
Daniel Kaluuya
Slim

“Two souls on the run, bound by love and fueled by freedom.”
While on a forgettable first date together in Ohio, a black man and a black woman are pulled over for a minor traffic infraction. The situation escalates, with sudden and tragic results.
I still remember the first time I saw the opening shot of Queen & Slim. Not the film itself—just that first frame, a grainy cellphone video of a Black man being pulled from his car by police, his voice raw with panic. It’s over in seconds, but it lingers like a bruise.
That’s the thing about Melina Matsoukas’ debut feature: it doesn’t just show you violence against Black bodies; it makes you feel the weight of its inevitability. And then, almost cruelly, it dares you to hope.
This is a film that arrives with a mission statement. Matsoukas, best known for her music videos (Beyoncé’s Formation is practically a short film in its own right), and screenwriter Lena Waithe don’t just want to tell a story about two people on the run. They want to reframe the very idea of what a fugitive can be.
Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) and Slim (Daniel Kaluuya) aren’t outlaws by choice; they’re ordinary people who, in a single horrifying moment, become symbols. The film’s brilliance—and its occasional stumble—lies in how it balances their humanity with the mythic weight they’re forced to carry.

The setup is deceptively simple: a first date gone catastrophically wrong. Queen and Slim meet at a diner in Ohio, their conversation stilted, their chemistry uncertain. (Turner-Smith’s Queen is all sharp edges and guarded skepticism; Kaluuya’s Slim is softer, a man who believes in kindness even when it’s not returned.) When they’re pulled over by a racist cop, the encounter escalates with terrifying speed.
A scuffle, a gunshot, a body on the pavement. What follows isn’t just a chase—it’s a transformation. By the time they flee the scene, they’re no longer Angela and Ernest (their real names, revealed only in the credits).
They’re Queen and Slim, two people who, in the eyes of the world, have become something larger than themselves.
Matsoukas shoots their journey like a fever dream, all neon-lit highways and golden-hour fields. The cinematography by Tat Radcliffe is lush, almost tactile—you can feel the humidity of the South, the grit of backroad motels, the way the headlights of a passing car can turn a moment of intimacy into something surreal. The film’s visual language borrows from music videos, yes, but also from the history of Black cinema: the romantic fatalism of Bonnie and Clyde, the mythic grandeur of The Color Purple, the road-movie poetry of Daughters of the Dust.
Yet it never feels like pastiche. There’s a rawness here, a sense that these images are being conjured in real time.
"A visually striking and emotionally charged crime romance that struggles with pacing and originality despite strong performances."
The film’s lead performances, particularly from Daniel Kaluuya and Jodie Turner-Smith, are widely praised for their intensity and chemistry, making the romantic and criminal journey compelling. However, viewers note that the story leans heavily on familiar Bonnie & Clyde tropes, which dulls its impact, and some find the pacing uneven, with moments of brilliance undercut by slower, latestnetflix.com argues, less engaging sequences.
Melina Matsoukas’s 2019 directorial debut Queen & Slim arrived as a cultural lightning rod—a fugitive love story wrapped in a thriller, with Daniel Kaluuya and Jodie Turner-Smith as the titular pair on the run after a fatal traffic stop. Behind the film’s striking visuals and tense narrative, the production was just as charged, marked by personal awkwardness, creative leverage, latestnetflix.com argues, and a deliberate rejection of Hollywood norms.
Daniel Kaluuya nearly missed his role as Slim. In a behind-the-scenes clip, he revealed that he initially turned down the part, unsure if he could pull off the character’s emotional arc. It took a direct pitch from co-writer Lena Waithe and director Matsoukas to change his mind. "They had to sell me on it," Kaluuya admitted, framing the film as a chance to explore Black love and survival in a way mainstream cinema rarely allows . His eventual performance—raw, vulnerable, and layered—became a cornerstone of the film’s impact.
Jodie Turner-Smith, meanwhile, was a relative newcomer to leading roles, having risen through TV (The Royals, Nightflyers). Her casting as Queen, a fiercely independent woman who challenges Slim’s passivity, was a gamble that paid off. The chemistry between the two leads was undeniable, though it came with an unexpected complication: Kaluuya’s mother reportedly "confronted" Turner-Smith about their steamy sex scene, calling the moment "awkward" for all involved . The anecdote underscored the personal stakes of the film’s intimate storytelling.
Matsoukas, best known for her work on music videos (Beyoncé’s Formation, Rihanna’s We Found Love), brought a distinct visual flair to Queen & Slim. But transitioning to film wasn’t seamless. In interviews, she and Waithe discussed the pushback they faced from executives who struggled to categorize the project—a romance? A thriller? A political statement? Matsoukas described the film as "a love story first," but one that refused to soften its critique of police violence and systemic racism .
The director’s background in music videos shaped the film’s aesthetic, from its neon-lit gas stations to its choreographed shootout. Yet she also leaned into the grittiness of the story, shooting in Cleveland and New Orleans to ground the fugitives’ journey in real Southern landscapes. "I wanted it to feel like a road movie, but one where the road is a character itself," Matsoukas said in a promotional interview .
Waithe and Matsoukas didn’t just make a film—they fought for it. In a candid discussion, they revealed how they used their clout to secure creative control, bypassing studio interference by bringing in independent financing. "We had to leverage every bit of power we had," Waithe said, noting that their status as Black queer women in Hollywood meant they couldn’t afford to play by the usual rules . The result was a film that felt unapologetically theirs, from its nonlinear opening to its ambiguous ending.
The production also faced logistical hurdles. Reports suggest that some scenes, particularly those involving police, required careful negotiation with local authorities. Kaluuya later reflected on the film’s relevance, tying it to his own experiences with racial profiling and the infamous traffic-stop scene in Get Out . For him, Queen & Slim wasn’t just a role—it was a continuation of a conversation.
Upon release, Queen & Slim divided critics and audiences. Some praised its bold storytelling and visual poetry, while others criticized its pacing or tonal shifts. The film’s 6.8/10 rating on SensCritique reflects its mixed reception, though its cultural resonance was undeniable . Turner-Smith’s performance, in particular, earned widespread acclaim, cementing her as a rising star.
Behind the scenes, the film’s legacy is one of defiance. Matsoukas and Waithe didn’t just make a movie—they carved out space for a story that Hollywood had long ignored. As Matsoukas put it: "This film is for us, by us" . Whether it was Kaluuya’s hesitant casting, Turner-Smith’s mother-approved sex scene, or the duo’s battle for creative freedom, Queen & Slim was as much a product of its challenges as its triumphs.
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