What’s the Price of Manhood? Moses the Black and the Consequences of Drill-Era Masculinity

Drill music may still be in its adolescence in the scope of rap history, but the collision of street politics, gang violence and the toxic masculinity it reflects is centuries old. These are the dynamics at the heart of Chicago-based film Moses the Black, which steps directly into that lineage. 

The project follows Malik (Omar Epps), a long-imprisoned gang leader, trying to navigate his recent release in a world that still expects him to perform violence on demand. In this ecosystem, manhood is policed by rivals, his own crew, and increasingly the internet itself. Every slight is amplified and the cost of reacting, or not reacting, can be critical. 

As Malik flounders to find his footing, his grandmother introduces him to the story of a fourth century saint known as Moses the Black (Chukwudi Iwuji). Soon he finds himself haunted by visions of Moses cautioning him, “Live by the sword, die by the sword.”

“I was blown away by his story,” writer-director Yelena Popovic told Okayplayer. “He’s a saint of redemption.”

While she originally hoped to tell the story of Moses in his own time, something about confining him to history didn’t feel honest for her. 

“I knew it was not going to do justice to the saint,” she explained. “That’s when I had the epiphany to tell a story in modern day.”

Popovic describes Moses as a figure whose legacy is inseparable from consequence. “It’s an incredible story of repentance,” she said. “And it was necessary for the modern story to be authentic in order for the story of St. Moses to be authentic as well.”

That authenticity came through Reginald Akkeem Berry, who served as executive producer and critical consultant, grounding the film in lived experience. “Having been born and raised on the streets of Chicago, there are inflections of my life that were also implemented in the film,” Berry said. “We versed it and made certain that things were as authentic as possible.” The film is also executive produced by 50 Cent, whose own career has long navigated the tension between survival, storytelling, and consequence.

Malik’s story unfolds at an impasse. He’s not new to violence; it’s something he has survived many times, but at some point survival always meets with a reckoning. 

“All things come with a cost,” Epps told Okayplayer. “When you repeat cycles and you’re doing the same things, you realize you’re not going to get a different result.” Malik, he explains, reaches a moment where realization alone isn’t enough. “He realizes he has to be the shift, be the change… and trying to figure out, well, how do you actualize that?”

Facing constant pressure from rivals and calls from his own crew seeking vengeance, Malik finds his leadership at stake the moment he hesitates instead of pulling the trigger. That moment of restraint is immediately interpreted as weakness, even by those closest to him. Despite Malik’s struggle, Epps says he hopes younger audiences will be swayed from following similar paths of violence. 

“We grew up in the hood, it’s like — 'You’ll end up dead or in jail,’” Epps recalled. “We hear those sort of cliches, but that’s really what it is. It sounds like a thing when you’re 13, 14, but then you’re 16, 17, and it’s all happening. You look up and you’re 30-something — you’ve spent the majority of your life or your young years behind bars. That doesn’t have to be the only way. There are other paths that you can take.”

The difficult journey of finding those paths is evident onscreen, where characters face constant challenges to their masculinity. Online bullying is a critical plot point in the film for one of the younger members of Malik’s gang, who is taunted relentlessly by Straw (Quavo), a rival gang leader. Straw’s taunting becomes even more unbearable when fellow gang members also begin to question his sexuality. 

“Social media… it’s very destructive,” Popovic said. “You have this young kid who’s joined the gang… he’s looking for brotherhood… Because of all these negative connotations, the person gets bullied not only from the other gang, but from his own brothers. This is what really hurts. Social media has a much more serious impact than what we would like to admit.”

The film’s circumstances hit close to home for much of the cast. In addition to Quavo, Popovic intentionally surrounded the production with rappers, including Wiz Khalifa (who also executive-produced the Moses the Black soundtrack), and Skilla Baby, as well as several Chicago natives in roles as young gang members. 

“It was very important to have that authentic feel,” she said. Some of those conversations, she notes, became personal. “They could see a lot of parallel in their lives.”

Last year, Skilla Baby survived being shot three times while driving in his native Detroit. In November 2022, Quavo was present when his nephew and fellow Migos group member Takeoff was shot and killed in Houston. 

St. Moses enters the story as a figure whose life embodies consequence more than redemption. Once feared for unleashing destruction along his path, Moses demonstrates to Malik that violence doesn’t simply disappear when you put the sword down, it just shows up differently. In Moses the Black, that lesson collides with drill-era masculinity, where reputation often matters more than survival, and reflection is a luxury few feel they can afford. 

The brief interaction between Malik and his grandmother forges a bridge to a new perspective that he is unable to shake once it arrives. 

“I think it makes the most sense,” Epps said. “It’s beautiful because it’s so subtle.” He describes the moment as one that lingers even when dismissed. “He sort of ignores it… but now he can’t unsee it.”

That inability to unsee becomes the film’s tension. Malik begins to recognize that masculinity built solely on dominance doesn’t just end in death or prison. It hollows you out first.

Berry speaks to that reality plainly. “I’ve done 18 years in prison,” he said. “When you get behind those bars, you realize… I’m really here by myself.” The brotherhood that once promised protection disappears. What’s left is reflection.

“You have to do some introspection,” he said. “I’m praying that these young guys will recognize the signs and symbols and say, ‘I see me on that screen.’”

The choice, he says, is stark. “I can either be on one side of the graveyard or the other.”

Moses the Black doesn’t promise salvation. It offers something more honest: the possibility that consequence doesn’t have to be final. “Redemption is possible,” Epps said. “If you get to live long enough to experience that.”