Judas and the Black Messiah review

Daniel Kaluuya speaking at the 2017 San Diego Comic Con International. Kaluuya plays Fred Hampton in Shaka King's Judas and the Black Messiah (2021). CREDIT: GAGE SKIDMORE VIA CC BY S-A 2.0.

A vibrant and mournful account of American racial strife in the Swinging ʻ60s

PRABHJOT BAINS

The year is 1968. Martin Luther King, Jr. has been assassinated, further fracturing the civil rights movement and leaving multiple coalitions looking for different ways to continue the fight for Black agency.

Within this environment, the Black Panther Party gains prominence throughout the continental United States by arming itself with a volatile manifesto that preaches revolutionary socialism, armament, and Black nationalism that looks to demolish the core principles of American identity. And at just 21, Fred Hampton becomes the chairman of its nascent Illinois chapter, further attacking the American government’s judicial bodies and its supposed subjugation of “Black Power” with fiery anti-establishment speeches of “kill a pig, get a little satisfaction, kill more pigs, get more satisfaction.”

It is this pulsating and transient period that director Shaka King sets the vibrant, mournful, and confidently made Judas and the Black Messiah (2021).

William O’Neal (LaKeith Stanfield) is a lowly Chicago grifter who frequently impersonates an FBI officer. However, once he finds himself staring down a lengthy prison sentence, he becomes the titular “Judas” by accepting a plea deal to infiltrate the Illinois Black Panther Party and to gather intelligence on Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya) to root out his influence and attack on fundamental American principles.

What follows is a complex and unsettling tale that offers no easy answers to how America can continue to be a great nation whilst many of its citizens feel like a separate second-class.

However, what makes Shaka King’s direction and writing so powerful is that he treats his characters like humans, who are fundamentally flawed in their intentions and direct actions.

The FBI has O’Neal become an informant, and in turn he gets his freedom while also being paid for the job. Hampton calls for a violent revolt while detailing the provision of a breakfast program for underprivileged Black youth in the same breath. It is this dichotomy and nuance that adds emotional weight to each scene and makes them that much more visceral and entrancing. It’s a story that can easily fall victim to bias but realizes the issues at hand deserve more introspection, and it forces the audience to decide whether these characters are making the right choices.

King cleverly positions the story in such a way that makes us simultaneously view both O’Neal and Hampton with shock and empathy as we want both characters to come out unscathed in the end. However, these hopes are quickly dashed as King continuously reminds us that progress is messy and will continue to leave a trail of heartbreak and bloodshed until it reaches its eventual endpoint. This sentiment is impactfully brought to light through King’s measured direction as he unabashedly captures the muddled poetry inherent in rebellion.

The film’s greatest achievement is that it provides a grand showcase for one of the best performances of the year.

Kaluuya disappears into the ferocious and awe-inspiring speeches of Hampton, commanding our attention in such a way that we feel transported to the halls where his poetic and thunderous calls to action were proclaimed. Just through this singular performance, as time and sense of place become so palpable, we can’t help but breathe in the air of passion that surrounds every scene Kaluuya inhabits.

While this sounds like he might overshadow other performances, Stanfield more than holds his own, creating a figure who is both selfish and conflicted as he slowly becomes attached to Hampton’s persona and vision for revolutionary change. Jesse Plemons is also superb as an FBI agent who views the Black Panther Party as an organization that is just as harmful to America’s sovereignty as the Ku Klux Klan.

While Judas provides visceral and potent entertainment, it isn’t perfect. Martin Sheen’s turn as the infamous FBI Director, J. Edgar Hoover, comes across as too one-note and at times laughably outrageous. Since he is the main face of the FBI in the film, it makes them come across as a unilaterally evil organization, and not one that is also flawed and well-intentioned, which hinders the multi-faceted ambitions of the film. The screenplay and direction are more to blame for this issue than Sheen, as Judas would have retained its volatile punch with the omission of Hoover.

But these issues are kept minimal by Sean Bobbitt’s masterful and restrained cinematography, as it breathes life into every frame. Fully realizing the setting of the “Windy City” in the late sixties and the cutthroat nature of it during that period, Bobbitt’s remarkable ability to create a sense of texture within every shot enhances Kaluuya’s dynamic performance and King’s confident direction.

Judas and the Black Messiah poses questions and supposed answers, but overall makes the audience fill in the blanks. The level of depth and complexity allows this film to leave a lasting impact that will surely make a dent in awards season. It’s a viewing experience that’s not afraid to offend and unsettle, much like Fred Hampton as he proclaimed, “You can kill the revolutionary, but you can’t kill the revolution.”