Being Black in the Workplace Is Different. A Great British Comedy Captures That.

How much does a dream cost for a Black person? Dreaming Whilst Black, the British comedy series about a Jamaican man who dreams of being a filmmaker while working at his soul-sucking office job, asks this question. The show, streaming in the U.S. on Showtime and Paramount+, was originally a 2018 web series, created by Adjani Salmon—who also stars as Kwabena, the protagonist—and Ali Hughes, before being turned into a BAFTA-winning pilot episode that aired in 2021. Since then, with help from Big Deal Films and A24, it has expanded into a full series that has drawn stellar reviews for its funny satirization of the Black experience in both the entertainment industry and the traditional workplace.

To get at the specific magic of Dreaming Whilst Black, I spoke to its co-director Koby Adom (Top Boy, Noughts + Crosses), a longtime collaborator of Salmon’s. Below, we discuss the infectiously delightful depiction of the Black British diaspora, Black cinematic references, and how the show speaks to universal experiences. Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Nadira Goffe: What drew you to Dreaming Whilst Black?

Koby Adom: Adjani Salmon, the showrunner, is one of my best friends. We met each other when we both attended film school. Not the same one, but the film school circuit in London is pretty small—and especially Black students, back then, were very scarce. We just stuck together. Over the years we’ve been involved in everything each other does. I worked with Adjani on the web series, and then when we got to the pilot, I worked with Adjani and the execs on the table read to get it commissioned. It happened so seamlessly, so organically, and I loved it.

I think Adjani is a brilliant writer; so is Ali Hughes, who he wrote the series with. They don’t really have a massive CV in the film and TV space yet, but the quality of their work is just A1. Of all the work that I’ve done—I’ve worked on Netflix shows, BBC shows, Peacock, you name it—this one, for me, was the most creative writing that there is, because it was scientific, but also very free-spirited.

It’s really efficient. The episodes are short, but there are a lot of specificities in there, like the reference to the 2000 film Love & Basketball—in which two characters re-create the ending of the movie—in Episode 2, “The Reality,” which you directed. How did you go about filming that particular scene?

It wasn’t straightforward. Love & Basketball is one of my favorite films. After watching that, I was counting the years to losing my virginity. It is as iconic in Black British history as it is American. I think that’s a connection point in the series.

In terms of capturing it, when I came onto the project, one of the first things I had to do was reshoot that scene. That meant, “OK, we need a wider shot of this to get the whole scope of the hands coming together and all of that for that story to be sold.” For people, for example, on your side of the pond to watch it and understand it, rather than trying to be too close to the material and losing the geography of it, losing the bigger picture. Simplicity was key in shooting that scene, because it was just about capturing it in the simplest but most beautiful way possible.

Another specific moment in the following episode, “The Friends,” which you also directed, is a great depiction of what it’s like to date a Black woman and meet her friends for the first time. What was important for you to capture in filming that scene? For Black people it’s a universal experience—you’ve either been a friend at that dinner table or you’ve been the date that’s being interrogated.

I’ve been in that position where I feel like I’m sweating and you have to check your bank account, making sure there’s enough [to pay for dinner]. But then it’s like, “Ah, there’s enough, but can I spend this?” I understand how universal such an encounter is—I don’t even think it’s Black specific, but obviously the Black experience of it would be a bit different. Within the Black experience, for me, it was about making sure these characters in this scene are authentically British. And that came with allowing the actors to play a bit more. It’s about taking off the shackles and letting them make bold decisions to really sell the beats of the scene. The creative ethos behind it was: The more the actors give us on the day, the better. Because we can then have more to play with in the edit and piece the performances together. It was just about allowing the actors to improvise and feel free to add the necessary dialect, an authentic colloquialism or local language, to sell the date.

Dreaming Whilst Black feels uniquely British in the way that it depicts not only the Black diaspora, but specific microaggressions that Black people face in the workplace, and Black British people’s responses to those. What would you say makes the show Dreaming Whilst Black as opposed to Dreaming While Black, which would, perhaps, be the Black American version?

It’s more in the dialogue. The colloquialism is just so real. Away from just gangsters, to the wider Black community in the U.K., the language was authentically British. Even some of the cameos are authentically British. You have Ovie [Soko] who was in it, he’s from Love Island. Everyone loves Ovie in the U.K. The baby [in Episode 6] was voiced by a very legendary rapper in the U.K. called D Double E. As soon as you hear that baby speaking, if you are Black British, you’re like, “Wow, that’s iconic.” And then there’s the end of Episode 3 when Kwabena messes up with a big producer, and then you hear a Kano song come on. It’s these moments that make it British, but it still has that universality that crosses over the pond in terms of human behavior. It’s just the detail that’s slightly different.

But I don’t think we focused on making it Black British because the people that made it are Black British. It is very comfortable to make things with people who already understand the material as opposed to having to over-reference something or overexplain it. And I think what that helps with is there are little nuances that each filmmaker on set can add, that no one else might even notice, that further this ethos of Black Britishness. I think that was a masterstroke from A24, Big Deal Films, and Adjani on making sure that the people making the show represent the people on the screen.

I don’t know that I’ve seen a modern show that so accurately depicts what it’s like to be either the child of Caribbean and African immigrants or being a child immigrant yourself. What are the important aspects of that dynamic that you tried to include in the show?

Because Adjani is a very close friend of mine, as he’s writing the scripts and developing, I’m always putting my input into it. For example, the main character’s name is Kwabena—that’s my passport name, it’s Ghanaian. And Adjani knows that in Jamaica, they can sometimes use African names. That doesn’t have to be overexplained. His name is just Kwabena. It does speak a lot about the diaspora, having that classic Nigerian family versus Jamaican family [narrative], which, if you make it the bigger conversation, is about African families and Caribbean families coming together. Dreaming Whilst Black does a very complex thing very simply. All those characters you see on screen are authentic. And if they do pose questions, it’s not like they’re questions that distract from the core of the show. Like: “Wait, but he’s got a Ghanaian name and he’s Jamaican, why is that?” You’ll do your research and realize that there’s a heavy influence of Ghana and Nigeria in Jamaica.

It’s about knowing the mergers in language as well. British colloquialism now involves slang from different African countries, Jamaican words, you name it. It’s about allowing the actors who are all British to just talk the talk. Man, this is the soundscape of Black Britain right now. It’s about casting the right people and allowing them to flex. But also [costume designer] Jodie-Simone Howe did a brilliant job. There are so many stories being told in the costuming, both abstract and symbolic.

I didn’t grow up in England, I don’t identify as being culturally British, but I very much related to all the scenes where Kwabena is at home with his family. That is just how your aunts and uncles and cousins talk. It’s very chaotic, but when you’re around it long enough, you learn how to make sense out of the chaos.

Definitely. And even start laughing at it. I think also the script did a lot of the heavy lifting. Adjani is Jamaican, Ali is a white British man, but they did their due diligence. There were writers’ rooms where they brought some of the funniest, most diverse comedians and storytellers in the country to come and contribute to this. I think we have to pay homage to them as writers, especially Adjani taking the writing and then being a part of the whole process and having to almost gatekeep the culture. Adjani was very bold, let’s just say that. And his decisionmaking, both on the back end and the front end, allowed this show to be what it is today, it didn’t just happen. He had to fight for it. He had to take risks. And it paid off.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually: that we should gatekeep more. It’s really beautiful when you can see something that has been gatekept and then you can watch a creative take on it that’s been distilled down to its essence. And I feel that we get so much less of that because Black creators have to go into these rooms that are manned by white people. The ability to gatekeep dwindles, and then you end up with an final product that’s not—

What you set out to be. Now you’ve got to explain to your people why your stuff looks like this.

And I think that that’s what a lot of the show is about in terms of the professional plot about what it’s like to be a filmmaker. How much does that relate to your personal experience?

Me, Adjani, we’ve all been through this process, and it’s all of our stories. It’s crazy. Sometimes it’s not hard to watch, because it’s funny. But, sometimes, watching it again, it’s kind of like, “Wow, how the hell did we escape all of these obstacles?” I’m from the hood. I didn’t know what a director was before I was 21, 22. My interest was in surviving. To then go to film school and realize that this sport that I’m really interested in is not really designed for me, per se—that is a shock. It is like a train hitting you. And from that point, you have to realize that and try not to complain about it too much. You just have to make it work. I guess the difference between me and the Kwabena you see in the show is that I was the guy that just quit my job. I’m not coming back—that’s just my way of dealing with it.

But what I appreciated was seeing a different perspective. It shows the types of decisions we make because not everybody conforms. I personally would like to say I haven’t conformed. My career could have been through the roof by now if I said yes to everything. The reality of the matter is: I’ve said no to the majority of things that have come my way in order to preserve the integrity of what I do.

I wanted to ask about that, because Kwabena tends to make a lot of choices that I find hard to watch. We’re rooting for him, so we want him to quit his job and follow his dreams, but instead he stays and misses the big meeting, or he writes a scathing letter to a producer. What makes Kwabena still so easy to root for at the end of the day?

Because you don’t blame him. You see the pressure that he’s facing. You see that his chances are very slim. And most people with slim chances, if they see a slice of opportunity, they are jumping at it. Even when I make the difficult decisions, it’s still difficult. I can still feel the weight of pressure in me, making those decisions that I know I should be making to protect myself or to be bold. I think that’s why we’re still rooting for him by the end of it: We understand the decisions. It’s funny because I’m sure some people who would be disappointed with Kwabena in the show are probably doing the same thing in their life. But yeah, it is frustrating watching it happen on screen because it’s like, “Wow, just quit your job.”

Easier said than done.

Yes, exactly that. Look, we all got to pay bills, as well. The show did show that, but a different story would show you that he’s got nobody, and he needs to keep this job, otherwise he’s going to starve. And should he then quit the job, at that point, it shows the sacrifices that people have to take in order to succeed, especially when you are Black in Britain or Black in America or Black anywhere. It’s honestly a very profound depiction of what the vast majority of us go through.

What’s the overall statement that you and the show are trying to make about being a Black creative, or being a Black person with aspirations?

Don’t give up dreaming, don’t ever stop. That’s one thing Kwabena didn’t do—he never stopped dreaming.

Literally.

He had babies talking to him, he had alter egos in his head discussing things with him. He’s someone who was living within. There’s a way of conforming to the way the world wants you to be, and, actually, the superpower is to live within, to listen to who’s in your head and your spirit. It’s a double-edged sword, and I think the show does well in depicting that: As long as you’re dreaming, as long as you don’t give up, it’s all going to work out, whether you quit your job, don’t quit your job, whether you pay for the bill or don’t pay for the bill. Just keep dreaming and that dream will eventually manifest into what it needs to be.