Sundance 2021: Judas and the Black Messiah
If the issues and struggles seen in Shaka King's fiery re-animation of the final weeks of Black Panther chairman Fred Hampton's life seem relevant to the state of the world today, when even a pandemic can't stop the killings of Black men and women, it is only because, for all the unbelievably hard-fought progress and for all the tangible victories made, there is one persistent thread in American history: the state's brutalization of Black people.
Fred Hampton, much like the eloquent James Baldwin, and unlike the dual figures that stand at the center of the popular vision of the Civil Rights movement, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, is a lesser studied and lesser known figure. He is, again like Baldwin, a no-less important leader than either of those men. Writer-director King, along with co-writer Will Berson, animate the final days in the life of Hampton, chairman of the Black Panther Party. Hampton, played here with intense conviction by Daniel Kaluuya, advocates for self-defense, socialized medicine, tuition-free college, union with the struggles of a rainbow coalition of oppressed working class folk, and adequate school lunches for young Black children. He is a brilliant orator with the cadence and rhythm of a revolutionary. He is also brutally assassinated in a police raid, after being drugged by an FBI informant, orchestrated by FBI director J. Edgar Hoover. The informant, Bill O'Neal (played in a beautifully conflicted and steely performance by LaKeith Stanfield), years later, regrets his actions. On the day a televised interview with O'Neal goes live on January 15, 1990, O'Neal commits suicide by driving into oncoming traffic.
This is a beautifully heartfelt tribute to a true leader who believed in radical change we are still chasing over a half-century later. Many of the issues he speaks of, especially affordable access to healthcare for all Americans, seem so desperately and immediately important now, as a pandemic has killed over 440,000 people in the U.S. alone. His vision of collectively-mobilized change inspired a rainbow coalition that reached across lines to the Latin activists and the Blackstone Rangers gang to organize to protect communities against police violence, and reached White working class folks mobilizing against economic exploitation. The power and universality of his message leads the FBI to jail him on a charge of theft for several years. When he is released, he goes right back to his pulpit and gives rousing speech after rousing speech. Shaka King and Will Berson expertly weave through this final chapter in Hampton's life, using the relative obscurity of Hampton's story to create tension. The film has a forward momentum that is intoxicating to succumb to. It feels as fluid as Hampton's melodious and distinct cadence of speech. Simultaneously, their examination of the moral struggle of O'Neal, who grows to believe in the change that Hampton preaches, is smartly choreographed. You have likely seen stories similar to this one. Even King likens it to Martin Scorsese's taught crime drama The Departed. But, where so many informant films like this one flip back and forth between the character's cover and process of informing, giving us time to see the seeds of doubt grow through dialogue, King affords his characters no such luxury. Stanfield illustrates the entirety of O'Neal's inner struggle on his face; in furrowed, sweaty brows, cold, thousand-yard stares, and laughter that lingers just a hair too long. It always remains grounded in a compassionate humanism that examines O'Neal's actions, ironically, not just as a Judas, but as a man trying to survive in brutally inhospitable times.
Where I think Shaka King falters is in the images. So much of this film is a film of faces; of indignant anger, of determined passion, of tender hope, and he frames them well. But it is a film lit by even, cold daylight. There are flashes of something more dynamic and exciting: Hampton's triumphant return from prison follows him up a dimly lit stairway as blades of light illuminate his focused face. But, so much of this film is focused on the eloquence of the words of this revolutionary figure that it often forgets to show that eloquence through its images. I wish it were as dynamic and engaging a picture to look at as it is to listen to. A shootout midway through the picture is shot about the same as so many shootouts in so many modern films, with a shaky camera, long sightlines, and quick cuts, despite the profound narrative reckoning, a crucial crisis of conscience, that occurs in this pivotal scene. Very little of that doubt, that hurried and anxious choice, that strained dedication, is demonstrated through the editing, composition, or blocking itself.
Still, this is a worthwhile watch. Judas and the Black Messiah is a potent reminder that change is hard fought and even harder won. It is an ongoing struggle that should seek to bring true change to as many people as possible, even if it takes decades, even half-a-century, to make it to a place of actionable, political power. But, most of all, it is a compassionate and immediate look into the life of an eloquent revolutionary and soldier for a better tomorrow. Watch this as soon as possible.
