Fam, will I lose my woke-credibility if I admit that it was so nice to lounge in a fake-leather reclining chair, drink a margarita, graze on a mix of popcorn and Milk Duds, and watch a movie that didn’t have not one enslaved, tortured, marching, jailed or drug-dealing Black person? This world ain’t been kind to Black folks lately. Many days, I feel as if I am a character in a civil rights movie, so I’m plain tired. I needed The Photograph. I needed that movie.