Throughout the late ’80s and early ’90s, young, Black, coming-of-age films followed the blueprint pioneered by the late and great John Singleton’s Boyz n the Hood. A litany of compelling dramas about being a young Black man or boy growing up fast in divested, inner-city neighborhoods were depicted in films like South Central (1992), Juice (1992), Menace II Society (1993), and Fresh (1994)—later projecting a popular narrative. These predominantly lower- and working-class Black communities in film were hyper-violent zones where the only thing destined for young Black males was constant tragedy.
These movies spoke to a close-to-home reality for many, especially as some showed the horrible impact left behind by the crack epidemic and gang violence of the late ’80s and early ’90s. However, what stood out about these culturally defining “hood” movies compared to many coming of age films centering young white males in the ’90s (1994’s Clerks, 1995’s Kids, et cetera) is that very rarely were Black kids allowed to learn from mistakes without learning the hard way, often fatally. And the narrative of all these neighborhoods were flattened as violent, war-torn areas, rather than ordinary, nuanced, and closely-knit communities where people went to work every day, owned their homes for decades, and laughed more than they cried.
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When Ice Cube and legendary California hip hop producer DJ Pooh wrote and created the hilarious stoner comedy Friday (1995) 30 years ago, they practically broke the mold on what a “hood” film could be. With fellow Los Angeles native and director F. Gary Gray at the helm, Friday showed audiences the nuanced, lighthearted parts of Black communities that made these places home. The fullness of blue collared Black Americana was hilariously depicted via the Jones Family, the iconic weed head drug dealer Smokey, and its West Athens neighborhood. Friday showed Black families in an authentically humane way without leaning into tragedy or stereotypes.
In a 2024 interview on the Joe Rogan Experience, Ice Cube explained how Friday was the antithesis of films about the hood that were coming out beforehand, though impactful in their own ways.
“Everything that was coming out was depressing. Colors, Boyz n the Hood, Menace II Society, South Central. Yo, this is a hell zone. I was like … did you remember it like that? Don’t we laugh around here all the time? Let’s show how it really is for us around here,” Ice Cube said.
Growing up in Chicago and having lived in South Jackson, Miss. throughout my college years, Craig Jones’ life was miles closer to my reality than Doughboy’s was (ironically, both played by Ice Cube).
Craig was a regular 22-year-old in L.A. who unfairly lost his job, and needed to figure it out quickly before his parents, who were homeowners, kicked him out. His neighborhood was similar to my childhood South Shore neighborhood—homeowners, working class and poor people living among each other in harmony and hijinks. People who were addicted to drugs, due to residual effects of the crack epidemic, were still lovable people like Friday’s Ezal (played by the late A.J. Johnson), despite being responsible for why Craig lost his job in the first place (see director’s cut). One could even argue that Friday closely resembled Ice Cube’s own childhood upbringing in South Central L.A.
While even Friday has its moments of unsettling danger, like the well-executed omnipresence of Big Worm (played by Faizon Love), who was owed $200, and the menacing threat from the neighborhood bully Deebo (played by the late Tommy “Tiny” Lister Jr.), it showed that even dangerous moments can lead to growth without dire consequences. Craig’s beatdown on Deebo was a meditation on manhood and levelheaded decision-making as he could have easily altered his life by pulling the trigger, instead of, wisely, handing the gun to his father, Willie Jones (played by the late, great John Witherspoon). And the climatic drive-by scene, soundtracked by E A Ski’s Blast If I Have To, could have ended in tragedy, but resulted in some of the film’s funniest moments. It perfectly captured that strange sense of humor gained from surviving a near death experience.
Thankfully, this formula proved to be a box office success. Friday went on to gross $6,589,341 during its opening week, double its $3.5 million budget, according to IMDb.
Beyond its two sequels, Next Friday (2000) and Friday After Next (2002), its influence was impactful throughout Black film and television. Shows like canceled HBO Max sitcom South Side (2019) and Atlanta (2016) showed predominantly Black neighborhoods in Chicago and Atlanta for their lighthearted, but grounded portrayal of their respective neighborhoods. And the buddy chemistry between Craig and Smokey in Friday, for all their contrasts, paved the way for the type of seamless pairing (and money woes) we see in Dreux (Keke Palmer) and Alyssa (SZA) in 2025’s One of Them Days.
What makes Friday special in the pantheon of Black cinema was that it was one of the first “hood” films of its kind in the ’90s that showed and humanized working-class Black communities. It’s a timeless, culturally rich, and outrageous comedy that has passed itself down to generations of Black movie fans. It showed the world that no matter what neighborhood you’re from, all it takes is one random Friday to spark a lifetime of memories.
Mark P. Braboy is an award-winning music and culture multimedia journalist from Chicago. Through his writing and photography, he documents music culture and the world that shapes it.
The views expressed in this article are the writer’s own.