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Personal Problems poster

Personal Problems

1980 · Bill Gunn

For when you're tired of plot and want presence — a slow, humane hang of a film that rewards patience and leaves a lasting ache. Challenging in form, tender in spirit.

What it's about

Johnnie Mae is a Harlem nurse holding several lives at once: a strained marriage, an ailing father-in-law at home, and a musician lover across town. Billed as an 'experimental soap opera,' it simply follows her days — hospital shifts, kitchen arguments, gatherings that swell into song and grief — and lets ordinary Black life in New York fill the frame at full length.

The experience

Scenes run long past the point a normal drama would cut, and that's where the film lives — you stop watching a story and start eavesdropping on real people. Loose, intimate, sometimes funny, and then suddenly, deeply piercing.

Performances

Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor is extraordinary as Johnnie Mae — a lived-in, unperformed performance that feels less acted than witnessed.

The craft

Bill Gunn, working with novelist Ishmael Reed, shot it on smeary early video for public television — and the poverty of the format turned into its poetry: light blooming off dark skin, conversations caught rather than staged. It's filmmaking that trusts duration and faces over plot mechanics.

Why it matters

Essentially unseen for decades and made by a director whose earlier work had been taken from him, its restoration revealed a missing landmark of American independent film and of Black filmmaking outside the studio system.

Reception & legacy: how Personal Problems was received, argued over, and remembered →

Bill Gunn, whose Ganja & Hess had been taken from him and recut by its distributors, found freedom at the margins of the industry: an 'experimental soap opera,' written with the novelist Ishmael Reed, shot on smeary early video for a public-television project that television never aired. Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor plays Johnnie Mae, a Harlem nurse suspended among a husband, an ailing father-in-law, and a musician lover, and Gunn simply lets her live — scenes run long past their dramatic point into the truer territory beyond it, kitchen arguments and hospital shifts and a wake that becomes one of the most piercing passages in American independent film. The video texture, once a mark of poverty, now feels like intimacy itself: light blooming off dark skin, conversations caught rather than staged. Essentially unseen for decades, it was restored in 2018 and recognized at once as a missing landmark of Black American filmmaking — proof of the cinema Gunn might have built had anyone let him. Reed called it counter-programming to every image television offered of Black life.

Lines of influence