Sally Jane Black’s review published on Letterboxd:
The guy freaking out in the Hot Sauce in My Bag shirt toward the end is the real star here, right.
No, it's Solange dancing with such obvious joy with her sister, touching her heels to her hair.
No, it's that strut from Kelly and Michelle.
No, it's the stepping.
No, it's the stage production crew, turning that stair-pyramid into a dazzling light show that emphasizes rather than whites out.
No, it's the editors.
No, it's the HBCU students who shined on a stage in front of the entire world despite being plucked from a college experience.
No, it's the impossible continuity brought by the dancers and choreographers.
No, it's the way the band somehow dances with fucking heavy brass instruments.
No, it's the Black cultural moment captured here in spite of racist, capitalist oppression.
No, it's Blue Ivy.
No, it's really Beyonce.
It's everyone except Jay-Z.