RESIDUE: AN UNKNOWN HOMETOWN

To accept the idea of the “hometown” that is to be eventually moved on from is to accept that youthful memories exist only to die or to be rewritten later. In childhood, one’s hometown is all of existence itself; familiar, immediately exciting to explore, then invariably dull and constricting. As one reaches adolescence, the instinct to leave as quickly as possible to begin to spread one’s wings is very much seen as a rite of passage in the United States. But to know that those memories still hang in the air somewhere nonetheless remains a comforting fact for many even after they’ve completed their journey, having ended in finding their own livelihood elsewhere. How utterly indescribable the feeling must be, then, to return to your place of upbringing, only to find it practically vanished into thin air.

An incredible and fascinating, and recent, Netflix-exclusive debut from writer-director Merawi Gerima, “Residue” taps into this very personal struggle through a plot centering around a young Black man, Jay, and the gentrified town that he used to know like the back of his hand. Used to – as Jay sees now only the husks of buildings and streets he remembered so fondly. Highly inspired by his own experiences, Gerima portrays incredibly the often-visceral disconnect between recollection and perception. Using a narrative and cinematic structure that intertwines the optimistic past with the more pessimistic present, he taps into humanity’s innate tendency to view childhood with a deep nostalgia. Granted, this decision may leave some viewers too much room for potential confusion at times, but it’s a trade-off definitely worth the risk, nonetheless.

Above all emotions that Residue powerfully emits, resentment is perhaps the most glaring and, arguably, most important. Something stole the place of positive reminiscence Jay kept all these years. There is no question how this could and would illicit fury in anyone. Gentrification is – in countless cases – a slow but relentless glutton that prioritizes the vision of middle-class whiteness more than anything else. It replaces existing structure and culture with a suffocating blanket that prefers to perform the idea of “humble” middle-class wealth, above all else. But there is no humbly performing wealth; to do so, and especially while erasing already-existing visions, is nothing more than flaunting a superiority complex atop those you’ve exploited to get there.

Jay’s story is just one of those shared by billions of people historically who have had their lives ripped apart and maliciously sewn together again, all wrong, in front of them. He’s only one of the latest in a long line of humans worldwide who have witnessed heartless conquerors take everything and leave nothing but cold banners and flags, standing to symbolize possession, essentially. Residue is a work so heartbreakingly brilliant, you can tell immediately how much of it flows directly from its creators’ passionate soul. Moodily somber, yet thematically loud, it is sure to leave a well-deserved mark (or residue, if you may) on any storytelling-lover’s memory. 4.5/5