Filmmaker Kahlil Joseph’s debut feature film BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions defies categorisation. At once a work of documentary and speculative fiction, it is a wholly original cinematic work that spans multiple dimensions. A spaceship that melts time, the film traverses the past, present, and future. We travel from Philadelphia in the late 1800s to Ghana in the 1960s. We find ourselves aboard the Nautica, an ocean liner making its way across the Atlantic. 

The film expands on a two-channel video art installation — also titled BLKNWS — that Joseph describes as “conceptual journalism.” BLKNWS weaves together a wide range of material, from academic lectures to archival footage and internet memes. This free-form juxtaposition results in an astonishing viewing experience that unsettles our assumptions of what counts as “news.” Rooted in the Black radical tradition and created in response to the relentless stream of reporting that dehumanises Black life, BLKNWS offers a deceptively simple proposition: what if news encompassed anything from the past or present, as long as it was revelatory? 

Joseph gained prominence by directing short films for Kendrick Lamar, FKA twigs, Sampha, and Flying Lotus. He collaborated with Beyoncé on the visual accompaniment to Lemonade. His approach to filmmaking is rooted in an unabashed love of and appreciation for Blackness in its myriad forms. I first encountered his work as a film student. The language of his films immediately resonated, informing the films I’d go on to make. Flash forward a few years, and I found myself on the phone with Joseph. He needed a writer’s assistant. Was I interested?

We worked out of the Underground Museum, started by Joseph’s late brother, the remarkable painter Noah Davis, and his widow and fellow artist Karon. What was initially an assistant role turned into something greater, and I ended up as a writer on the film. The process was unorthodox. Instead of one director, there were four: Garrett Bradley, Raven Jackson, Arthur Jafa, and Kaneza Schaal. Instead of one DP, two: Bradford Young and Jomo Fray. Kahlil invited artists, writers, and scholars to collaborate with us as we developed ideas for the film. It never felt like it was solely Joseph’s vision; BLKNWS belonged to everyone involved. 

To celebrate the film’s release, I spoke with Joseph, Kaneza Schaal, Raven Jackson, producer Onye Anywanu, writer Madebo Fatunde, and editor Luke Lynch about the process of making the film. 

Kahlil, to be someone making their first feature and say, ‘I’m going to let all these people come in and have all these different voices in the room’ is a pretty radical move. It says a lot about your philosophy around filmmaking. Why did you want to approach your first film in that way? 

Kahlil Joseph: BLKNWS, as an artwork, was inherently a cacophony of different perspectives, voices, and edits. My job always was more like an editor-in-chief’s role. 

Raven Jackson: Khalil is such a generous collaborator. It taught me about my own work. It’s led me to think a lot about how I collaborate. My intention wasn’t to try to imitate Khalil. It was to do what moves me. I find that really inspiring.

Kaneza, what was it like directing for film for the first time, especially given the untraditional process? 

Kaneza Schaal: A stunning thing about the work is this reminder that singularity of vision and porous collaboration are not in opposition. They are, in fact, intrinsically connected. This project is profound evidence of that. People in film like to lie about it. In theatre and opera, it’s harder for us to lie to ourselves and erase all the labour around us. One of the radical things about this project is that it’s not erasing that labour. That’s been a real affirmation to me in my directing practice, to remember that singularity of vision and deep, porous, open collaboration are intrinsically connected. 

Kahlil Joseph: I’ve learned that jazz drummers are the most sophisticated drummers. Luke, it feels like what you’re doing with editing is equivalent to jazz drumming.

Luke Lynch: There was certainly a time when I felt like I was playing jazz. There would be moments where I fell into the pocket and executed something on a stream-of-consciousness level that I couldn't ever write or do on purpose outside of that moment. That’s what the movie demanded.

When the reviews came out, the level of how much everyone got it on a single screening in a theatre, without the ability to rewind, really blew my mind.

Madebo Fatunde: BLKNWS at once demands your attention and can exist as second-screen viewing very easily. That is an ongoing revelation to me: how much trust Kahlil has placed in viewers. How well they’ve rewarded that trust encourages me. 

Luke Lynch: There are so many times in the artwork where we would feel, ‘Of course it works. Of course it makes sense and exists the way it does,’ But the journey is crazy. To try to do anything different is incredibly challenging. In the early iterations, the only direction I got was, ‘What is sampling in the context of a film?’ We did that for months, experimenting with that idea without particular focus on the subjects and the script. 

Poetry is not trendy. Cinema can feel trendy. For a movie to age well is a huge accomplishment

Kahlil Joseph: When someone’s considered a poet at what they do, it’s the highest form of compliment. What does it mean, in filmmaking, to be a poet? I aspire to that level of artistry. 

Raven Jackson: The word that comes to mind is fluidness. An openness to surprises and what’s present.

Madebo Fatunde: One of the things that constantly strikes me about poetry is how precisely you have to think about the thing before or as you’re laying it down. Part of the intention that people bring to poetry is a deep understanding of the thing they’re looking at, even if that thing is a mystery. The form of the line, where it’s cut, is a very natural echo with film. 

The poet Peter Gizzi [talks] about how poets are like the material scientists of the language arts. There’s an aspect of that to film. Your understanding of form demands a lot of you. BLKNWS brings some of that to Black artistic and radical traditions, and to cinema. 

Kahlil Joseph: Poetry is not trendy. Cinema can feel trendy. For a movie to age well is a huge accomplishment. Sometimes the traditional forms of media are so heavy, slow, and calculated that the public is like, ‘We’re so far past this.’ A more poetic approach to the medium might have a more lasting effect. So if people don’t ‘get’ it right now, I hope that there’s time. 

Luke Lynch: There’s the idea of [BLKNWS] being put together like an album. It demands a certain amount from you to glean information from it. At the same time, if you do treat or experience it like [an album], it demands a lot less of you; you can try not to understand it. If you experience this movie passively, without trying very hard, it can have an equal impact on your thought process or emotions. If a traditional film is literature, this kind of filmmaking is poetry. 

Kahlil Joseph: Onye, you got your degree in producing. A degree doesn't prepare you for a project like this, does it?

Onye Anywanu: Filmmaking is part artistry, part military. There are certain systems that are in place that help everyone understand what their role is. I love having particular systems to fall back on. But especially [with] films like this, you have to be flexible and be a producer who can pivot and know when it’s safe to. There are many variables, especially with so many different types of artists involved. You can’t be dogmatic in terms of what you’re doing, because someone might have a very different approach. We had scripts as guidelines. That’s what the writer’s room was about. That was a very different way of making a film. Writer’s rooms are technically for TV shows. 

When we were doing this film, Grace Wales Bonner — who did the costumes for the Nautica — had her own fashion line. Now, she’s the head of Hermès. Garrett Bradley won the MacArthur Grant. We were all doing our thing and inspiring each other. We’re so fortunate to have [had] an opportunity to allow artists and filmmakers to really do their thing. I’m happy we have this particular time capsule of all of us at that time. I can’t wait to see what everyone does next. It’s going to be pretty impressive.

Luke Lynch: A lot of us are Hollywood-adjacent. There’s been some influence, but to a large extent, there’s been a carving of our own path. It’s almost willful ignorance. Like, ‘It doesn’t matter how they do it. Let’s do it how we want to do it.’ There’s been a lot of that in my and Khalil’s approach and process. The ultimate intent is to make the best possible thing on the screen.

Onye Anywany: A big part of the role of a producer is to protect the work. Sometimes that’s protecting the work from the very people creating it. I learned a lot. We started out as a studio film, and within that structure, it was very challenging to keep the petals on the rose, to make sure that the environment was still intact so everyone could do their thing. It’s not from ill intentions from anyone involved on the studio level. It’s just that the framework itself is not a conductor of creativity. It’s a conductor of something else, so you have to push back. You have to fight. You have to be the person who’s not liked in the room. When you do that, it’s harder for everybody at some point. But you have to keep fighting for what you believe in. You win some battles. You lose some. But at the end of the day, it’s worth fighting for.

BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions is out now.