Clay, the main character of “The Dutchman,” has a hellish night in New York, the kind of night that could end his life or change it in seriously material ways. One person he meets advises him to “heed the warnings of those who came before you, so that your fate may be different.” Thus, this adaptation of Amiri Baraka’s famous 1964 play, “Dutchman”, about race and black identity, announces its intention to offer an alternative and updated interpretation of a founding text. The film adds modern references and is set in the present, but its treatment of the play’s themes remains murky and marred by an inability to abandon what director Andre Gaines obviously considers a sacred text.
The adaptation, written by Gaines with Qasim Basir, begins during a marriage therapy session. Clay (André Holland), a successful black businessman, tries to understand why his wife Kaya (Zazie Beetz) cheated on him, even though he seems defensive and unable to open up emotionally. The therapist (Stephen McKinley Henderson) urges him to listen to his wife. Despite the palpable tension between the couple, their commitment and love are evident. They are not on the road to separation, but perhaps to a better understanding of each other’s needs.
While traveling to a fundraiser in Harlem for a friend running for office (Aldis Hodge), Clay encounters a strange white woman on the train. From the moment she lays eyes on him, Lula (Kate Mara) seems determined to shock, seduce, taunt and repel Clay. One minute she’s inviting him into her bed, and the next she’s threatening to call him “rape.” She insists on accompanying him to the party where she is determined to cause chaos and upend his relationships with his wife, his friends and his community. What motivates his fixation on Clay is never explained.
In Baraka’s play, Clay and Lula serve as allegorical representations of black assimilation and white supremacy, respectively. Written and performed at the height of the civil rights movement, “Dutchman” was bold and ahead of its time. Its provocative themes and the visceral way in which it addresses them have challenged audiences. In trying to open it up to a 2026 audience, Gaines and Basir add dimension to Clay, while leaving Lula with little more than a confrontation mechanism. This imbalance – one main character rendered flesh and blood while the other never comes to life – hinders the film’s central narrative.
The play takes place on a subway train, and while this remains a central setting, Gaines opens the drama, situating Clay and Lula within a broader social landscape, reinforcing the idea that their encounter is not isolated but rooted in the violence of New York. His framing of their scenes together, whether on the train, in his apartment, or in a large party full of people, allows the actors to play well with each other.
Strangely, “Dutchman” is openly referenced several times in the script. Clay receives a printed version of the play from his therapist early on. He is shown a miniature version of a theater where his “character” appears like a small toy to manipulate. He sees a television production broadcast on the window of an electronics store while he is walking with Lula.
Henderson plays multiple roles and continues to appear as a specter throughout the proceedings to comment and recall the play. Her character is sometimes called Amiri and directly quotes the play and other well-known texts about black American identity. This meta-incorporation of the play adds a sense of déjà vu to the film, suggesting that what happens to Clay may be a rite of passage that every black man must face in this country.
Gaines and Basir’s adaptation adheres to the intellectual origins of the play. However, they never manage to make the story emotional, retaining its themes without modernizing them. Perhaps that’s the problem: contemporary African-American men constantly have to deal with their identity and how white society perceives them. If the reason for this adaptation is to continue this conversation for a new generation, then they have succeeded.
Holland brings vivid nuances to a role written as a symbol of his race and nationality, making it the main reason to watch this adaptation. He is immediately believable as a man in love who is also suffering, as a man with desires he would rather not acknowledge, and as an ambitious person who believes he deserves his success – all themes the text alludes to and which Holland brings to life while matching intensity with vulnerability. In his final monologue, he adds hints of sarcasm to cover the righteous anger his character feels, giving the film the explosive ending it’s heading for, even if he didn’t really deserve it.
“The Dutchman” exists in a tense space between reverence and reinvention. This is an adaptation so aware of the power and legacy of Baraka’s text that it never fully trusts its own instincts. The result is a film that provokes thought rather than emotion, which invites discussion, while denying the audience the emotional dimension that could have brought out its relevance.
