You’ve probably scrolled past it a dozen times on Netflix. The thumbnail for All Day and a Night looks like a lot of other movies you’ve seen before. There’s a young Black man looking intense, some police lights, and the unmistakable grey-blue tint of a gritty urban drama. But honestly? If you skip it because you think it’s just another "struggle" film, you’re missing out on one of the most psychologically dense scripts Joe Robert Cole has ever written.
People forget Cole co-wrote Black Panther. He’s got this specific way of handling legacy and destiny that feels heavy, almost like a Greek tragedy set in Oakland.
The movie doesn’t start with hope. It starts with a double murder. We see Jahkor Abraham Lincoln, played with this incredible, simmering stillness by Ashton Sanders, walk into a home and kill two people in cold blood. There’s no "who done it" here. The movie isn't interested in the mystery of the crime; it’s obsessed with the why. It asks a question that most of us are too uncomfortable to answer: How much of our lives do we actually control, and how much is just a script written for us by our parents and our zip code?
The Oakland You Don't See on Postcards
Oakland in All Day and a Night isn't a backdrop. It’s a character. And it’s a mean one.
The film captures the Bay Area without the romanticism. It’s damp. It’s loud. It’s claustrophobic. When Jahkor is riding through the streets, the camera lingers on the gentrification creeping in around the edges of the struggle. It’s a weird contrast. You have these high-end coffee shops popping up while Jahkor is literally trying to figure out how to be a man in a world that already has a prison cell waiting for him with his name on the door.
Jeffrey Wright plays JD, Jahkor’s father. If you’ve seen Wright in American Fiction or Westworld, you know he can do a lot with a little. Here, he’s a monster. But he’s a human monster. He’s an addict, a former convict, and a father who thinks "toughening up" his son means beating the softness out of him before the streets do it first.
Breaking Down the Performance of Ashton Sanders
Ashton Sanders has this face that feels like it’s constantly vibrating with anxiety. He was the teenage Chiron in Moonlight, so he’s practiced at playing characters who are trapped inside their own heads.
In All Day and a Night, he barely speaks. He doesn't need to. You see the gears turning. He wants to be a rapper. He wants to be a good boyfriend. He wants to be different. But there’s this gravitational pull toward the life his father led. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion where the driver is trying to turn the wheel, but the tires are stuck in deep ruts.
The film uses a non-linear structure. We jump between Jahkor’s childhood, his young adulthood, and his time in prison. It’s disorienting at first. But that’s the point. For Jahkor, time isn't a straight line. His past is always happening right now. Every time he looks at his father in a prison jumpsuit, he’s looking at his own future in a mirror.
✨ Don't miss: Priyanka Chopra Latest Movies: Why Her 2026 Slate Is Riskier Than You Think
The Cycle of Incarceration is More Than Just a Statistic
We talk about "systemic issues" so much that the phrase has almost lost its meaning. It sounds like something you read in a textbook. All Day and a Night makes it visceral.
The movie shows the "Pipeline" without being preachy. There’s a scene where Jahkor is just a kid, and he sees how the world reacts to him. He’s not a child to them; he’s a threat in training. When JD tells him, "You're gonna have to find something you're willing to die for," he's not being poetic. He's being practical. In their world, death is a constant variable.
The title itself—All Day and a Night—is prison slang. It refers to a life sentence plus a day. It’s the ultimate "fuck you" from the justice system. It says even after you’re dead, we still own your time.
Why the Critics Were Split (and Why They Might Be Wrong)
When the movie dropped in 2020, critics were kind of all over the place. Some called it "relentlessly bleak." Others said it didn't offer enough "hope."
But does every movie need to give you a hug?
Honestly, the bleakness is the point. If Joe Robert Cole had ended this with Jahkor winning a Grammy and moving to a mansion in Hidden Hills, it would have been a lie. The movie is a meditation on the fact that sometimes, the cycle wins.
- It challenges the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" narrative.
- It forces the audience to sit with the discomfort of a protagonist who has done something unforgivable.
- It highlights the specific trauma of Black fatherhood in over-policed communities.
The nuance lies in the relationship between JD and Jahkor. Usually, in these movies, the dad is just "the bad guy." But Wright plays JD with such a pathetic, broken dignity that you almost feel for him. He thinks he’s helping. That’s the tragedy. He thinks by teaching his son to be a predator, he’s saving him from being prey. He was wrong.
How to Actually Watch This Movie
You can't watch this while folding laundry or scrolling TikTok. You'll miss the subtle stuff.
🔗 Read more: Why This Is How We Roll FGL Is Still The Song That Defines Modern Country
Watch the way the colors change. The flashbacks have a warmer, almost sepia tone. It’s the only time there’s "warmth" in Jahkor’s life, even if the memories themselves are violent. The present day is cold. It’s blue. It’s the color of steel bars and hospital lights.
Pay attention to the music, too. It’s not just a soundtrack; it’s Jahkor’s internal monologue. Since he doesn't talk much, the lyrics of the songs playing in the background or the beats he produces are the only window we get into what he’s actually feeling.
Real-World Context: The Oakland Influence
Oakland has a long history of being a hub for both radical Black resistance and intense systemic struggle. The movie leans into this. It mentions the Black Panthers implicitly through the legacy of the city.
The film was shot on location. You can feel the authenticity in the houses, the street corners, and the way people talk. It doesn't feel like a Hollywood set. It feels like someone opened a window into a real neighborhood.
There are scenes involving Jahkor’s friend, T-Low (played by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), that show the different paths people take. T-Low is charismatic, dangerous, and seemingly in control. But even he is just a different cog in the same machine. Abdul-Mateen brings a level of star power that makes his character’s inevitable decline even harder to swallow.
Is There Any Redemption?
Redemption is a strong word.
By the end of the film, Jahkor is in prison. He’s exactly where his father is. On the surface, the cycle has completed itself. But there’s a small, quiet shift in the final act.
Jahkor becomes a father.
💡 You might also like: The Real Story Behind I Can Do Bad All by Myself: From Stage to Screen
He realizes that if he doesn't change something—even from behind bars—his son is next. The "redemption" isn't about getting out of prison. It’s about a mental prison break. It’s about Jahkor deciding to stop the transmission of trauma.
It’s a heavy ending. It’s not "happy." But it is honest.
The Directorial Vision of Joe Robert Cole
Cole isn't trying to make a blockbuster here. He’s making an indie film with a Netflix budget.
The pacing is slow. Really slow. Some people hate that. But the slowness allows the atmosphere to seep into you. You start to feel the weight that Jahkor feels. You start to understand why he feels like he’s drowning.
Cole’s screenplay is remarkably tight. There isn't a lot of "fat" in the dialogue. People say what they mean, or they don't say anything at all. In a world where one wrong word can get you killed, silence is a survival tactic.
Actionable Insights for Viewers and Storytellers
If you're a fan of cinema or a writer yourself, All Day and a Night offers a masterclass in several areas:
- Character Archetypes: Study how Jeffrey Wright subverts the "deadbeat dad" trope by adding layers of misplaced protectionism.
- Atmospheric Storytelling: Notice how the sound design—the distant sirens, the muffled bass of cars—creates a sense of constant, low-level stress.
- Non-Linear Narrative: Analyze how the jumps in time serve the theme of "inescapable history" rather than just being a stylistic gimmick.
- Cinematic Realism: Look at the lighting choices used to differentiate the feeling of freedom versus the feeling of incarceration.
Next Steps for Your Watchlist:
After finishing this film, if you want to understand the themes better, look into the works of Ta-Nehisi Coates, specifically Between the World and Me. The movie feels like a cinematic companion to Coates’ exploration of the Black body in America.
Also, check out the 2013 film Fruitvale Station. It’s another Oakland-based story that handles similar themes but from a different angle of the "justice" system.
All Day and a Night isn't an easy watch, but it’s a necessary one. It’s a reminder that the stories we tell about "criminals" are usually just the last chapter of a book that started long before they were born. Stop looking for a hero and start looking for the humanity. It's there, buried under the weight of a life sentence and a night.