'Schwarze Früchte/Black Fruit' 🫐

Black Fruit is a dark comedy series that thrives on discomfort, dissecting the messy intersections of race, identity, and performative allyship in modern Germany. The show’s greatest strength—and occasional frustration—lies in its refusal to offer easy answers or likable - yet highly interesting - protagonists. Instead, it presents a cast of deeply flawed characters, each navigating their own blind spots with varying degrees of self-awareness.

At the center is Lalo, a Black queer man whose grief and delusions of grandeur make him equal parts compelling and exasperating. His reliance on therapy-speak to deflect accountability (e.g., hijacking a birthday party to mourn his late father) underscores the show’s critique of hollow self-help rhetoric. Meanwhile, his best friend since childhood Karla emerges as a standout—a Black woman battling microaggressions at work while her family insists she “rise above” them. Her promotion celebration, sabotaged by her 16-year old sister Lotta’s pregnancy announcement, is a masterclass in familial tension. Everybody is desperately trying to find their place.

The series shines in cringe-worthy dialogues about race, particularly when white characters clumsily position themselves as allies (“In America, here it’s totally different”). Especially when talking about other Black people they have met, they will remark: “Der war auch schwarz, und schwul, und groß”, which translates to: “He was also black, as well as gay and tall (like you)”. Afro-Germans being pressured to educate others (as so often) are recurring themes, which are highlighted by seamless cinematography that immerses viewers in every awkward encounter. It is incredibly well weaved together and the pacing is fantastic. 

While Lalo’s lack of redeeming qualities may test patience (and boy did it mine!), Black Fruit deliberately avoids tidy arcs. His fling with Tobias—who stays with him out of pity—and his delusional pursuit of an art exhibition reveal the loneliness beneath his pretenses. The show’s real triumph is its ensemble, particularly the Black women (Karla, Lotta, their gorgeous mother), whose stories expose layers of intra-community conflict and solidarity.

Black Fruit isn’t here to comfort you. It’s a mirror held up to Germany’s racial blind spots, and like any good mirror, it reflects the cracks most would rather ignore.