One of the first narrative scenes in Shaka King’s exhilarating new sophomore feature is a simple sequence following car thief William O’Neal (Lakeith Stanfield; Get Out, Knives Out) as he executes a plan of petty theft: impersonating an FBI agent at a local 1960s Chicago bar in order to steal a gorgeous red car. Sean Bobbit’s crisp, mesmerizing cinematography weaves in and out of the establishment as O’Neil utilizes a badge rather than a conventional weapon for his robbery; he insists that a title of institutionalized power holds more credence than a knife or gun, a declaration that was true in the 1960s and continues to be today.
Narrowly evading his pursuers, O’Neil is reprimanded by the police and, subsequently, the FBI. In a dimly lit, grimy interrogation room, FBI agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemmons, Game Night) informs O’Neil of his hefty jail time on the horizon but offers a solution that could potentially exonerate him: to infiltrate the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party as an informant. Though this initially seems like a fairly minuscule and isolated task in the grand scope of history, O’Neil has no idea of the repercussions he is about to enable and even be victimized by himself: he is Judas to a monumental and forthcoming Black messiah.
Judas and the Black Messiah is electrifying cinema about betrayal, deceit, and oppression both interpersonally and systemically, all told with utmost authenticity and vitality. Just by its inaugural scenes, it subverts some audiences’ expectations by imbuing what seems to be a taut thriller with deep-rooted sociopolitical subtext and depicting historical events with unflinching honesty, elucidating true history that had been concealed for decades by those arbitrarily holding power at the top of the American hierarchy.
With a keen and sophisticated script at his disposal, King has meticulously crafted a film that scathingly indicts the systems of oppression in America that had nefariously silenced so many people so that those empowered could monopolize and preserve their status. The FBI deployed O’Neil to monitor Chicago Black Panther Party chairman Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya, Get Out) and eradicate his burgeoning power, which they deemed as a threat; with their white supremacy, they forced a member of the Black race to betray his own people. In actuality, Hampton thoroughly comprehended that power is supposed to be a communal tool that belongs to all, not just our governing bodies, and he simply allocated any he had to those margianalized and suffering from inequality. After all, this was the Black Panther Party’s mission: to enact equality and justice for all people.
What I adored most about this film is that it finds these quiet, serene, and peaceful moments in its intrigue, serving as a riveting template for its themes and demystifying every element of this period of radical cultural upheaval. “Anywhere there’s people, there’s power,” Hampton poignantly asserts when realizing that a community had assembled to rebuild the party’s base after an altercation with law enforcement. It would have been so facile for this film to depend on bombastic and unsubtle conventions in its strategies, but it, alternatively, feels achingly human in every frame, making its message easily feasible for all people.
The trio of lead performances are imperative to this. Stanfield, Kaluuya, and Dominique Fishback (Project Power), playing Hampton’s girlfriend and party member Deborah Johnson, are magnetic and captivating, finding the vulnerability and humanity in their characters. Scenes will be eternally embedded into my brain because of their exemplary work: O’Neill’s eyes gleaming with tears as he makes his final departure from Hampton, aware that the FBI is about to assassinate him; a stationary shot languidly sitting on Hampton and Johnson as he caresses her pregnant stomach in a joyous reunion following his release from prison; and Johnson quietly sobbing while reading poetry that postulates his eventual death, one that was born out of his altruism, a commitment of almost every fiber of his being to liberate those oppressed.
Judas and the Black Messiah recounts a previously opaque yet integral moment of history with thrilling transparency. The pacing can be uneven, particularly in a middle third that is inundated with exposition, but the film is nevertheless enthralling and a vital meditation of the people behind revolution on both sides.
Grade: A-
Judas and the Black Messiah is currently in theaters and is streaming on HBO Max through Mar. 14.
Photo Credit / Warner Brothers
