Mara Brock Akil’s ‘Forever’ Is Flipping the Script on Black Masculinity
Grab your skepticism hats—Mara Brock Akil is back with another TV crusade, this time tackling “Black masculinity” through the surprisingly sensitive lens of her new series Forever. The creator best known for diva dramas Girlfriends and The Game insists she’s done with stiff-upper-lip stereotypes and ready to let her male lead, Justin Edwards, actually feel things. According to a June sit-down with People Magazine, Akil laid it out plain: “Why can’t Black men be vulnerable on screen? I’m over the macho posturing.” Variety later noted she’s channeling that mission into every plot beat, encouraging viewers to rewire their expectations.
Forever follows Justin Edwards (played by up-and-comer Marcus Taylor), a former pro athlete-turned-community coach who wrestles with grief, fatherhood and a faltering family legacy. Instead of the ever-muscled tough guy, he’s the kind of partner who asks his wife about her day, openly discusses therapy and even sobs over childhood trauma. It’s a far cry from the stoic, hypermasculine images that have dominated primetime since forever, and Akil is having none of the “it’s unmanly” arguments. In an exclusive chat with Essence, she fact-checked critics who say “real men don’t cry,” scoffing, “Did my male relatives stop loving me when I caught them in tears? No.”
Sure, there’s still a little TV carp—Justin’s community-center arc sometimes feels rehearsed, and a couple of subplot twists land with a thud. But watching Justin navigate emotional honesty while coaching local kids? That’s fresh. Entertainment Weekly highlighted one standout scene where Justin breaks down over his late father’s regret, finally admitting, “I don’t want to repeat his mistakes.” Moments like that underscore Akil’s point: Black masculinity is not a monolith of unfeeling bravado.
Forever’s push for nuance isn’t just creative navel-gazing. Deadline reports that early buzz is strong among critics championing representation that stretches beyond clichés. And Akil’s not just preaching—she’s delivering onscreen proof that audiences will lean in when you let men be human. So whether you buy her “revolution” or still think it’s Hollywood preaching to the choir, the show’s got people talking.
And if you’re cringing at the thought of another “feel-good” series from someone with a resume like Akil’s, don’t worry—the narrative hiccups keep it grounded. At least until the inevitable second-season reveal, it’s worth a peek to see if Justin Edwards can actually break out of every sitcom stereotype. Nothing earth-shattering here, folks—just another TV attempt to fix a tired trope. You’re welcome.
Sources: Celebrity Storm and People Magazine, Variety, Essence, Deadline
Attribution: Creative Commons Licensed
