"Why Did I Get Married Again?" and the Radical Act of Letting Black Love Age
When Tyler Perry’s original Why Did I Get Married was released in 2007, understanding the nuances of marriage and parenthood was the last thing on my mind. I had just moved to D.C. to start graduate school, and my days were filled with class, internships, happy hours on U Street and sporadic naps. Now, as a wife and mother nearly 20 years after the film’s first iteration, I can appreciate narratives rooted in Black marriage, family, and friendship.
Set against the backdrop of dinners at a lavish mansion, weddings on Lake Como, family resentment, and generational habits. The third installment of the franchise gives Black audiences something they’ve never seen before – an opportunity to see Black relationships age across decades.
Historically, centering Black relationships in film is limited, especially compared to films featuring white characters. Black marriage on screen has rarely been allowed to simply exist. Exist in its flaws, triumphs, disappointments, and repair. But these couples – Sheila and Troy; Angela and Marcus; Terry and Dianne – have been allowed to grow old, evolve, and impart wisdom on younger generations.
Perhaps the most interesting addition to the film was the emerging relationships of the couple’s children. Watching their dynamics unfold, audiences see the indirect (and often direct) impact of parental relationship dynamics on how children show up in their relationships. Millennials have been criticized for shielding their children from their struggles. Good or bad, this attempt to protect can backfire when younger generations don’t recognize that relationships require work and conflict is necessary for growth. And according to the film, attempts to overcorrect trauma can have a damaging effect on developing a realistic view of romantic relationships.
In my past scholarship, I have argued that Black love shouldn’t always be rooted in dysfunction, drama, and trauma, but the reality is that many in real life have experienced those challenges and used them to grow both individually and within their relationships. And that is worth illustrating. And while I will never advocate for romanticizing narratives about “struggle love,” especially when Black women are at the brunt of it, I do recognize the value in showcasing the nuances of Black love and experiences.
Black representation on screen becomes more powerful when we can see our characters age, grow, and evolve. For viewers, many of whom have been married, divorced, and navigating parenthood since the first film, this movie is a reminder that love is a human act, and that act is complex. Black love doesn’t have to be perfect. It also doesn’t have to be traumatic, filled with struggle and dysfunction. What Why Did I Get Married, Again? gets right is that marriage is survivable, enjoyable, and in many cases, completely worth it.