In the ever-expanding universe of horror-themed film and television headlining a Black cast, “The Changeling” on Apple TV+ is a singularity. Most such productions — like Jordan Peele’s 2019 film “Us,” HBO’s “Lovecraft Country,” and Hulu’s “The Other Black Girl” — have adopted the template set by Peele’s 2017 directorial debut, “Get Out,” depicting Black contemporary life and/or African American history as the stuff of otherworldly horror. However, “The Changeling,” based on a novel of the same name by Victor LaValle, does not deploy the Peele Formula™. Its fantasy and horror elements, moreover, aren’t even solely intended to overawe or scare. Their primary function, instead, is to accelerate the personal evolution of its main characters, Apollo Kagwa and Emma Valentine.
As for these characters, their development is spurred by tragic family histories each of them is resolved to not repeat. Before all of this unfolds, Apollo, played by LaKeith Stanfield, spies Emma from the stacks of the Fort Washington library branch where she works, watching as she prevails in a tense standoff with an unruly patron over a bathroom key. Emma, deftly portrayed by actress Clark Backo, is just as resolute in her repeated rejection of Apollo’s advances — that is, until she isn’t. So, first comes love, then comes marriage, and when the couple’s baby boy is born, all might have gone on to live happily ever after if it weren’t just the first episode.
Their son, Brian, is named after Apollo’s father, a white parole officer pictured in one of the series’ many flashbacks. Brian Sr. is similarly dogged in his pursuit of Lillian Kagwa, a Ugandan refugee he meets in the 1968 version of New York City. After marrying and conceiving Apollo sometime during the 1970s, the two live happily ever after — that is, until they don’t, thereby inciting Apollo’s lifelong resolve to avoid repeating the sins of the father.
In proposing to name his son ‘Brian,’ Apollo makes a concerted, if heavy-handed, attempt at breaking generational curses — a suggestion that Emma likely accepts in light of her own sad familial past, involving her parents’ untimely demise in a house fire she survived as a young child. Indeed, all of this background provides more than enough material for a quiet (and quintessentially literary) portrayal of a newlywed couple that navigates marriage and parenthood while they try (and periodically fail) to keep ancestral demons at bay.
But “The Changeling” suddenly pivots from the makings of a charming romantic dramedy into a fantasy-horror show, following the aptly named Apollo as he embarks on a mission to ward off evil by fighting actual demons. In the midst of this unfolding, New York City emerges as a character in itself, portrayed in the timeless patina of the cinematography as a mythological domain. In this version of the city, there is a deserted island, an enchanted forest, and crossing the East River is like traversing the River Styx.
And yet, despite “The Changeling”’s foray into the realm of chimeras, witches, and ogres, the import of each cast member’s inner transformation rivals — and often supersedes — the series’ spectacular plot points in significance. One unearthly obstacle after another never seems to overshadow Apollo’s psychic dilemma over how to “protect the child.” In this way, “The Changeling” integrates the supposed dichotomy between plot-driven genre and more subtle, “literary” explorations of inner life.
This dual quality of the series is in keeping with LaValle’s personal evolution as a writer, which he details in a 2018 interview in the Los Angeles Review of Books. After publishing literary realism very early on in his career, LaValle decided to “bypass the instincts of the 27-year-old who wanted to be taken seriously and rediscover the 10-year-old who simply wanted to devour books.” “The Changeling” is among the more recent products of LaValle’s embrace of genre-infused fiction, as is his 2022 “Lone Women,” featuring a Montana-bound heroine who attempts to subdue metaphorical and literal monsters.
If it is expedient for a writer who wants to be taken “seriously” to avoid genre fiction, then, if one were to do so anyway, it would be practical — especially as a Black writer — to simply follow the Peele Formula™ and provide a broader racial commentary at the same time. Although LaValle’s repertoire largely precedes the growing number of such productions, it is still refreshing to observe Black characters whose inner lives are prioritized over racial horrors, whether mystical or mundane.
Hawa Allan writes cultural criticism, fiction, and poetry. She is the author of “Insurrection: Rebellion, Civil Rights, and the Paradoxical State of Black Citizenship,” published last year.