunch her singing career after getting dropped from a record deal five years ago; like Insecure’s much-memed Kelli, Angie is bigger, louder, more brash than her friends – perpetually horny, perpetually searching, the raunchy and gloriously self-confident deliverer of punchlines with comparatively less character development. Over the course of the season, the group navigates universal tribulations – dating, career setbacks, miscommunications – and neighborhood-specific ones: the gentrification of Harlem, the limited availability of single Black men, the fraught dynamics of interracial dating in a mostly Black neighborhood. The show can be enjoyable – the quartet’s chemistry infectious, the twists intriguing if sometimes overdone, the numerous men reliably hot, the soundtrack hip and the outfits never boring.

But the show sometimes feels stumped by what to do beyond calling out its representational politics. There’s something to mine in the “real life man shortage”, but the points dovetail into an awkward comparison to a tribe of women in Asia studied by Camille, and literal “yassss queen”-ing. Harlem is most interesting when the easy assumptions of righteousness are complicated: when Camille learns the gentrifying bistro she’s protesting (only to impress her new boss, played by Whoopi Goldberg, who’s disdainful of Camille’s social media fame) has hired Ian as its head chef.

Regardless of intent or effect, the show’s overt aims at representation don’t cover for characters who, for most of the 10 episodes available for review, stay stuck in the rut of a few broadly sketched characteristics. The series’ eighth episode, set five years in the past, explores the decisions which refract through the rest of the season, offering welcome context to each woman’s consistent hangups and regrets. By season end, there’s plenty of material to grow on and from, and ample reason to give Harlem a second season to do so.

Who Created The First Dating App For Queer People Of Color?

Harlem (TV series) Close this dialog window Streaming Options Female friends helping each other navigate love and life in an urban setting is a TV template as old as time — or at least as old as Living Single (1993) and Sex and the City (1998). Over the years, many shows have tried to replicate the sleek appeal of those singular series, but only a handful have succeeded in creating something truly original: Girlfriends (2000), Girls (2012), Insecure (2016) — and now Harlem (2021), the breezy, clever, and beautiful-to-look-at new comedy from creator Tracy Oliver. Camille (Meagan Good) is an up-and-coming anthropology professor with her eye on tenure.

There are dating mishaps aplenty (Camille blanches when a hookup wants her to do, um, butt stuff; Quinn falls for a man who turns out to be pitching a multi-level-marketing scheme), but they’re outnumbered by more substantial plot lines. Tye, who created the first dating app for queer people of color, feels deeply conflicted when she begins dating a white woman. Camille clashes with Ian over a new French fusion restaurant that’s contributing to the gentrification of Harlem, and a stand-out episode called The Strong Black Woman explores the dangers of internalizing that uniquely American label.

It’s a sharp, funny comedy about women who thrive, fail, and survive in the midst of our dysfunctional world. Like most millennials, Camille and her friends are obsessed with pop culture, and Harlem delivers some true show-within-the-show brilliance. The friends gather weekly to watch Bravo’s (fictional) Weather Wives: Tampa — about the high-maintenance and hot-tempered spouses of well-known meteorologists — and when Angie gets her big break, it’s in a Broadway show called Get Out: The Musical.

We’re treated to a pair of musical numbers, written by Sukari Jones, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul, and they are flawlessly absurd. (Days later, I’ve still got White Liberal Parents stuck in my head.) Unlike Sex and the City, which took several episodes to find its footing, Harlem feels fully formed from the outset.

(Be sure to freeze frame on the movie poster for The Pursuit of Forgiveness in episode 9.) Whoopi Goldberg puts her perfectly calibrated glare to good use as Camille’s aloof new boss, and Jasmine Guy drops withering one-liners with elegant ease as Quinn’s wealthy and judgmental mom, Patricia. At times the plotting can be trite — please, TV, no more drunk person makes foolish, life-splintering decision they will obviously regret scenes — but even in its less-than-original moments, Harlem is consistently enjoyable.

What Is The Gravest Hazard Of The Series?

The historic neighborhood and its inhabitants have always been under threat, whether it’s the extralegal justice system, dirty policing, or racism. Now its gravest hazard, afflicting other predominantly African-American neighborhoods, stretching from the South Side of Chicago to South Los Angeles, is gentrification. Ostensibly an ensemble piece, the 10 half-hour episodes center on Camille (Meagan Good).

In her day-to-day, Camille often finds support from her three talented friends: the fashion designer Quinn (Grace Byers), a down-on-her-luck singer Angie (Shoniqua Shandai), and a lesbian tech mogul Tye (Jerrie Johnson), who’s created an app for queer Black singles, often the most at-risk group, to find safe dates and dating experiences in the city. Sarah Shatz / Amazon Prime Video Every episode’s theme, to varying results, is set by one of Camille’s lectures. Goldberg and Good aren’t given nearly enough scenes together, but “Harlem” incisively explores the weight Black excellence still inflicts on even the most successful Black women.

And she can also never seem to find the right guy. The series makes her romantic bad luck a great running gag. But with her mother being from Barbados, the first-generation American expectations heaped onto the already crushing weight of Black excellence rarely moves past a surface level.

Not just in a romantic sense, but a professional one, too. Nowhere is that better felt than when she auditions for “Get Out” the musical. But it’s the way the play’s director and one of Angie’s lovers fall for the white fragility used by white women that best interrogates the ways Black men, as much as anyone else, often fail to support Black women.

But when Tye enters an interracial relationship with a white women, the character finds her most complicated grounds. How can a Black queer woman who’s created an app specifically for Black queer folks to find others like them, then date a white woman? Despite some early slip-ups, Oliver’s “Harlem” resonates with fun, heart, verve, and the feeling of togetherness, inherent in both the neighborhood and the Black women it supports.

Amazon’s Harlem is familiar. Like Sex and the City and Girlfriends, the show focuses on four women as they manage their romantic lives, careers and friendships. And similarly to Starz’s Run the World (also set in New York’s Black mecca) and Issa Rae’s masterwork Insecure, Harlem is retrofitted for a contemporary audience hungry for self-reflection served with a side of fantasy.

By that metric, the show, which will undoubtedly draw comparisons to the recent Run the World, succeeds: The straightforward humor, enviable wardrobes, winks to previous sitcoms and questionable character antics are likely to keep many viewers hooked. Harlem The Bottom Line Tons of potential. Airdate: Friday, Dec. 3 Cast: Meagan Good, Grace Byers, Shoniqua Shandai, Jerrie Johnson, Tyler Lepley, Whoopi Goldberg, Jasmine Guy Executive producers: Tracy Oliver, Amy Poehler, Kim Lessing, Mimi Valdes, Pharrell Williams, Dave Becky Camille (Meagan Good), an anxious adjunct anthropology professor at Columbia University, anchors the show, and her lectures, which she delivers with aplomb to bleary-eyed collegians, thematically steer each episode.

Quinn (Grace Byers) is a former banker turned designer who regularly asks her parents for money to keep her boutique afloat. She lives with Angie (Shoniquia Shandai), a brash singer who has been out of a job since her record label dumped her five years ago. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is, by conventional standards, the most successful of the group.

Her wardrobe is, quite frankly, to die for. The quartet convene over small bites and drinks in a stylish Harlem restaurant whose location becomes one of the show’s greater mysteries. During the first episode’s opening sequence, Camille, sporting an oxblood red coat, struts across a sliver of campus that clearly belongs to City College and not Columbia University, where she teaches.

Harlem’s characters, thankfully, fare better than its locales. Camille, Quinn, Angie and Tye add to the current offering of TV shows reflecting the strength of Black women’s friendships as well as the turbulence of modern living. Should she leave a prestigious workplace that ultimately does not value her?

How Many Episodes Of “Harlem” Are There?

The Black women of “Harlem,” a 10-episode streaming comedy premiering Friday on Amazon, are decades younger than — and a few ZIP Codes apart from — Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte. (Samantha, absent from “And Just Like That…” presumably landed back in L.A.) But they still eloquently saunter and drunkenly stumble in the stilettoed footsteps of those 20th century, Cosmopolitan-sipping pioneers.

The characters at first appear cast from the very mold used by HBO more than 20 years ago: Camille is the responsible one who overthinks things, pining after her ex and making bad choices when she second-guesses herself. (She is also, in a move that can’t help but call to mind Carrie Bradshaw, the series’ voiceover.) Tye is a disciplined, confident businesswoman with a commitment problem.

And Angie has no edit button, especially when talking about men, sex, men and more sex. Advertisement But “Harlem,” created by “Girls Trip” writer Tracy Oliver, eventually has much more to offer than a modern Black overlay on a beloved but very white series. Each character grows more interesting as the series proceeds thanks to strong character development and sharp writing, and the chemistry among the performers becomes the bond that carries the show as the women become entangled in one another’s relationship disasters and work dilemmas.

But when Quinn is ripped off by a bad date on Long Island (adding insult to injury), Angie shows up like a superhero. (“Harlem” also tweaks the girls-in-the-city formula by adding a gay character to the inner circle with Tye.) Shoniqua Shandai in “Harlem.”

And the gentrification of Harlem is part of the story here too. Locals are getting priced out of the neighborhood and landmarks are being snapped up by chain stores: “Do you think we’ll live long enough to see a Sephora change back into a jazz club?” one girlfriend asks another. But “Harlem” doesn’t drown in its social consciousness, either.

Dating provides more of the quick-witted banter that makes this series pop. Hopeful romantic Quinn keeps getting catfished, so when she finally connects with a real, flesh-and-blood man on a video chat, her friends cheer.

What Is Grey’S Anatomy?

Still, in the age of the reboot, it’s actually quite rare to watch a completely new premise unfold on the screen. Whether we like it or not, we’re seeing an unprecedented number of classic storylines be retold for new audiences with modern updates, and the remake train doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. And, if we’re going to take it a step further, there is no shortage of white shows that are following the same prescription on primetime television and across streaming platforms.

Even in the reality dating space, the shows are only slightly varied; we’re dating in the wilderness (Naked & Afraid of Love), dating on an island ( Bachelor in Paradise and Love Island ), getting engaged or married and then dating without ever seeing the person first ( Love is Blind and Married at First Sight). Same recipe, different ingredients.

What Is The Name Of Issa Rae’S Seminal Hbo Comedy?

I don’t want to start this review by talking about Insecure, Issa Rae’s seminal HBO comedy about four Black twenty-to-thirtysomethings in LA that broke ground for Black female friendship onscreen and built a pipeline for Black creatives off it. Amazon’s Harlem, a 10-episode series about four Black thirtysomethings in the storied New York neighborhood created by Girls Trip writer Tracy Oliver, should be measured on its own merits. But it’s hard not to map one on to the other, from buzzy soundtrack to stylish wardrobes to similar themes – the lingering question of an ex who’s maybe or maybe not moved on, dating apps, annoying white people, parental pressure.

The show’s quartet, like the group on Insecure, are best friends from their college days (swap Stanford for NYU), 10-plus years ago. Camille (Meagan Good) is beautiful, headstrong yet chronically awkward, an assistant professor of anthropology at Columbia hungry for a tenured position, validation and another shot with her ex, Ian (P Valley’s Tyler Lepley), who unexpectedly returns to the neighborhood after several years abroad. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is the most financially secure of the bunch, the masc lesbian founder of a dating app for queer people of color whose icy exterior shields an intense aversion to vulnerability.

Quinn financially supports Angela (newcomer Shoniqua Shandai), attempting to relaunch her singing career after getting dropped from a record deal five years ago; like Insecure’s much-memed Kelli, Angie is bigger, louder, more brash than her friends – perpetually horny, perpetually searching, the raunchy and gloriously self-confident deliverer of punchlines with comparatively less character development. Over the course of the season, the group navigates universal tribulations – dating, career setbacks, miscommunications – and neighborhood-specific ones: the gentrification of Harlem, the limited availability of single Black men, the fraught dynamics of interracial dating in a mostly Black neighborhood. The show can be enjoyable – the quartet’s chemistry infectious, the twists intriguing if sometimes overdone, the numerous men reliably hot, the soundtrack hip and the outfits never boring.

But the show sometimes feels stumped by what to do beyond calling out its representational politics. There’s something to mine in the “real life man shortage”, but the points dovetail into an awkward comparison to a tribe of women in Asia studied by Camille, and literal “yassss queen”-ing. Harlem is most interesting when the easy assumptions of righteousness are complicated: when Camille learns the gentrifying bistro she’s protesting (only to impress her new boss, played by Whoopi Goldberg, who’s disdainful of Camille’s social media fame) has hired Ian as its head chef.

Regardless of intent or effect, the show’s overt aims at representation don’t cover for characters who, for most of the 10 episodes available for review, stay stuck in the rut of a few broadly sketched characteristics. The series’ eighth episode, set five years in the past, explores the decisions which refract through the rest of the season, offering welcome context to each woman’s consistent hangups and regrets. By season end, there’s plenty of material to grow on and from, and ample reason to give Harlem a second season to do so.

Who Created The First Dating App For Queer People Of Color?

Harlem (TV series) Close this dialog window Streaming Options Female friends helping each other navigate love and life in an urban setting is a TV template as old as time — or at least as old as Living Single (1993) and Sex and the City (1998). Over the years, many shows have tried to replicate the sleek appeal of those singular series, but only a handful have succeeded in creating something truly original: Girlfriends (2000), Girls (2012), Insecure (2016) — and now Harlem (2021), the breezy, clever, and beautiful-to-look-at new comedy from creator Tracy Oliver. Camille (Meagan Good) is an up-and-coming anthropology professor with her eye on tenure.

There are dating mishaps aplenty (Camille blanches when a hookup wants her to do, um, butt stuff; Quinn falls for a man who turns out to be pitching a multi-level-marketing scheme), but they’re outnumbered by more substantial plot lines. Tye, who created the first dating app for queer people of color, feels deeply conflicted when she begins dating a white woman. Camille clashes with Ian over a new French fusion restaurant that’s contributing to the gentrification of Harlem, and a stand-out episode called The Strong Black Woman explores the dangers of internalizing that uniquely American label.

It’s a sharp, funny comedy about women who thrive, fail, and survive in the midst of our dysfunctional world. Like most millennials, Camille and her friends are obsessed with pop culture, and Harlem delivers some true show-within-the-show brilliance. The friends gather weekly to watch Bravo’s (fictional) Weather Wives: Tampa — about the high-maintenance and hot-tempered spouses of well-known meteorologists — and when Angie gets her big break, it’s in a Broadway show called Get Out: The Musical.

We’re treated to a pair of musical numbers, written by Sukari Jones, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul, and they are flawlessly absurd. (Days later, I’ve still got White Liberal Parents stuck in my head.) Unlike Sex and the City, which took several episodes to find its footing, Harlem feels fully formed from the outset.

(Be sure to freeze frame on the movie poster for The Pursuit of Forgiveness in episode 9.) Whoopi Goldberg puts her perfectly calibrated glare to good use as Camille’s aloof new boss, and Jasmine Guy drops withering one-liners with elegant ease as Quinn’s wealthy and judgmental mom, Patricia. At times the plotting can be trite — please, TV, no more drunk person makes foolish, life-splintering decision they will obviously regret scenes — but even in its less-than-original moments, Harlem is consistently enjoyable.

What Is The Gravest Hazard Of The Series?

The historic neighborhood and its inhabitants have always been under threat, whether it’s the extralegal justice system, dirty policing, or racism. Now its gravest hazard, afflicting other predominantly African-American neighborhoods, stretching from the South Side of Chicago to South Los Angeles, is gentrification. Ostensibly an ensemble piece, the 10 half-hour episodes center on Camille (Meagan Good).

In her day-to-day, Camille often finds support from her three talented friends: the fashion designer Quinn (Grace Byers), a down-on-her-luck singer Angie (Shoniqua Shandai), and a lesbian tech mogul Tye (Jerrie Johnson), who’s created an app for queer Black singles, often the most at-risk group, to find safe dates and dating experiences in the city. Sarah Shatz / Amazon Prime Video Every episode’s theme, to varying results, is set by one of Camille’s lectures. Goldberg and Good aren’t given nearly enough scenes together, but “Harlem” incisively explores the weight Black excellence still inflicts on even the most successful Black women.

And she can also never seem to find the right guy. The series makes her romantic bad luck a great running gag. But with her mother being from Barbados, the first-generation American expectations heaped onto the already crushing weight of Black excellence rarely moves past a surface level.

Not just in a romantic sense, but a professional one, too. Nowhere is that better felt than when she auditions for “Get Out” the musical. But it’s the way the play’s director and one of Angie’s lovers fall for the white fragility used by white women that best interrogates the ways Black men, as much as anyone else, often fail to support Black women.

But when Tye enters an interracial relationship with a white women, the character finds her most complicated grounds. How can a Black queer woman who’s created an app specifically for Black queer folks to find others like them, then date a white woman? Despite some early slip-ups, Oliver’s “Harlem” resonates with fun, heart, verve, and the feeling of togetherness, inherent in both the neighborhood and the Black women it supports.

Amazon’s Harlem is familiar. Like Sex and the City and Girlfriends, the show focuses on four women as they manage their romantic lives, careers and friendships. And similarly to Starz’s Run the World (also set in New York’s Black mecca) and Issa Rae’s masterwork Insecure, Harlem is retrofitted for a contemporary audience hungry for self-reflection served with a side of fantasy.

By that metric, the show, which will undoubtedly draw comparisons to the recent Run the World, succeeds: The straightforward humor, enviable wardrobes, winks to previous sitcoms and questionable character antics are likely to keep many viewers hooked. Harlem The Bottom Line Tons of potential. Airdate: Friday, Dec. 3 Cast: Meagan Good, Grace Byers, Shoniqua Shandai, Jerrie Johnson, Tyler Lepley, Whoopi Goldberg, Jasmine Guy Executive producers: Tracy Oliver, Amy Poehler, Kim Lessing, Mimi Valdes, Pharrell Williams, Dave Becky Camille (Meagan Good), an anxious adjunct anthropology professor at Columbia University, anchors the show, and her lectures, which she delivers with aplomb to bleary-eyed collegians, thematically steer each episode.

Quinn (Grace Byers) is a former banker turned designer who regularly asks her parents for money to keep her boutique afloat. She lives with Angie (Shoniquia Shandai), a brash singer who has been out of a job since her record label dumped her five years ago. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is, by conventional standards, the most successful of the group.

Her wardrobe is, quite frankly, to die for. The quartet convene over small bites and drinks in a stylish Harlem restaurant whose location becomes one of the show’s greater mysteries. During the first episode’s opening sequence, Camille, sporting an oxblood red coat, struts across a sliver of campus that clearly belongs to City College and not Columbia University, where she teaches.

Harlem’s characters, thankfully, fare better than its locales. Camille, Quinn, Angie and Tye add to the current offering of TV shows reflecting the strength of Black women’s friendships as well as the turbulence of modern living. Should she leave a prestigious workplace that ultimately does not value her?

How Many Episodes Of “Harlem” Are There?

The Black women of “Harlem,” a 10-episode streaming comedy premiering Friday on Amazon, are decades younger than — and a few ZIP Codes apart from — Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte. (Samantha, absent from “And Just Like That…” presumably landed back in L.A.) But they still eloquently saunter and drunkenly stumble in the stilettoed footsteps of those 20th century, Cosmopolitan-sipping pioneers.

The characters at first appear cast from the very mold used by HBO more than 20 years ago: Camille is the responsible one who overthinks things, pining after her ex and making bad choices when she second-guesses herself. (She is also, in a move that can’t help but call to mind Carrie Bradshaw, the series’ voiceover.) Tye is a disciplined, confident businesswoman with a commitment problem.

And Angie has no edit button, especially when talking about men, sex, men and more sex. Advertisement But “Harlem,” created by “Girls Trip” writer Tracy Oliver, eventually has much more to offer than a modern Black overlay on a beloved but very white series. Each character grows more interesting as the series proceeds thanks to strong character development and sharp writing, and the chemistry among the performers becomes the bond that carries the show as the women become entangled in one another’s relationship disasters and work dilemmas.

But when Quinn is ripped off by a bad date on Long Island (adding insult to injury), Angie shows up like a superhero. (“Harlem” also tweaks the girls-in-the-city formula by adding a gay character to the inner circle with Tye.) Shoniqua Shandai in “Harlem.”

And the gentrification of Harlem is part of the story here too. Locals are getting priced out of the neighborhood and landmarks are being snapped up by chain stores: “Do you think we’ll live long enough to see a Sephora change back into a jazz club?” one girlfriend asks another. But “Harlem” doesn’t drown in its social consciousness, either.

Dating provides more of the quick-witted banter that makes this series pop. Hopeful romantic Quinn keeps getting catfished, so when she finally connects with a real, flesh-and-blood man on a video chat, her friends cheer.

What Is Grey’S Anatomy?

Still, in the age of the reboot, it’s actually quite rare to watch a completely new premise unfold on the screen. Whether we like it or not, we’re seeing an unprecedented number of classic storylines be retold for new audiences with modern updates, and the remake train doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. And, if we’re going to take it a step further, there is no shortage of white shows that are following the same prescription on primetime television and across streaming platforms.

Even in the reality dating space, the shows are only slightly varied; we’re dating in the wilderness (Naked & Afraid of Love), dating on an island ( Bachelor in Paradise and Love Island ), getting engaged or married and then dating without ever seeing the person first ( Love is Blind and Married at First Sight). Same recipe, different ingredients.

What Is The Name Of Issa Rae’S Seminal Hbo Comedy?

I don’t want to start this review by talking about Insecure, Issa Rae’s seminal HBO comedy about four Black twenty-to-thirtysomethings in LA that broke ground for Black female friendship onscreen and built a pipeline for Black creatives off it. Amazon’s Harlem, a 10-episode series about four Black thirtysomethings in the storied New York neighborhood created by Girls Trip writer Tracy Oliver, should be measured on its own merits. But it’s hard not to map one on to the other, from buzzy soundtrack to stylish wardrobes to similar themes – the lingering question of an ex who’s maybe or maybe not moved on, dating apps, annoying white people, parental pressure.

The show’s quartet, like the group on Insecure, are best friends from their college days (swap Stanford for NYU), 10-plus years ago. Camille (Meagan Good) is beautiful, headstrong yet chronically awkward, an assistant professor of anthropology at Columbia hungry for a tenured position, validation and another shot with her ex, Ian (P Valley’s Tyler Lepley), who unexpectedly returns to the neighborhood after several years abroad. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is the most financially secure of the bunch, the masc lesbian founder of a dating app for queer people of color whose icy exterior shields an intense aversion to vulnerability.

Quinn financially supports Angela (newcomer Shoniqua Shandai), attempting to relaunch her singing career after getting dropped from a record deal five years ago; like Insecure’s much-memed Kelli, Angie is bigger, louder, more brash than her friends – perpetually horny, perpetually searching, the raunchy and gloriously self-confident deliverer of punchlines with comparatively less character development. Over the course of the season, the group navigates universal tribulations – dating, career setbacks, miscommunications – and neighborhood-specific ones: the gentrification of Harlem, the limited availability of single Black men, the fraught dynamics of interracial dating in a mostly Black neighborhood. The show can be enjoyable – the quartet’s chemistry infectious, the twists intriguing if sometimes overdone, the numerous men reliably hot, the soundtrack hip and the outfits never boring.

But the show sometimes feels stumped by what to do beyond calling out its representational politics. There’s something to mine in the “real life man shortage”, but the points dovetail into an awkward comparison to a tribe of women in Asia studied by Camille, and literal “yassss queen”-ing. Harlem is most interesting when the easy assumptions of righteousness are complicated: when Camille learns the gentrifying bistro she’s protesting (only to impress her new boss, played by Whoopi Goldberg, who’s disdainful of Camille’s social media fame) has hired Ian as its head chef.

Regardless of intent or effect, the show’s overt aims at representation don’t cover for characters who, for most of the 10 episodes available for review, stay stuck in the rut of a few broadly sketched characteristics. The series’ eighth episode, set five years in the past, explores the decisions which refract through the rest of the season, offering welcome context to each woman’s consistent hangups and regrets. By season end, there’s plenty of material to grow on and from, and ample reason to give Harlem a second season to do so.

Who Created The First Dating App For Queer People Of Color?

Harlem (TV series) Close this dialog window Streaming Options Female friends helping each other navigate love and life in an urban setting is a TV template as old as time — or at least as old as Living Single (1993) and Sex and the City (1998). Over the years, many shows have tried to replicate the sleek appeal of those singular series, but only a handful have succeeded in creating something truly original: Girlfriends (2000), Girls (2012), Insecure (2016) — and now Harlem (2021), the breezy, clever, and beautiful-to-look-at new comedy from creator Tracy Oliver. Camille (Meagan Good) is an up-and-coming anthropology professor with her eye on tenure.

There are dating mishaps aplenty (Camille blanches when a hookup wants her to do, um, butt stuff; Quinn falls for a man who turns out to be pitching a multi-level-marketing scheme), but they’re outnumbered by more substantial plot lines. Tye, who created the first dating app for queer people of color, feels deeply conflicted when she begins dating a white woman. Camille clashes with Ian over a new French fusion restaurant that’s contributing to the gentrification of Harlem, and a stand-out episode called The Strong Black Woman explores the dangers of internalizing that uniquely American label.

It’s a sharp, funny comedy about women who thrive, fail, and survive in the midst of our dysfunctional world. Like most millennials, Camille and her friends are obsessed with pop culture, and Harlem delivers some true show-within-the-show brilliance. The friends gather weekly to watch Bravo’s (fictional) Weather Wives: Tampa — about the high-maintenance and hot-tempered spouses of well-known meteorologists — and when Angie gets her big break, it’s in a Broadway show called Get Out: The Musical.

We’re treated to a pair of musical numbers, written by Sukari Jones, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul, and they are flawlessly absurd. (Days later, I’ve still got White Liberal Parents stuck in my head.) Unlike Sex and the City, which took several episodes to find its footing, Harlem feels fully formed from the outset.

(Be sure to freeze frame on the movie poster for The Pursuit of Forgiveness in episode 9.) Whoopi Goldberg puts her perfectly calibrated glare to good use as Camille’s aloof new boss, and Jasmine Guy drops withering one-liners with elegant ease as Quinn’s wealthy and judgmental mom, Patricia. At times the plotting can be trite — please, TV, no more drunk person makes foolish, life-splintering decision they will obviously regret scenes — but even in its less-than-original moments, Harlem is consistently enjoyable.

What Is The Gravest Hazard Of The Series?

The historic neighborhood and its inhabitants have always been under threat, whether it’s the extralegal justice system, dirty policing, or racism. Now its gravest hazard, afflicting other predominantly African-American neighborhoods, stretching from the South Side of Chicago to South Los Angeles, is gentrification. Ostensibly an ensemble piece, the 10 half-hour episodes center on Camille (Meagan Good).

In her day-to-day, Camille often finds support from her three talented friends: the fashion designer Quinn (Grace Byers), a down-on-her-luck singer Angie (Shoniqua Shandai), and a lesbian tech mogul Tye (Jerrie Johnson), who’s created an app for queer Black singles, often the most at-risk group, to find safe dates and dating experiences in the city. Sarah Shatz / Amazon Prime Video Every episode’s theme, to varying results, is set by one of Camille’s lectures. Goldberg and Good aren’t given nearly enough scenes together, but “Harlem” incisively explores the weight Black excellence still inflicts on even the most successful Black women.

And she can also never seem to find the right guy. The series makes her romantic bad luck a great running gag. But with her mother being from Barbados, the first-generation American expectations heaped onto the already crushing weight of Black excellence rarely moves past a surface level.

Not just in a romantic sense, but a professional one, too. Nowhere is that better felt than when she auditions for “Get Out” the musical. But it’s the way the play’s director and one of Angie’s lovers fall for the white fragility used by white women that best interrogates the ways Black men, as much as anyone else, often fail to support Black women.

But when Tye enters an interracial relationship with a white women, the character finds her most complicated grounds. How can a Black queer woman who’s created an app specifically for Black queer folks to find others like them, then date a white woman? Despite some early slip-ups, Oliver’s “Harlem” resonates with fun, heart, verve, and the feeling of togetherness, inherent in both the neighborhood and the Black women it supports.

Amazon’s Harlem is familiar. Like Sex and the City and Girlfriends, the show focuses on four women as they manage their romantic lives, careers and friendships. And similarly to Starz’s Run the World (also set in New York’s Black mecca) and Issa Rae’s masterwork Insecure, Harlem is retrofitted for a contemporary audience hungry for self-reflection served with a side of fantasy.

By that metric, the show, which will undoubtedly draw comparisons to the recent Run the World, succeeds: The straightforward humor, enviable wardrobes, winks to previous sitcoms and questionable character antics are likely to keep many viewers hooked. Harlem The Bottom Line Tons of potential. Airdate: Friday, Dec. 3 Cast: Meagan Good, Grace Byers, Shoniqua Shandai, Jerrie Johnson, Tyler Lepley, Whoopi Goldberg, Jasmine Guy Executive producers: Tracy Oliver, Amy Poehler, Kim Lessing, Mimi Valdes, Pharrell Williams, Dave Becky Camille (Meagan Good), an anxious adjunct anthropology professor at Columbia University, anchors the show, and her lectures, which she delivers with aplomb to bleary-eyed collegians, thematically steer each episode.

Quinn (Grace Byers) is a former banker turned designer who regularly asks her parents for money to keep her boutique afloat. She lives with Angie (Shoniquia Shandai), a brash singer who has been out of a job since her record label dumped her five years ago. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is, by conventional standards, the most successful of the group.

Her wardrobe is, quite frankly, to die for. The quartet convene over small bites and drinks in a stylish Harlem restaurant whose location becomes one of the show’s greater mysteries. During the first episode’s opening sequence, Camille, sporting an oxblood red coat, struts across a sliver of campus that clearly belongs to City College and not Columbia University, where she teaches.

Harlem’s characters, thankfully, fare better than its locales. Camille, Quinn, Angie and Tye add to the current offering of TV shows reflecting the strength of Black women’s friendships as well as the turbulence of modern living. Should she leave a prestigious workplace that ultimately does not value her?

How Many Episodes Of “Harlem” Are There?

The Black women of “Harlem,” a 10-episode streaming comedy premiering Friday on Amazon, are decades younger than — and a few ZIP Codes apart from — Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte. (Samantha, absent from “And Just Like That…” presumably landed back in L.A.) But they still eloquently saunter and drunkenly stumble in the stilettoed footsteps of those 20th century, Cosmopolitan-sipping pioneers.

The characters at first appear cast from the very mold used by HBO more than 20 years ago: Camille is the responsible one who overthinks things, pining after her ex and making bad choices when she second-guesses herself. (She is also, in a move that can’t help but call to mind Carrie Bradshaw, the series’ voiceover.) Tye is a disciplined, confident businesswoman with a commitment problem.

And Angie has no edit button, especially when talking about men, sex, men and more sex. Advertisement But “Harlem,” created by “Girls Trip” writer Tracy Oliver, eventually has much more to offer than a modern Black overlay on a beloved but very white series. Each character grows more interesting as the series proceeds thanks to strong character development and sharp writing, and the chemistry among the performers becomes the bond that carries the show as the women become entangled in one another’s relationship disasters and work dilemmas.

But when Quinn is ripped off by a bad date on Long Island (adding insult to injury), Angie shows up like a superhero. (“Harlem” also tweaks the girls-in-the-city formula by adding a gay character to the inner circle with Tye.) Shoniqua Shandai in “Harlem.”

And the gentrification of Harlem is part of the story here too. Locals are getting priced out of the neighborhood and landmarks are being snapped up by chain stores: “Do you think we’ll live long enough to see a Sephora change back into a jazz club?” one girlfriend asks another. But “Harlem” doesn’t drown in its social consciousness, either.

Dating provides more of the quick-witted banter that makes this series pop. Hopeful romantic Quinn keeps getting catfished, so when she finally connects with a real, flesh-and-blood man on a video chat, her friends cheer.

What Is Grey’S Anatomy?

Still, in the age of the reboot, it’s actually quite rare to watch a completely new premise unfold on the screen. Whether we like it or not, we’re seeing an unprecedented number of classic storylines be retold for new audiences with modern updates, and the remake train doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. And, if we’re going to take it a step further, there is no shortage of white shows that are following the same prescription on primetime television and across streaming platforms.

Even in the reality dating space, the shows are only slightly varied; we’re dating in the wilderness (Naked & Afraid of Love), dating on an island ( Bachelor in Paradise and Love Island ), getting engaged or married and then dating without ever seeing the person first ( Love is Blind and Married at First Sight). Same recipe, different ingredients.

What Is The Name Of Issa Rae’S Seminal Hbo Comedy?

I don’t want to start this review by talking about Insecure, Issa Rae’s seminal HBO comedy about four Black twenty-to-thirtysomethings in LA that broke ground for Black female friendship onscreen and built a pipeline for Black creatives off it. Amazon’s Harlem, a 10-episode series about four Black thirtysomethings in the storied New York neighborhood created by Girls Trip writer Tracy Oliver, should be measured on its own merits. But it’s hard not to map one on to the other, from buzzy soundtrack to stylish wardrobes to similar themes – the lingering question of an ex who’s maybe or maybe not moved on, dating apps, annoying white people, parental pressure.

The show’s quartet, like the group on Insecure, are best friends from their college days (swap Stanford for NYU), 10-plus years ago. Camille (Meagan Good) is beautiful, headstrong yet chronically awkward, an assistant professor of anthropology at Columbia hungry for a tenured position, validation and another shot with her ex, Ian (P Valley’s Tyler Lepley), who unexpectedly returns to the neighborhood after several years abroad. Tye (Jerrie Johnson) is the most financially secure of the bunch, the masc lesbian founder of a dating app for queer people of color whose icy exterior shields an intense aversion to vulnerability.

Quinn financially supports Angela (newcomer Shoniqua Shandai), attempting to relaunch her singing career after getting dropped from a record deal five years ago; like Insecure’s much-memed Kelli, Angie is bigger, louder, more brash than her friends – perpetually horny, perpetually searching, the raunchy and gloriously self-confident deliverer of punchlines with comparatively less character development. Over the course of the season, the group navigates universal tribulations – dating, career setbacks, miscommunications – and neighborhood-specific ones: the gentrification of Harlem, the limited availability of single Black men, the fraught dynamics of interracial dating in a mostly Black neighborhood. The show can be enjoyable – the quartet’s chemistry infectious, the twists intriguing if sometimes overdone, the numerous men reliably hot, the soundtrack hip and the outfits never boring.

But the show sometimes feels stumped by what to do beyond calling out its representational politics. There’s something to mine in the “real life man shortage”, but the points dovetail into an awkward comparison to a tribe of women in Asia studied by Camille, and literal “yassss queen”-ing. Harlem is most interesting when the easy assumptions of righteousness are complicated: when Camille learns the gentrifying bistro she’s protesting (only to impress her new boss, played by Whoopi Goldberg, who’s disdainful of Camille’s social media fame) has hired Ian as its head chef.

Regardless of intent or effect, the show’s overt aims at representation don’t cover for characters who, for most of the 10 episodes available for review, stay stuck in the rut of a few broadly sketched characteristics. The series’ eighth episode, set five years in the past, explores the decisions which refract through the rest of the season, offering welcome context to each woman’s consistent hangups and regrets. By season end, there’s plenty of material to grow on and from, and ample reason to give Harlem a second season to do so.

Who Created The First Dating App For Queer People Of Color?

Harlem (TV series) Close this dialog window Streaming Options Female friends helping each other navigate love and life in an urban setting is a TV template as old as time — or at least as old as Living Single (1993) and Sex and the City (1998). Over the years, many shows have tried to replicate the sleek appeal of those singular series, but only a handful have succeeded in creating something truly original: Girlfriends (2000), Girls (2012), Insecure (2016) — and now Harlem (2021), the breezy, clever, and beautiful-to-look-at new comedy from creator Tracy Oliver. Camille (Meagan Good) is an up-and-coming anthropology professor with her eye on tenure.

There are dating mishaps aplenty (Camille blanches when a hookup wants her to do, um, butt stuff; Quinn falls for a man who turns out to be pitching a multi-level-marketing scheme), but they’re outnumbered by more substantial plot lines. Tye, who created the first dating app for queer people of color, feels deeply conflicted when she begins dating a white woman. Camille clashes with Ian over a new French fusion restaurant that’s contributing to the gentrification of Harlem, and a stand-out episode called The Strong Black Woman explores the dangers of internalizing that uniquely American label.

It’s a sharp, funny comedy about women who thrive, fail, and survive in the midst of our dysfunctional world. Like most millennials, Camille and her friends are obsessed with pop culture, and Harlem delivers some true show-within-the-show brilliance. The friends gather weekly to watch Bravo’s (fictional) Weather Wives: Tampa — about the high-maintenance and hot-tempered spouses of well-known meteorologists — and when Angie gets her big break, it’s in a Broadway show called Get Out: The Musical.

We’re treated to a pair of musical numbers, written by Sukari Jones, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul, and they are flawlessly absurd. (Days later, I’ve still got White Liberal Parents stuck in my head.) Unlike Sex and the City, which took several episodes to find its footing, Harlem feels fully formed from the outset.

(Be sure to freeze frame on the movie poster for The Pursuit of Forgiveness in episode 9.) Whoopi Goldberg puts her perfectly calibrated glare to good use as Camille’s aloof new boss, and Jasmine Guy drops withering one-liners with elegant ease as Quinn’s wealthy and judgmental mom, Patricia. At times the plotting can be trite — please, TV, no more drunk person makes foolish, life-splintering decision they will obviously regret scenes — but even in its less-than-original moments, Harlem is consistently enjoyable.

What Is The Gravest Hazard Of The Series?

The historic neighborhood and its inhabitants have always been under threat, whether it’s the extralegal justice system, dirty policing, or racism. Now its gravest hazard, afflicting other predominantly African-American neighborhoods, stretching from the South Side of Chicago to South Los Angeles, is gentrification. Ostensibly an ensemble piece, the 10 half-hour episodes center on Camille (Meagan Good).

In her day-to-day, Camille often finds support from her three talented friends: the fashion designer Quinn (Grace Byers), a down-on-her-luck singer Angie (Shoniqua Shandai), and a lesbian tech mogul Tye (Jerrie Johnson), who’s created an app for queer Black singles, often the most at-risk group, to find safe dates and dating experiences in the city. Sarah Shatz / Amazon Prime Video Every episode’s theme, to varying results, is set by one of Camille’s lectures. Goldberg and Good aren’t given nearly enough scenes together, but “Harlem” incisively explores the weight Black excellence still inflicts on even the most successful Black women.

And she can also never seem to find the right guy. The series makes her romantic bad luck a great running gag. But with her mother being from Barbados, the first-generation American expectations heaped onto the already crushing weight of Black excellence rarely moves past a surface level.

Not just in a romantic sense, but a professional one, too. Nowhere is that better felt than when she auditions for “Get Out” the musical. But it’s the way the play’s director and one of Angie’s lovers fall for the white fragility used by white women that best interrogates the ways Black men, as much as anyone else, often fail to support Black women.

But when Tye enters an interracial relationship with a white women, the character finds her most complicated grounds. How can a Black queer woman who’s created an app specifically for Black queer folks to find others like them, then date a white woman? Despite some early slip-ups, Oliver’s “Harlem” resonates with fun, heart, verve, and the feeling of togetherness, inherent in both the neighborhood and the Black women it supports.