BBC’s Dreaming Whilst Black Isn’t A Comedy About Black Excellence — But Thriving In Spite Of It

When Black British filmmaker Adjani Salmon first came up with the idea for his web series Dreaming Whilst Black, he told Vice that he was simply “dashing things out there in the universe.” Everything that happened next unfolded just as naturally. The web series made its way online in 2018 (back when Black web series — Dear Jesus, Ackee and Saltfish, Housemates — were having their moment) and, after a reported 45 redrafts, became a BAFTA-winning BBC pilot in 2022. Now, it will be released as a fully-formed series with A24 also at the helm. Dreaming Whilst Black is a very Black, very British and extremely millennial story about aspiring filmmaker Kwabena (played by Salmon), who is working in a drab recruitment office and navigating the everyday racism and microaggressions you’d expect when you’re the only Black guy on the team. Kwabs does what any young creative does when on the brink of telling your co-workers to go f…[redacted]. He quits. “The problem is he’s broke, Black, and born into a Jamaican family who wishes he was an accountant,” reads BBC’s synopsis. With effortless humour and refreshing candour, Dreaming Whilst Black illustrates the weight of holding onto a dream that sometimes feels out of bounds, all while the spectre of Black excellence looms in the background just to remind you that you’re not quite there yet. 

The six-part comedy series is based in London and follows Kwabena's attempt to seize all of the opportunities that the capital is often promised to bring. Kwabs’ journey sees him frequently within reach of his dream, but a lot of the time, he fumbles the bag — like a sprinter close to the finish line who trips up at the final push. Now, out of his recruitment job, “freelance” with no money but with a great film idea, he’s living in his best friend Maurice’s (Demmy Ladipo) and heavily pregnant Funmi's (Rachel Adedeji) spare bedroom and trying to date. Nonetheless, Kwabs remains optimistic even as he pulls on his fast-food delivery uniform.

Make no mistake, Dreaming Whilst Black is as funny as it is sincere. It’s the type of comedy where the circumstances of Kwab’s career get so bad, so cringe, and are so damn relatable that you just have to laugh. And you will. Some scenes feel like a Black Twitter thread come to screen; when Kwabena takes his sweet and patient love interest Vanessa (babirye bukilwa) out to dinner, he’s under the intense scrutiny of her friends (who are giving Black women in luxury). The dinner conversation swiftly turns to the subject of the contents of a man’s pocket. Self-conscious Kwabs is more than aware of the money he currently lacks and wrestles with an age-old Twitter discourse fave: should he split the bill or just pay for his sad soup-of-the-day and lose face?

Dreaming Whilst Black manages to be thoroughly entertaining despite some scenarios needing a trigger warning for every Black British creative trying to make it. Take Kwabena’s relationship with his family — Jamaican immigrants, with seemingly stable careers and a nice home — who are supportive within reason, but consistent with the under-the-breath remarks that are a gut punch for anyone who has been there. As Kwabena finds, it takes a certain amount of courage to go against your family’s expectations for your future especially because they are born out of a want to keep a Black child safe (even if you are now grown). And, in this case, the means to safety are job security and a healthy income. 

“As a Black person, you have to choose between safety or visibility [when it comes to pursuing a career in acting],” explains Dreaming Whilst Black’s  babirye bukilwa to R29 Unbothered over a Zoom call. “Am I going to be safe or I'm going to be visible? Am I going to be safe or going to be rich? Am I going to stay safe or pay my bills?” bukilwa speaks with a poetic delivery that makes you want to pull up a seat and drink in all of their ideas. The London-based actor, who plays Vanessa in the series, is also an award-winning playwright off-screen, so to say they understand the unique struggle of a Black creative trying to make it in an unforgiving industry would be an understatement. “I relate to Kwabena and Amy 100%,” they add. “How do I navigate it? Sometimes I navigate it really badly. And that’s OK.”

In Dreaming Whilst Black, the obvious answer is there really aren’t any “safe” career choices for any Black person “working out of Babylon.” Kwabena’s film school friend Amy (played by the brilliant Dani Moseley) — an executive assistant but talented producer-in-the-making — experiences the fist-clenching, teeth-gritting frustration of being overlooked for promotion despite being the most qualified. Her working life is peppered with microaggressions (her afro-puffs resemble the Powerpuff Girls, apparently), and her white colleagues continually mine her for ideas despite not being “ready” to take on more responsibility. 

Kwabena and Amy’s setbacks in their careers feel personal. As Salmon intended, the series does well to represent the “authentic, everyday story” of Black person living and working in the UK; I know a Kwame, I’ve been Amy at work, and I have loved a man like Vanessa. It almost sounds perverse, but Dreaming Whilst Black works because it’s good to see Black people being ordinary — not just extraordinary. 

Dreaming Whilst Black is not a Black excellence series, and it doesn’t claim to be. Salmon’s talented characters may all be on that familiar and exhausting climb to achieving success — working twice as hard, assimilating in predominantly white spaces, always aiming to better — but they aren’t exceptional. They fail like the rest of us, and the series doesn’t promise a win. “We are really bizarrely obsessed with the words ‘Black excellence’,” shares bukilwa. “I can't separate Black excellence from white supremacy. I can't separate Black excellence from classism. I can't separate Black excellence from Black capitalism. I can't separate Black excellence without respectability politics, I can't look at Black excellence without looking at how heteronormative it feels… it's performative.”

“And Black excellence doesn’t sound anything like Black rest,” they add, shrugging. “It sounds like Black tiredness, Black exhaustion, Black separation, and a Black performance of wealth that I just can’t get behind. It doesn't sound like Black joy, which is what I believe in.”

There is a fair share of Black joy to be taken from this series — whether it's Kwabena’s non-judgemental community, the gorgeous displays of Black love, Black parenthood, and ALL the laughs as a result of wigs caught in bus doors — that is refreshingly optimistic. 

“Black joy to me is seeing my friends extremely happy when they've manifested their desires and their dreams,” says bukilwa. “And when I say dreams, I don’t necessarily mean big dreams like buying a house, but as in, today I want to go to the cinema because that’s what I want to do for myself because I'm excellent and I deserve it. And this makes me feel joyous and keeps me dreaming.”