Now celebrating its 28th year, the American Black Film Festival remains the preeminent event of its kind, empowering Black artists and spotlighting a diverse array of entertainment content created by and for individuals of African descent. An event like no other, the festival brings together enthusiasts of Black culture alongside industry executives and content creators from across the globe for five days filled with screenings, engaging talk events, exclusive parties, and invaluable networking opportunities.
Join us live in sunny South Beach from June 12-16 for an unforgettable experience, followed by our online segment streaming on ABFF PLAY from June 17-24.
ABFF SINCE 1997
Our Legacy
The ABFF has earned global acclaim for its profound impact on the entertainment industry. Over the span of nearly three decades, the festival has served as a vital platform for Black artists, offering them pathways to success within Hollywood and beyond.
Through an array of talent showcases ad pipelines programs, the ABFF has provided unparalleled support to countless actors, writers, and directors, guiding their careers and introducing them to the broader industry landscape, often when they were still relatively unknown. As a result, the festival stands as a beacon of opportunity, empowering diverse voices and reshaping the narrative of representation in film and television.
The script focuses on the physical and spiritual brutality endured by Smith’s real-life character without addressing the man’s actual humanity
If there’s anything unexpected about the depiction of slavery in director Antoine Fuqua’s “Emancipation,” it’s the unflinchingly grim imagery that populates its frames. The intent seems to derive from the photographs of the real-life subject who inspired the film: Gordon, or “Whipped Peter,” an escaped slave whose viciously scarred back was immortalized as a way to show the world the unspeakable horrors Black people faced in the United States.
For their part, Fuqua and screenwriter Bill Collage (“Assassin’s Creed”) feature severed heads, burning corpses and hanged men, among other hard-to-stomach acts of brutality, as well as casualties of combat, made only slightly less bluntly shocking by the phantasmagoric quality of the extreme desaturation of colors on screen. But for as much sense as the correlation between the aesthetic choices and the themes make, the visual statements on such dehumanization overpower most other narrative elements.
Separated from his wife Dodienne (Charmaine Bingwa, “The Good Fight”) and his children to build a railroad for the Confederate Army, Peter waits for an opportunity to run away. “I will come back to you,” he tells his family not only in hopes of comforting them but also with the conviction of a promise he intends to keep. Soon, he and three other Black men capitalize on a moment of chaos to scurry into the swamps and travel to meet the Union soldiers in Baton Rouge.
Not only must Peter and his comrades hide from the human monsters that chase them relentlessly, but they must also fight the savagery of nature. Alligators, snakes, and even bees turn an already treacherous ordeal into a never-ending nightmare for these desperate men.
In what is likely one of his most physical demanding parts to date, Smith sweats and groans through an astoundingly visceral performance marked by exhaustion and pain. He repeatedly convinces us that such remarkable vigorousness comes from a spiritual fortitude that allows the character to go on even when his body wishes to surrender.
A role with limited dialogue, where the few lines spoken require a Haitian Creole accent, pushes Smith to convey the rage consuming Peter with a proud yet stoic expression. While eventually one catches on to the fact that the Oscar-winning actor’s turn doesn’t permit much modulation or for him to exhibit much range, he plays the role proficiently.
On his trail is Jim Fassel (Ben Foster), a typically malevolent racist raised with a poisoned white-supremacist mindset. A campfire story he tells about his father’s murderous ways is the extent of our engagement with him. Not that Collage or Fuqua needed to spend much time humanizing the villain, but despite Foster’s intensity, Jim remains a familiar caricature.
Beyond the desaturation, which at times tricks the eye into believing the picture exists in black-and-white or sepia tones, veteran cinematographer Robert Richardson mines the locations for their dangerously mystifying beauty. There’s a coarse elegance to how the mud, the murky water and the vegetation register through this nearly monochromatic palette, which call to mind “Vazante,” the Brazilian film on slavery by Daniela Thomas.
Near the end of Peter’s ongoing odyssey, as he encounters a different type of forced labor in the seemingly dignified duty of becoming a soldier, several war sequences let Fuqua flaunt his directorial abilities while Richardson focuses on fallen fighters and their wounds.
Yet what dampens the impact of “Emancipation” is the lack of an inner world for the hero outside of the survival mode that defines his great feat. No anecdotes of life in Haiti are told; no memories of his parents recalled; no tender recollections of how he became enamored with Dodienne are shared. In an effort to sear in our consciousness the heinous crimes perpetrated against Black individuals, the writer makes no room for Peter to fully exist.
One could blame the burden of accurately honoring reality for this. But since it’s likely that Collage took creative liberties in plenty of other aspects, considering the limited information available on Gordon’s life before and after the war, one has to wonder why he didn’t enrich Peter’s backstory. After all, fiction gives storytellers access to invent new entryways into history. Instead, Fuqua’s latest zeroes in on the suffering and unfolds as a series of gruesome trials that results in a simplistically satisfying, fictional ending.
As stark corroboration that this country was built on hatred and death, “Emancipation” successfully rattles you, but it can hardly be described as revelatory. Still, some could argue that today, as segments of society willfully wish to ignore the past and to prevent new generations from learning about it, a ruthlessly straightforward reminder is needed. For interested audiences watching the film on Apple TV+, enduring it might prove an uphill task. “Emancipation” opens in US theaters Dec. 2 and premieres on Apple TV+ Dec. 9.
The historical drama maps the grueling journey that Peter (Will Smith), a slave in Louisiana, undergoes to reach a semblance of liberty in 1863, the year that Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Unlike Solomon Northup in “12 Years a Slave,” Peter has never known freedom. Born a slave in Haiti, his only respite from the abominable treatment lies in his unwavering faith in the Christian God.
Where can a superhero story that has lost its superhero go? Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (in theaters Friday) ultimately finds a new path forward, though director Ryan Coogler‘s grand, somber requiem makes it clear in nearly every scene that the late Chadwick Boseman is irreplaceable, both on and off screen.
This is a movie very much in mourning for the man it lost — as a star, a colleague, and a friend — which seems like strange if not uncharted territory for a comic-book universe in which death is a Snap, and resurrection rarely less than another sequel or end-credits sequence away. The result still pounds with busy CG spectacle and, at just under three hours, more mythology than any non-Marvel head may strictly need. But it’s also contemplative, character-driven, and frequently lovely: a faithful genre player imbued with a rare visual richness and real, painful poignancy.
King T’Challa’s death from an unspecified illness takes place before the title card, leaving his sister Shuri (Letitia Wright), his mother Queen Ramonda (Angela Bassett) and a kingdom bereft. Global villainy, though, allows little time for bereavement, and even less for story exposition; within minutes, an American recon mission for vibranium — the precious, indestructible metal for which Wakanda is the only known source — goes fatally awry somewhere deep in the Atlantic Ocean, confounding the U.S. government. The hordes that destroyed their ship and mesmerized the crew don’t seem like citizens of any country they’ve seen before: Their skin is tinged Avatar-blue, for one, and they appear to breathe easily underwater. Their leader, Namor (the brooding Mexican actor Tenoch Huerta), a formidable fighter with elfin ears and small, fluttering wings on his heels like a Greek god, turns out to have royal immortality in his blood, and intractable plans for Wakanda. As the ruler of an ancient deep-sea Mayan civilization called Talokan, he has his own people and resources to protect, and when he introduces himself to a still-grieving Ramonda and Shuri, he makes his terms clear: They can join him in defeating his land-bound foes, or be buried with them. There’s also a teenage girl, an Einstein-brained MIT student named Riri (Judas and the Black Messiah‘s Dominique Thorne), whose precocious inventions, among them an Iron Man-like suit, make her both a target and an asset (and inevitably, a place-marker for yet another lucrative fragment of IP; Thorne will star as Riri/Ironheart in a Disney+ series slated for 2023).
Fending off these new threats means bringing Riri on board and marshaling the forces of the Wakanda diaspora, including Danai Gurira ‘s ferociously loyal general Okoye, Winston Duke‘s towering warrior M’Baku, and Lupita Nyong’o ‘s retired spy Nakia, now living in self-imposed exile. Martin Freeman also returns as the Wakandans’ best American ally, and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, with a vivid purple streak in her hair and an air of persistent Veep-y exasperation, drops in as the government honcho tasked with cleanup. (I May Destroy You‘s great Michaela Coel, alas, doesn’t get to do much with her own warrior bit.)
Coogler, who cowrote the script once again with Panther scribe Joe Robert Cole, sets up several anchoring set pieces, clangorous air-land-and-sea battles that travel from Boston bridges and Wakandan city centers to the ocean floor. Levity comes in a few brief but well-placed moments of release, little garnishes of comic relief — just watch Duke eat a carrot — that mitigate the heavy mantle of grief and the obligatory MCU business of saving the world, one franchise installment at a time. (The rules of engagement seem more arcane, or merely very flexible; it’s never completely clear what privileges various characters’ powers confer unless you knew them coming in.)
The most striking thing about the movie, though, may be what a matriarchy it is, both by nature and nurture: Without their king, Wakanda has become a queendom from the top down, overseen by Bassett’s regal, ageless Ramonda, the gorgeously daunting Gurira, and Wright, who rises to fill her dramatically expanded role with feline grace and vulnerability. Coogler also stacks his backline with talented women, including production designer Hannah Beachler and costumer Ruth E. Carter, who both won well-deserved Oscars for the first film.
Their shared vision of Afro-futurism feels lush and joyful and beautifully specific set against the usual white noise of Marvel fanfare, even (or almost especially) in darker moments, like the pristine rituals of a funeral scene. Wakanda is still clearly a Marvel property, with all the for-the-fans story beats and secondary characters its ever-expanding universe requires, but it also feels apart from any one that’s come before. And while a Black Panther without Boseman is undoubtedly nothing like the film’s creators or any of its cast wanted it to be, the movie they’ve made feels like something unusually elegant and profound at the multiplex; a little bit of forever carved out for the star who left too soon. Grade: B+
Jordan Peele’s Nope is everything movie fans have come to expect from him.
The director’s third feature film is over the top, odd in the best ways, terrifying, smart, original, and captivating, as well as perfectly cast. The film also follows the trend of Peele’s mysterious films continuously summoning audiences to theaters in an era where Marvel, franchises, and reboots rule the box office.Nope opened with $44 million on its opening weekend, making it the best for an original film opening since Peele’s Us, which made $71.1 million in April 2019.
The director knows that people are thirsty to be entertained, while others want to be stimulated. That’s why he made Nope a spectacle that is also injected with thoughtful commentary and symbolism that will feed the curious minds who love to dissect his films. Peele’s casting choices are also one of his greatest strengths as a filmmaker and that was reinforced by having Daniel Kaluuya and Keke Palmer as his leads in his third directorial project.
The sci-fi thriller’s storyline is about siblings OJ Haywood (Kaluuya) and Emerald Haywood (Palmer), who have been Hollywood horse trainers since they were children. The film picks up six months after their dad’s bizarre death and OJ is the one living and working full time at the ranch, while his sister pursues other paths like acting, directing, singing, producing, etc. OJ is the muscle behind the operation; he cares for the horses and the ranch, but he is too introverted and reserved for a Hollywood set. Emerald is the one with the charisma and the upbeat energy needed to work in showbiz. OJ looks to his sister for rescue when they’re on set for a commercial at the start of the movie, and from the first time you see Palmer on the screen, all your focus shifts to her.
As the film progresses, we learn that there is an otherworldly object, or creature, living in a cloud above the ranch that may have caused their father’s death. Down on their luck and short on money, the Haywoods set out on a mission to capture the creature on video so that they could have the “Oprah shot” that could launch them into fame and wealth. There has been a connecting thread of societal commentary throughout Peele’s films that he often leaves open to interpretation for the audience, and Nope was no exception. In this case, the film explores Hollywood and the film industry and how Black people have had “skin in the game” since the beginning of filmmaking.
The chilling horror moments in the film provide plenty of jump scares while also showing the great lengths people are willing to go to get that one viral moment that could change their lives because anyone in their right mind would pack a bag and leave. Nope also explores the trauma that child stars often live with through Ricky “Jupe” Park’s (Steven Yeun) story, as well as the importance of siblings—who are oftentimes the people by your side when shit hits the fan regardless of your differences, which Emerald and OJ so perfectly represent here.
Both of the characters are so incredibly dissimilar, but so are Palmer and Kaluuya in their delivery as actors. Palmer’s character Emerald helps the tense film breathe a little easier. She adds levity, humor, and an authenticity that’s difficult to portray if that’s not something you already carry within. During a global press conference for the movie, Complex asked the actors what they learned from each other as professionals during filming, a question that gave them both pause. “I found it hard to show joy and be natural. And be extroverted and natural with it. It’s a very hard balance to do. It is way harder than people realize,” Kaluuya said. “People look at drama and think (it’s difficult)—but it’s kind of really simple. But in terms of being joyous and exuberant and then having a reality and a realness to it is very difficult, and Keke has that for free, naturally.”
He added: “She’s just got it. That is what I was taking in a lot, the decisions she made, like, ‘Oh, that’s how you do that? That’s how you could do that? I didn’t see it that way or think of that way, I never would have arrived at that.’”
Emerald’s humor is perfectly sprinkled throughout Nope, and at times you almost forget you’re watching a horror film. Palmer, alongside Brandon Perea (who plays an electronics store employee named Angel Torres and also delivered a standout performance), add the necessary comedy to make the story feel more realistic. Even in real life, sometimes we laugh to keep from crying. Both Emerald and Angel don’t seem to take things as seriously as OJ does at first, so in the hectic moments where they do panic, the audience knows it’s for good reason. Palmer shines the brightest in the third act, though, going from the film’s comedic relief to a full-on horror and then action star—adding even more excitement for all the roles she will inevitably land after Nope.
Palmer’s relaxed acting style is comparable to some of the most seasoned and respected actors out there. She’s genuine and raw and completely natural at what she does, which makes for the best acting. She may have decades of experience, but Nope is her best performance yet. Emerald is her vessel to let the world know what she is all about. Peele recognized that in her when they met, and he told Complex in an interview that he wrote the role specifically for the actress. She hits the full spectrum of human emotion throughout the film—joy, fear, sadness, confusion, resilience, etc.—and those last 15 or so minutes of the film undoubtedly belong to her. Palmer is a star, and an Oscar nomination in the Supporting Actress category seems appropriate here.
Palmer is also obviously not alone in her greatness. Kaluuya delivers yet another masterful performance as OJ, who is a quiet, focused man of few words, and whose priority is the ranch and its animals. In the film’s most frightening moments, Kaluuya’s character stays calm. OJ keeps his cool while managing to also show slight glimpses of fear, intimidation, heart, and determination as he dodges the creature in the sky. The actor’s poise in the roles we’ve seen him in so far is what made him a star and an Oscar winner so early on in his career. I’ve referred to him as the Denzel Washington of our generation, but that doesn’t seem like enough anymore. Peele referred to Kaluuya as being to him what Robert De Niro is to Martin Scorsese, which is the most fitting comparison, and my only hope is that there will be more collaborations between them down the line. READ MORE: https://www.complex.com/pop-culture/keke-palmer-nope-lead-roles/third-act
“Judas and the Black Messiah” opened on HBO Max last weekend and I’m not gonna bother with a formal review of the film because you can find those anywhere, and because “Judas” is already on its way to amassing a stockpile of award show trophies that a dragon could comfortably rest upon. Most of those trophies, including an Oscar, are gonna be handed out because of this man, Daniel Kaluuya:
You might remember Kaluuya from his breakout role in Jordan Peele’s “Get Out.” Kaluuya got nominated for Best Actor for “Get Out,” and holy s—t did he deserve it. I remember I spent the entirety of that movie terrified for poor Chris. I also remember that when Kaluuya didn’t win Best Actor that year (fellow Brit Gary Oldman got it for playing Winston Churchill), it was okay because anyone who saw Kaluuya’s performance knew he’d be nominated for many, many other roles afterward. Three years later, after sharing the bill for “Widows” and for “Black Panther,” he’s delivered a performance in “Judas and the Black Messiah” that fulfills all of that promise, and far beyond. I saw the trailer for “Judas,” featuring Kaluuya spewing hellfire and brimstone as civil rights legend Fred Hampton, and I was like, “Oh yeah, I’m watching that. He’s gonna kick ass.”
I did and he did. Kaluuya is gonna be back at the Oscars this year, and he’s gonna win that s—t this time around. Because “Judas and the Black Messiah” proves that he’s the best goddamn actor on Earth right now.
Now, Warner Bros. submitted Kaluuya in the supporting actor category for “Judas,” because his “Get Out” co-star LaKeith Stanfield plays the spiritual lead (and is REALLY good) as FBI informant William O’Neal. But “Judas” belongs to Kaluuya’s Fred Hampton.
Hampton was the chairman of the Illinois chapter of the Black Panthers. His name and his story were completely unfamiliar to me before I started watching Judas. This is because I’m ignorant, and because American schools were far too stingy back in my childhood, and remain so, about allowing nonwhite material into the curriculum. Hampton’s story should be taught. This movie should be taught. And perhaps it will be, because the force of Kaluuya’s performance all but demands it.
You can’t take your eyes off of Daniel Kaluuya. Even in the tender scenes Kaluuya shares with love interest Dominique Fishback, his presence still bleeds off the screen. If Kaluuya spent the rest of his life in character AS Fred Hampton, I would vote him for president. I would pay him money to come to my town, give a speech as Fred and get everyone so fired up they could run through a god damn brick wall. I would like an expanded Fred Hampton Cinematic Universe.
In fact, that’s not far enough. I would like Daniel Kaluuya to be in EVERY movie now. Usually, when you go to an actor’s IMDb page, they have 900 future projects in development, half of which make you wince in anticipation. Kaluuya has just one: a Netflix adaptation of the science fiction novel “The Upper World.” I do not trust Netflix to make this show good — Netflix is like if you went to a brick-and-mortar Blockbuster store and everything in it sucked — but I do trust Kaluuya to play the hell out of his character.
He’s also due to star in “Black Panther 2,” and if they choose to make W’Kabi the next Black Panther (Marvel has already said that they will not recast the late Chadwick Boseman’s T’Challa, but will find another character to assume the mantle of the Black Panther; now you know as much as the rest of us do about it), you won’t see me complain. This world requires a massive Kaluuya stimulus. Democrats should send every household at least 2,000 Kaluuyas, and not a piddly-s—t 1,400. Hollywood should spin off his tinyass “Sicario” character and make good movies with that character instead of making garbage like “Sicario 2,” which looked like it was produced by Vince McMahon. Make Kaluuya the next Bond. Give him a standalone “Star Wars” franchise that Kathleen Kennedy is barred from ruining. Actually, you know what? F—k “Star Wars.” Daniel Kaluuya is too good for “Star Wars.” Keep Kaluuya away from “Star Wars” and make him Ahab instead. Make him Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” Make him Holden Caulfield. Make him Dracula. Make him “JAWS.”
Better yet, make Daniel Kaluuya a character no one has seen or heard of before. This man is part of a breakout mainstream movement in Black cinema that’s the newest, best thing coming out of Hollywood right now. Kaluuya is proof that the movement is already producing more exciting work than the incessant IP-humping that constitutes the bulk of studio products.
This man is not only talented, but he’s also got the juice to keep pushing Hollywood out of its deadened comfort zone. F—k, I’d pay to watch Daniel Kaluuya read the transcript of an investment firm’s Zoom call. I don’t care. Great actors elevate bad material and consecrate great material. That’s what Daniel Kaluuya can do. There’s no stopping him. There’s no need to try. Give him every Oscar, and then get out of his way.
Perhaps the greatest thing about Hustlers is the number of ways it finds to surprise. Yes, Lorene Scafaria’s movie about a pack of scamming strippers led by Jennifer Lopez and Constance Wu hits all the expected beats: a pole dance from J. Lo here, a sensuous shower of dollar bills there. But its greatest delights are the moments that defy what audiences are taught to expect from films like these—and from female characters more generally. In fact, one of those delightful tricks happens early on, when Wu’s green dancer character, Destiny, climbs up to the roof of her new place of work to smoke a cigarette and finds Lopez’s intimidatingly talented Ramona already up there, luxuriating in an impossibly voluminous fur coat. Given the competitive environment Destiny has already found inside the club, it’s easy to assume Ramona will give this newbie the cold shoulder—or at least size her up for a moment. Instead she pulls Destiny into the billowy warmth of her coat, wrapping her arms around her in a Madonna-like shot so serene that its warmth almost radiates from the screen.
Hustlers just wrapped up a fantastic weekend at the box office, where it grossed $33.2 million across 3,250 North American theaters. Given the film’s concept—a group of strippers scamming and drugging corrupt Wall Street moguls just after the 2008 recession—it can be easy to see its success as foretold. But that would underrate its artistry. Hollywood has squandered many a genius concept and “sure thing,” and for many a reason. Casting miscalculations, unfocused writing, bad editing… the list of reasons Hustlers could have failed is nearly infinite. Instead every detail of its execution is a triumph. More important, however, is how Hustlers also satisfies a number of cravings that the entertainment industry has been slow to quench—including diverse casting, a subtle and deeply American understanding of money and class, and a distinct examination of female antiheroes.
There’s something distinctly satisfying about watching Lopez and her merry band of scammers do their thing. Hustlers does indeed feature a diverse cast—but more crucially, the women in this group gel seamlessly, and each role feels tailor-made for the person occupying it, from Lopez as a character as underestimated as she has been throughout her acting career (though Hustlers may put an end to that) to Wu, just a few months removed from a Twitter scandal, as a woman with something to prove. Each of these women represents a different kind of female antihero, female Walter Whites who are doing it all for their families…but also, they’re really, really good at it. It’s not often we see a gaggle of female antiheroes traveling as a group and supporting one another as the Hustlers do. Their compassion for one another is almost enough to make you wonder what makes them “anti”heroes—for a moment, until you remember that they make their living drugging people and stealing large sums of money.
These are characters who have spent their lives on the fringes of society, and chose to build a support system all their own, one that includes the families they already have. Ramona frequently beams over her daughter, affectionately describing motherhood as a “mental illness,” while Destiny has an inseparable bond with her grandmother, who gets some of the film’s most unexpected punch lines. What these women seem to find in one another—and in the crimes they commit—is safety. In one of the film’s warmest scenes, all of these women and their various family members gather for Christmas morning, opening lavish presents but also reveling in one another’s company. Yes, Destiny squeals with glee over the chinchilla fur Ramona buys her—a status symbol that also represents just how far Destiny has come. But she seems even more emotional when she sees her grandmother seamlessly blend in with her friends, effectively transforming what was once a small, isolated family unit into one part of a larger supportive whole. Don Draper could never.
The shared communion these women find in one another might be unorthodox; indeed, it literally exists outside the law. But the genius of Hustlers is the number of ways it finds to challenge its audience to think of a better, more legal place its antiheroes could have looked for such connection and stability. Just look at Destiny’s initial struggle to find a job post-recession, as a potential manager scoffs at her GED and previous job experience. In many ways one gets the sense that Destiny is alienated not only from the job market, but from “polite” society as a whole. The film does not judge Destiny’s behavior. Instead it allows her and her friends to express different viewpoints on the untenable situations in which they find themselves. And it seems like no mistake that for all the love she has for Ramona, Destiny can never quite pinpoint exactly how she feels about the criminal outfit they once ran after it comes crashing down. Instead the only thing that’s achingly clear is how much she misses Ramona. Because for all the materialistic euphoria this film contains, its one true love story is between these two women—and it was clear from that first embrace under Ramona’s fur.
Based on the thrilling and inspirational life of an iconic American freedom fighter, HARRIET tells the extraordinary tale of Harriet Tubman’s escape from slavery and transformation into one of America’s greatest heroes. Her courage, ingenuity, and tenacity freed hundreds of slaves and changed the course of history.
“These Wall Street guys, you see what they did to this country? They stole from everybody. Hard-working people lost everything.” And that’s not all. “The game is rigged, and it does not reward people who play by the rules.”
No, that’s not an
excerpt from Bernie Sanders’s latest stump speech. Rather, it’s spoken
by Jennifer Lopez as a New York City stripper who turns the tables on
some of her biggest-money customers in the flashy, just-released trailer
for her forthcoming film, “Hustlers.”
The real-life revenge tale — it’s based on a New York magazine article by Jessica Pressler — co-stars Constance Wu (“Crazy Rich Asians”) as a single mom whom Lopez’s character teaches how to pole-dance. The impressive ensemble also includes the music divas Cardi B and Lizzo as well as Lili Reinhart, best known as Betty Cooper on CW’s Archie Comics adaptation “Riverdale.”
Unlike earlier
stripper-centric movies like “Showgirls” and “Striptease,” this one was
adapted and directed by a woman, Lorene Scafaria (“The Meddler”).
Lopez produced the film with her business partner, Elaine
Goldsmith-Thomas, and manager, Benny Medina, along with Will Ferrell,
Adam McKay and Jessica Elbaum of Gloria Sanchez Productions.
SDM MAGAZINE 
You must be logged in to post a comment.