Netflix’s The Strays Highlights The Horror Of Colourism

Spoilers ahead. Netflix has dropped The Strays, a psychological thriller that draws from the uniquely destructive nature of colourism, and the dark-skinned Black women it’s weaponed against. Racism as the ultimate horror movie villain — the malignant threat we can’t always see but can certainly feel — has become an expected canon of the Black horror genre, (Jordan Peele’s record-breaking Get Out, Lovecraft Country, Amazon Prime’s Nanny). Netflix's The Strays follows in a similar chilling narrative, yet this time forces us into another uncomfortable territory: the subject of light-skinned privilege. Directed by Black British writer and actor Nathaniel Martello-White, The Strays follows one light-skinned Black British woman’s desperate attempts to assimilate with whiteness — bad wigs et al — with devastating consequences.

The Strays begins in London 2002 amongst a backdrop of high-rise flats and Cheryl (Ashley Madekwe) is at her wit's end; backed into a corner by systemic racism, financial instability, and an abusive relationship. She leaves her current life — and everyone in it — behind. She returns, decades later, as new and improved ‘Neve’ with a “posh” English accent, clothes straight from Meghan Markle’s pre-Megxit wardrobe, and a closet full of wigs. She has fully ingratiated herself into an all-white world, with a rich white husband and two mixed-raced children who attend the private school where she works as the deputy headteacher. In her new life, she’s accepted and revered — or so she likes to believe. Neve is as delusional as she is dedicated to her ability to cosplay as a rich white woman, practising her affected accent in the mirror each morning. 

Neve believes she’s successful because she has managed to transcend class, and while she says she’s “proud” to be Black, acts as if she has, somehow, transcended her race too. Much like the iconised American dream, The Strays highlights the lesser-discussed ‘British dream’ which also romanticises the belief that through simple meritocracy, everyone can change their social standing regardless of race or social class through hard work. Neve does not believe this. She’s fully aware how a proximity to whiteness can increase chances of achieving a very specific version of British success; one with acres and acres of expansive green space, big country estates and elitist private schools, worlds apart from the concrete playground of inner-city London. Out in suburban monoracial English towns, the multiculturalism of the UK’s big cities (as well as easy access to plantain, Black hair salons and kinship from your skin-folk) is traded for this over-prescribed ideal. We soon learn the full extent of Neve’s sacrifice (one she was happy to do, mind you), and how much it takes to distance herself from a past that will soon creep back into full view.

Ashley Madekwe, originally from South London, does a convincing job as Neve. The now LA-based actor (Revenge, Secret Diary of a Call Girl, County Lines) grew up on a South London council estate to a Nigerian father and English mother, and shifts effortlessly from her South London accent to an over-enunciated affectation. It’s worth noting that Neve is very light-skinned, and her (acknowledged) children, Mary and Sebastian, are close to white-passing. So much so, the most visible indicator of Neve’s Black heritage isn’t necessarily her skin tone but her curly, afro-textured hair which she keeps concealed under her collection of terrible wigs. 

Neve’s wigs are comically bad from the outset, which I assume was an intentional wardrobe decision. In both the US and the UK, bad wigs have become synonymous with Black female commentators with anti-Black values (or at least that’s what Black Twitter has collectively decided). Neve’s wigs become more uncomfortable the more her past catches up with her, and her incessant scratching seeps into her nightmares, triggering goose-bump-inducing moments as her wigs take a life of their own shifting, snapping, crackling, stiffening and prickling with no sign of relief.

The decision to use Neve’s hair as a visual manifestation of her festering anti-Blackness was a clever one, although obvious. Black hair, and the ways in which we style it, are so ingrained into our perception of Black womanhood, no matter our class or nationality. Black hair in its most natural state will always be a gravity-defying symbol of our heritage — whether we choose to share it with the world or not. Meanwhile, Neve’s daughter Mary (Maria Almeida) is increasingly drawn to exploring her Black identity through her hairstyles. Though her hair may be blonde, she turns to Black YouTubers for kinship, and to her mother’s dismay, starts swooping her edges, braiding her hair, and concealing an afro pick. 

Both Sebastian and Mary rebel against Neve’s determination to erase any connection to their Black heritage (“anything Black is off limits,” Sebastian says) with the help of two ominous strangers from Neve’s past. Played by young British actors Bukky Bakray and Jordan Myrie, it’s soon revealed that the duo are not only brother and sister, but they are the Black children Neve abandoned in her former life as Cheryl. And, when they turn up in town, they aim to disrupt the harmony of Neve’s well-constructed new life.

Marvin (Myrie) and Abigail (Bakray) stand out in the small English town; they are unambiguously Black and dark-skinned, with afro hair. They entice Sebastian and Mary with their mother's worst fears: skipping school, drinking and “bunning zoot” all to the sound of the UK Grime anthem, ‘Talkin’ Da Hardest’. Between the sinister smiles and all the shadowy looming outside windows, Abigail and Marvin are understood as something to fear. Neve flinches at mere glimpses of them. Unlike other films that fall under the Black horror genre where racism is the perceived threat, in The Stray’s, Blackness, via Abigail and Marvin, is positioned as the very thing to be afraid of. It’s a potentially harmful message that, overall, doesn’t quite sit right. 

Still, Bukky Bakray shines as Abigail. Abi or “Dion”’s childlike demeanour is tempered with genuinely terrifying flashes of insanity. As Abigail establishes a bond with her sister, Mary, she suddenly becomes consumed with anger, and accuses her of being “the favourite.” There are several heartbreaking interpretations that can be made from that statement: you’re the daughter our mother chose to love, you’re the one our mother sees as closest to her own image. Upon taking on the role Bakray said she approached Abigail with empathy, telling the BFI audience, “...the word 'crazy' was never used when we were approaching these characters.” She added: “Becoming the character, I felt the build-up, I understood the build-up…It was more about an understanding of empathy, extending my empathy, and extending my understanding."

Myrie’s performance as Marvin is particularly haunting. As he executes his master plan, invading Neve’s family home, his want to harm them is driven by a deep-seated pain that leaves you conflicted about who the real villain is. “You erased us, me and Dion,” Marvin says to Neve. 
Neve, on the other hand, is far from remorseful, and the film’s ending equally confused and disturbed me. I am still mad. If you were hoping for an ending where good sense and values are triumphant — and the corrosive ideals of colourism are defeated — sadly, in this horror film, all hope is lost.