M3gan Writer Akela Cooper Recalls Forced Studio Meetings About Black Trauma Horror Flicks After Get Out
M3GAN Writer Akela Cooper Recalls Forced Studio Meetings About Black Trauma Horror Flicks Post-Get Out
The meteoric rise of Jordan Peele’s "Get Out" in 2017 undeniably reshaped the landscape of horror cinema, ushering in a new era of genre filmmaking that explored social commentary, particularly concerning Black experiences. However, for Akela Cooper, a screenwriter whose work on the viral sensation "M3GAN" has cemented her as a prominent voice in modern horror, this seismic shift wasn’t without its frustrating industry repercussions. Cooper recently shed light on a period of intense, and at times unwelcome, studio pressure to replicate the success of "Get Out" by churning out films centered on Black trauma, a directive she found both reductive and creatively stifling. In candid recollections, Cooper detailed how, in the wake of "Get Out’s" critical and commercial triumph, she and other Black writers were frequently subjected to studio meetings that felt less like collaborative creative endeavors and more like demands for a specific, commercially viable brand of Black horror.
The expectation, as articulated by Cooper, was that any horror script penned by a Black writer should inherently be a vehicle for exploring Black trauma. This, she argued, overlooked the vast spectrum of storytelling possibilities within the horror genre and, more importantly, diminished the individuality and artistic vision of Black creators. The pressure to conform to this narrowly defined niche, according to Cooper, was palpable and often felt like a box that studios were eager to tick. It was as if the success of "Get Out" had inadvertently created a template that, for some executives, became the only acceptable mold for Black-led or Black-written horror, regardless of the writer’s personal interests or the inherent thematic potential of their individual projects.
Cooper’s experience highlights a critical issue within Hollywood’s attempts at diversity and inclusion. While the industry lauded "Get Out" for its groundbreaking approach, the subsequent industry reaction, as described by Cooper, bordered on fetishization of Black trauma as a marketable commodity. The nuance and artistry of Peele’s film, which skillfully wove social commentary into a genuinely terrifying narrative, seemed to be lost on some who instead focused on its "Black trauma" elements as a formula. This created a situation where Black writers were pigeonholed, their creativity constrained by the assumption that their primary contribution to the genre was to explore pain and suffering, rather than to innovate, entertain, or explore the full breadth of human experience through the lens of horror.
The frustration for Cooper stemmed from the fact that this reductive approach ignored the inherent diversity of Black experiences and artistic expressions. Not every Black writer’s primary drive was to excavate and rehash trauma. Many, like Cooper, had broader interests in genre storytelling, character development, and exploring diverse themes that could be amplified by the horror genre, rather than solely defined by it. The repeated insistence on "Black trauma horror flicks" felt like a lack of imagination on the part of the studios, a reliance on a perceived shortcut to authenticity that ultimately limited the potential for truly original and impactful storytelling. This pressure, she recalled, often led to forced conversations where her ideas were steered towards these predetermined narratives, even when her original concepts might have explored different facets of human fear, societal anxieties, or even pure, unadulterated terror without the explicit mandate of racial trauma.
Cooper’s candidness about these forced meetings is crucial for understanding the often-invisible hurdles faced by marginalized voices in Hollywood. While the industry celebrates milestones like "Get Out," the systemic issues that can arise from those successes, such as the pigeonholing of talent, often go unaddressed. The desire to capitalize on a successful formula can, ironically, stifle the very innovation and diversity that such successes are meant to inspire. Cooper’s work on "M3GAN," a film that leans into a different kind of societal anxiety – the unchecked advancement of AI and its potential for parental neglect – stands as a testament to her ability to transcend these imposed limitations and deliver commercially successful, critically acclaimed genre fare that isn’t solely defined by a single thematic element.
The impact of these studio meetings, as described by Cooper, goes beyond mere professional inconvenience. It touches upon the fundamental understanding of how diverse stories are perceived and valued within the entertainment industry. The assumption that Black horror must equate to Black trauma horror is a gross oversimplification that risks reducing the genre to a monolithic entity, devoid of the richness and variety that makes any genre compelling. It also places an undue burden on Black creators, forcing them to constantly justify their artistic choices and fight against preconceived notions of what their work should be. This can lead to burnout, creative compromise, and a sense of disillusionment, even for those who are achieving success.
Cooper’s willingness to speak out about these experiences provides valuable insight into the internal workings of Hollywood and the challenges faced by Black writers navigating a landscape that is still, in many ways, trying to understand and authentically represent diverse perspectives. The success of "M3GAN," a film that is both terrifying and darkly comedic, and which explores themes of technological dependence and the anxieties of modern parenting, demonstrates that engaging and successful horror can exist beyond the confines of solely focusing on Black trauma. It highlights the fact that Black creativity is not a monolith and that the horror genre, in particular, can be a fertile ground for a multitude of stories and perspectives, not just those that fit a convenient, trauma-centric narrative.
The conversations that followed "Get Out" were, for some in the industry, a genuine attempt to understand and support Black storytelling. However, as Cooper’s account illustrates, these conversations could also devolve into a reductive and formulaic approach, prioritizing perceived marketability over genuine creative exploration. This is a delicate balance for studios to strike: celebrating and amplifying diverse voices while avoiding the pitfalls of commodification and pigeonholing. Cooper’s retrospective on these meetings serves as a powerful reminder that true progress in Hollywood requires not just opening doors, but also fostering an environment where creators are empowered to tell the stories they are passionate about, in all their diverse and multifaceted forms.
The enduring legacy of "Get Out" should be its ability to prove that genre films can be both critically acclaimed and deeply resonant with social commentary. However, the industry’s subsequent interpretation, as articulated by Cooper, highlights a missed opportunity to fully embrace the breadth of Black creative expression within horror. Instead of simply seeking more "trauma horror," the focus should have been on empowering Black writers to explore any and all facets of the human condition through the powerful lens of the horror genre, allowing for innovation, experimentation, and a wider range of narratives that reflect the true diversity of Black experiences and imaginations. Cooper’s experience underscores the ongoing need for nuanced understanding and genuine creative freedom for all storytellers.