If you’ve ever tuned in to catch glimpses of life through the windowpane, you’re likely familiar with the iconic theme song of “Good Times” and the resilient Evans family, navigating the challenges of survival in the Chicago projects.
You can recall moments like when Michael endeavored to convince his parents of Jesus’ ethnicity.
You reminisce about the time J.J.’s father stood up to neighborhood troublemakers trying to recruit him into their gang.
You remember when Florida, the matriarch, declined a lucrative endorsement deal upon discovering the product was laced with alcohol.
“Good Times,” the groundbreaking TV series that aired for six seasons in the 1970s, was laden with poignant life lessons.
Despite facing weekly trials and temptations, the family typically opted for the morally sound path, a distinction not shared by the creators and actors tarnishing the show’s legacy today. The family, as the nostalgic theme song suggests, may still be “scratchin’ and survivin’,” but now they’re perpetuating stereotypes and sensationalism.
The modern iteration introduces the next Evans generation: Reggie, the cab-driving father; Beverly, the money-minded mother; Junior, the aspiring artist son; Grey, the activist daughter; and Dalvin, the infant involved in drug dealing.
Yes, you read that correctly—a drug-dealing infant.
Granted, the original show had its own set of flaws. When John Amos, who portrayed the stern patriarch James Evans Sr., voiced objections about the show’s decline into buffoonery, he was promptly dismissed, and his character met a tragic end.
“The truth is, when the show first began, there were no African American writers onboard,” Amos later revealed. “Some of the scripts, including those for my character and others, were problematic, prompting my objections.”
Amos’ departure didn’t sit well with Esther Rolle, the actress who played his wife. She had insisted from the show’s outset that her TV family should include a father figure, even amidst adversity.
“I introduced the concept of a Black father to this nation,” Rolle asserted. “It had never been done before, and I took a stand, saying I won’t do it unless there’s a husband for my children.”
Rolle eventually left the series, but instead of killing off her character, they sent her off on an extended honeymoon with a new romantic interest.
Despite Rolle’s eventual return, the damage was done. The essence of “Good Times” had dissipated, along with its viewership.
When “Good Times” debuted in 1975, it was a pioneering portrayal of a two-parent African American household. Audiences of all backgrounds tuned in to witness the Evans family’s resilience amidst adversity.
So, for producers, including Stephen Curry of the Golden State Warriors, to associate their project with this TV classic is the height of disrespect.
For those who can’t quite grasp the significance, imagine if an untalented hack desecrated “Seinfeld” or “Sex and the City.” That’s the level of reverence “Good Times” holds in the Black community.
What’s next? Will “The Jeffersons” abandon their deluxe apartment for a rat-infested project dwelling? Will “Sanford and Son” peddle ghost guns in their junkyard?
Netflix could have released the new show independently without besmirching the legacy of “Good Times.” But based on the trailer, the show faces a more significant issue—it simply lacks humor.
All ten episodes of “Good Times” will be available on Netflix starting April 12.
Before subjecting myself to this travesty, I’d prefer to relive J.J.’s infectious “Dy-No-Mite” catchphrase on repeat.
