Mara Brock Akil’s Forever, adapted from Judy Blume’s groundbreaking novel, is nothing short of a revelation. In Akil’s hands, the classic coming-of-age story transforms into a lush, soulful portrait of Black teenage love set against the vibrant and often complicated backdrop of 2018 Los Angeles. In a television landscape cluttered with high-concept dramas and trauma-driven plots, Forever dares to slow down and let its characters breathe, grow, and love—without sensationalism, but with style and truth.
At the heart of Forever are Justin (Michael Cooper Jr.), a wealthy basketball prodigy with a learning disability, and Keisha (Lovie Simone), a brilliant track star who’s been pushed out of a predominantly white private school. They meet at a New Year’s Eve party, two of the few Black kids in an elite space that rarely feels like home. From that moment, Akil builds a romance that feels at once timeless and urgent.
The genius of Forever is in its specificity. Justin and Keisha are richly drawn, not just as archetypes of young love, but as fully realized individuals navigating the intersections of race, class, gender, and adolescence. Akil doesn’t shy away from those complexities. Justin’s parents—played with nuance by Karen Pittman and Wood Harris—hover between protection and fear, painfully aware of how the world may read their sweet, awkward son. Keisha’s mother, Shelly (Xosha Roquemore), fights to give her daughter the education and safety she deserves, even as the system chips away at her efforts.
What makes this series stand out is how deeply it respects its characters’ emotional journeys. There are no kidnappings, no secret twins, no apocalyptic plot twists. Instead, we get the slow burn of trust, the awkwardness of first intimacy, and the quiet heartbreak of growing up. And yes, Keisha and Justin have sex—a narrative choice rooted in Blume’s original novel—but Akil handles these moments with tenderness and respect, giving Black teens the same right to explore desire without shame that white teens have long been afforded on screen.
The directing team, which includes Regina King, Anthony Hemingway, and Thembi Banks, elevates the material further. Each episode is a visual feast, from the warm interiors of Justin’s art-filled home to the grainy beauty of LA seen through our protagonists’ Instagram lenses. Costume and production design subtly highlight class and cultural identity, while Keisha’s references to her Dominican heritage underscore the show’s commitment to portraying the diversity within the Black experience.
Forever is also political in the quietest and most powerful way: it insists that Black teens are worthy of softness, of safety, of being seen. As Justin and Keisha contend with parental expectations, internalized pressure, and the pull of self-discovery, the show reminds us that love—familial, romantic, and communal—is not just healing but necessary.
With only eight episodes, Forever leaves a lasting impression. It’s a poignant, deeply human story that honors its source material while boldly expanding its world. In centering Black love without trauma, Akil and her collaborators have created a series that feels as necessary as it is beautiful.
Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Neerja Choudhuri
Follow @NeerjaCH on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times