A common belief is that books are always better than their screen adaptations. But what about when they’re not ― as is the case with, say, “American Psycho,” which turned Bret Easton Ellis’ impenetrable 1991 novel into a gripping big-screen thriller? Or what if the situation is too complicated to describe with a simple either/or comparison?
The narrative starts out with a welcome exhale ― “Oh finally, another Black girl!” ― then descends into something less intimate and decidedly more sinister. But because it’s such a sharp pivot toward the end of the 368-page book, it comes off as a bit clunky. And it just barely recovers from that.
But most of all, the Hulu adaptation introduces its more sinister elements much sooner — like in the opening scene, where a Black woman (Cassi Maddox) in the ’80s experiences a nightmare on the New York subway — and weaves them throughout the subsequent storyline.
There are the microaggressions at the office, the “But I’m an ally” white colleague, the expectation to co-sign on a problematic white author (“The Office” star Brian Baumgartner) simply because they need even one Black voice to do so. That last part is the event that ignites the conflict in the story.
When Hazel (Ashleigh Murray) starts at Wagner Books, some audiences might expect things to be different for Nella. She’d at least have a confidant or someone to have her back during the many awkward moments. Does that happen? Eh, kind of. But it also really does not. Hazel is sly enough to make Nella believe she’s on her side, even when Nella begins to doubt that confidence. That’s how gaslighting works.
That makes the seemingly minor but pertinent details involving Nella’s proximity to whiteness just as interesting as her rapport with Malaika. Those include the fact that she, like Harris, grew up in a predominantly white Connecticut neighborhood, lives in the majority-white Brooklyn suburb of Bay Ridge and has a white, live-in boyfriend (Hunter Parrish).
Nella is a woman who, despite the whiteness that surrounds her, still desires to center Black voices and talents like those of Hazel, herself and the Black female editors who came before them. That’s an inclination many Black women share. So it’s difficult to consider that Hazel, or any Black female character, wouldn’t at least have the best intentions for Nella in mind.
Rather, the series takes its time peering into the environments that breed that acrimony. In this case, it’s overwhelmingly white corporate America that engenders the kind of relationship that Nella and Hazel have — and even the one that Diana Gordon (Garcelle Beauvais), Wagner’s only Black female author, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, has with them.
On the positive side, the multiple eras in the series are much more cleanly executed than in the book, and grow more relevant as the story goes on. (Pay attention to the year stamps and, as always, the hair.) They paint a pattern of this specific Black professional dynamic across decades, and help bring the themes of the story further into focus.
Daniel is in most of the scenes and serves remarkably as the audience’s wide-eyed proxy. But the entire cast delivers, including a cunning Murray and supporting turns from Maddox and Beauvais, as well as Bellamy Young and Eric McCormack as Wagner’s increasingly dubious editors.
Even with the show’s flaws, fans of Hulu’s “The Other Black Girl” might want an additional season (the final moment leaves some room for one). But, especially since Harris has only written the one novel (so far), this should absolutely conclude here.
This content was originally published here.