Concepts such as corporate leadership and ethics lead to countless debates in the undergraduate strategy workshops I facilitate.
I have seen students’ blood pressure rise trying to justify unethical practices as a norm, while some argue for governance policies and basic morality to lead the way.
Sure, moral integrity is subjective — and the film world has a way of capturing such societal conundrums with brevity and beauty.
The expanded cast and added opulence give the recent Netflix addition, season two of Savage Beauty, an appropriate upgrade from its highly successful first season.
What got me excited, however, was not the continuation of the plot involving vengeance, scandal and murder. It was the added layers of corporate espionage, hostile takeovers and business ethics that put the fuel in my tank, prompting me to finish all six episodes in one sitting.
The series rests on the central theme of ethics, both personal and business. A thriving family empire, Bhengu Beauty, is built on the screams and sweat of the children who are used as guinea pigs for illegal skin-bleaching experiments.
While Zinhle’s (Rosemary Zimu) relentless vendetta persists, newfound enemies seek to settle old scores and seize control of the company through a stealthy takeover.
But, instead of showing a united front, each Bhengu family member pursues power and dominance for themselves, savagely tearing each other apart.
The series takes viewers from boardrooms to bedrooms, painting the gloomy picture behind the fracturing once-mighty dynasty.
Don Bhengu (Dumisani Mbebe) is convinced he is losing control over his wife Grace (Nthati Moshesh) and their unpredictable children Phila and Linda (Jesse Suntele and Nambitha Ben-Mazwi). Along with Thando Bhengu (Angela Sithole) —Don’s second ex-wife — they are the story’s core characters.
Accompanied by Mandisi Dyatyis’s song Bonani! Bonani!, the funeral proceedings in the first episode are used to introduce us to the new cast members: Tony Kgoroge, Abena Ayivor and Lebogang Fisher offer a brilliant fusion of veteran actors and rising stars.
The addition of Minister Mukhuli (Desmond Dube) is, however, insignificant to the overall plot. It is a wasted opportunity to showcase this thespian’s talents on screen.
Ben-Mazwi’s acting is nothing to write home about. Her performance, along with her often annoyingly frantic or dazed expressions, is lengths away from the rest of the stellar cast. In addition, her attempts at showing affection towards her girlfriend Thando feel awkward and unbelievable.
I was pleasantly surprised, though, by the growth of Phila’s character. His maturity in dealing with the family dramas and business practices take him far beyond his playboy days. The “it’s just flowers” scene with the funeral planner shows sparks of brilliance.
The two characters deserving of every petal, however, are Don and Grace. Veterans Mbebe and Moshesh expertly pollinate every scene with thrills and conviction.
Grace is fierce and indomitable, always with a trick tucked up her wily sleeve. With the potential to give many corporate governance auditors a headache, her swaying of the board of directors is a marvel to witness.
Due to the patriarchal setting, the women business leaders in the series are often taken less seriously than the men. Grace represents a black woman’s drive to get past this and sit at the table.
Male egos in tailored suits, such as Don, are, however, unsettled by such ambition and confidence. Don is as cunning as Grace — if not more.
He is the epitome of “phunyuka bamphethe” — a slippery character always doing U-turns at death’s gate.
He survives hauntings and multiple assassination attempts to walk out of the fire undeterred. But is this not perhaps a terrified and lonely man whose last hopes are pinned on a legacy to justify his purpose?
Viewers are given a Herculean task deciding who is the saint between Don and Grace.
Or perhaps they are both cut from the same immoral cloth, a powerless couple seeking external validation through positions of power?
As corporate beasts, D&G’s unethical practices extend beyond cold-drink bribes to traffic officers. They are devious and stony-hearted.
Once partners in love and crime, now arch enemies, they scheme to burn any threats to their ambition to ashes, including each other.
The scenes of a husband force-feeding alcohol to his restrained and distressed wife are spine-chilling. Yes, the abuse is brutal.
These were the moments when I paused for a proverbial smoke break and poured more wine. Sure, to some viewers it might be a minor issue, due to being desensitised to domestic abuse since the days of Patrick Shai in Soul City.
How one receives such triggering content is a matter of perspective and experience.
Growing up, a mother’s screams, muffled hand slaps and insults were our version of township telenovelas.
By the time we saw such content on our TV screens, it was hard to distinguish between reality and fiction.
Beyond the educational programming by the public broadcaster, Savage Beauty holds a mirror to how domestic abuse also exists in “black excellence” utopian mansions.
Granted, destructive marriages, family feuds and love triangles within triangles are reflective of our society. But are such storylines not re-traumatising and somewhat exhausting? My Brother’s Keeper; Isitha: The Enemy and Sibongile & the Dlaminis are among other local dramas with such plots, for instance.
Is this entertainment meant to make us feel a bit better about our own problems?
However, it is House of Zwide and American drama Empire that come close to Savage Beauty thematically.
With its cinematic brilliance and high-class locations, the overall story is a captivating ride though vengeance, grief and feuds. It asks audiences how far one can go to bring justice and repentance, to break the toxic cycle of greed and immorality.
This Quizzical Pictures-produced series certainly offers devilishly delicious entertainment.
