CONCRETE COWBOY: FILM REVIEW
“Look, Hollywood’s whitewashed us,” neighborhood cowgirl Nessie (Lorraine Toussaint) says to a community of Black urban cowboys sitting around a fire in Ricky Staub’s Concrete Cowboy. “They just deleted us right out of the history books,” she adds. Nessie’s comment is a nod not only to the Netflix film’s fictional world, but also the popularization of Hollywood Westerns that primarily only feature white cowboys. Based on Gregory Neris’ novel Ghetto Cowboy, Staub’s directorial debut uses the fictional narrative of a rebellious teen and his father to tell the real-life story of Black cowboy communities in America — acting as a counter to the exact problem that Nessie points out.
Concrete Cowboy revolves around a 15-year-old boy named Cole (Caleb McLaughlin), who, during the film’s opening, faces repetitive discipline problems at his school in Detroit. His most recent actions lead to expulsion and feeling like she has little to no options left, Cole’s mom sends him to Philadelphia to stay with his estranged father Harp (Idris Elba). The decision is painful for both of them, as Cole’s mom doesn’t even have the strength to say a proper goodbye — driving the car away even as Cole desperately bangs on the windows. As Cole walks down the street to meet his father, he passes several full-grown horses, who casually line the cracked and littered pavement. As soon as Cole enters his father’s house, he is greeted face-to-face by another towering horse. Turns out, Harp is one of the leaders of the Fletcher Street Stables community — one composed of Black riders and horses that are as much a part of the neighborhood as its people.
Although for the most part, Cole feels quite estranged in Philadelphia, he does have one escape — his older cousin Smush (Jerome), who greets him with a playful, but loving attitude. He not only promises Cole a good time but also protection and a familial bond meant to last a lifetime. The two drive around the neighborhood high off a few hits of weed, and during these moments, Philly begins to feel like home. However, in the eyes of Harper, Smush embodies everything that he doesn’t want Cole to be. Harper treats Smush like an estranged family member, and brashly advises Cole to keep his distance.
To keep his father off his back, Cole starts working at the stables, and begins to befriend long-time members of the community. Although initially Cole reluctantly struggles with the laborious work of shoveling poop and hosing down the horses, he knows that he has to earn his place at the stables if he ever wants a chance at riding his own horse. Most of the riders feed the horses before themselves — and sometimes there’s not enough for both. Throughout the film, Cole begins to understand the stables’ grounding presence, as well as the deep-rooted relationships between the horses and the riders.
Concrete Cowboy ensures that its fictional narrative respectfully pays tribute to the real-life community the film’s story aims to tell. Real-life members of Philadelphia’s Black “urban cowboy” community play themselves, while much of Concrete Cowboy was filmed in the North Philadelphia area. Even the film’s script incorporates the stories of real riders, such as that of Fletcher Street rider Jamil Prattis, who plays a paraplegic cowboy named Paris. Paris tells Cole a personal story about losing his brother — one that is based on Prattis’ own life. Although titled Concrete Cowboy, the film is not without its cowgirls either. Ivannah Mercedes, another Fletcher Street rider, plays a cowgirl named Esha — providing powerful visibility to the cowgirls who are a part of the Black urban cowboy community as well.
Concrete Cowboy is majestic in its own right — and it's not only the horses that make it so. The performances of McLaughlin and Elba paint pictures of complex characters who desperately want to be better; they just don’t know that leaning on each other will make them so. Concrete Cowboy succeeds in magnifying stories stemming from an ever-present tradition of America’s Black cowboys — bringing familiarity to a part of our present and history that should never have been foreign in the first place.
