Judas and the Black Messiah

Director: Shaka King
Starring: Lakeith Stanfield, Daniel Kaluuya, Jesse Plemons, Dominique Fishback, Ashton Sanders, Algee Smith, Darrell Britt-Gibson, Lil Rel Howery, Dominique Thorne, Martin Sheen, Amari Cheatom
Running Time: 126 min.
Rating: R 

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

During Shaka King's otherwise tremendous Judas and the Black Messiah, I couldn't help but roll my eyes in its opening minutes when Martin Sheen becomes the latest victim of the J. Edgar Hoover curse, stipulating that any actor portraying the former FBI director on film over the past thirty years must wear embarrassing prosthetics that severely alter their appearance for no particular reason. This despite the fact that the real man was relatively nondescript looking and few seem to really know or care anyway. He has to be the most unsuccessfully essayed figure in modern biographical movies in that the more we see of him, the less we learn or care. 

Fake nose and all, it's to Sheen's credit he survives this brief scene and is actually quite good in a more impactful one later. So while my petition demanding J. Edgar no longer appear in any 60's set period projects is pending, his presence is only a minor distraction here, serving once again as a gateway to far more intriguing figures. One of them, the "Messiah" of the film's title, is the chairman of the Chicago chapter of the Black Panthers, Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), whom Hoover spends his limited screen time galvanizing the bureau to take down. 

While Hampton was memorably depicted in another of the year's Best Picture nominees, The Trial of the Chicago 7, this provides a much deeper dive into what he stood for and exactly how his life was tragically cut short. And yet still the film isn't entirely"about" him, but rather the collision course he's unknowlingly on with petty criminal turned FBI informant William O' Neal (Lakeith Stanfield), whose infamous interview from PBS' 1989 documentary, Eyes on the Prize II also serve as the story's bookends. He'd end up taking his own life after it aired, and watching King's dramatization of events, it isn't hard to see how these events gutted him inside in the decades since. 

It's the late '60's when 17-year-old Bill O'Neal is arrested in Chicago after attempting to steal a vehicle while posing as a federal officer. At the station he's approached with a deal from FBI Special Agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons), who offers to drop all charges if he agrees to go undercover and infiltrate the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party led by Fred Hampton. Quickly snuffing out that O' Neal appears to show little interest in politics or social justice, Mitchell's convinced he's found his informant, and one capable of divorcing himself from the emotions that would potentially compromise such a sting. 

With Hampton's influence growing as he forms alliances with gangs and various militia groups, the Panthers also establish community outreach programs for education and child care. But viewed by the FBI on the heels of Martin Luther King's assassination as a groundswell civil rights movement as violent and dangerous as the Klu Klux Klan, Hampton becomes the bureau and Mitchell's main target. Believably slipping into the role of a full-fledged Panther, O'Neal slowly gains Hampton's trust, collecting intel for Mitchell that could lead to far worse ramifications for the revolutionary than he ever anticipated. But that's assuming Hampton doesn't discover his identity first.

The events leading up to Hampton's death and circumstances surrounding his life have never been this thoroughly covered in cinematic form so it's easy to understand the temptation to label it as the first Hampton biopic. But even in covering such essential ground, it's more about O'Neal's betrayal, which link the two men in history and will undoubtedly draw comparisons to certain elements of Spike Lee's BlacKkKlansman in terms of plot. But there's really no relation considering the stark differences between the two groups and the sense of tension and immediacy surrounding O'Neal's even deeper infiltration and how seamlessly embedded into the Black Panthers' culture he became. When he's in, he's all the way in, and despite his believability, there's hardly a moment where you're not thinking he'll be found out, regardless of anyone's familiarity with what actually occurred. 

Stanfield's giving a tricky dual performance, simultaneously playing this cornered criminal who's at least partially manipulated into doing the FBI's dirty work. Once inside, he has to be someone else entirely, legitimately fighting for a cause greater than himself and the actor subtly implies enough doubt that O'Neal's performance within a performance is starting to become the real thing as his allegiance develops. A self-professed blank slate going in, it was always going to be a tall order for him to not pick a side or have his moral compass broken with this much on the line. 

While the methods Agent Mitchell uses to convince O'Neal that he's protecting the sanctity of the country seem to justify Hampton's entire cause, Plemons performance grows colder and less sympathetic along the way, which is a good choice. Mitchell isn't O'Neil's friend and never will be, no matter how many times he invites him to his house or a posh restaurant. Mitchell's using O'Neal while the small-time crook sees dollar signs in his arrangement with Mitchell and a shot at a new start. Instead, he's in constant fear of being uncovered and killed, as his manufactured loyalty to the Panthers has him doubting how he somehow ended up on the wrong team. 

Kaluuya gives off more than enough electricity as Hampton to let us see how he's able to wrangle such a devoted group of followers and why the Panthers attracted so much attention from law enforcement. Just as strong is a quietly captivating Dominique Fishback as Hampton's girlfriend, Deborah Johnson (for whom the actress is an uncanny lookalike), with their relationship providing many of the film's most poignant scenes, albeit ones tinged with a sense of impending doom that comes to fruition with his eventual death. It's also an event O'Neal has a far greater hand in than expected for those unfamilar with the exact history. To call him an active participant wouldn't be far off base, nor would labeling him a full-blown accessory to murder.

We do get an epilogue that seems to go on longer than usual under these circumstances, with title cards and actual footage, making you wonder if this ending is starting to become a prerequisite for any material based on a true story. Aside from the PBS clips of O'Neal, it may have been more powerful for King to just end it and let the enormity of what we've watched sink in. It's not a big debit, but sometimes the story has to stand for itself, and if you've succeeded, viewers won't be able to run fast enough to any available resource to explore the background.

More than anything else, Judas and the Black Messiah becomes about balancing the perspectives and movitations of its two main characters. Faced with what must have seemed like an agonizing choice, O'Neal made the wrong one, and many suffered from it. He also had Mitchell superficially propping him up and drawing false equivalencies to get what he wanted out of him. Whether O' Neal "sold out" or was taken advantage of, the end result's unchanged. And eventually upon realizing he couldn't live with himself, he administered the harshest form of self-justice. Ultimately, hate still lives to see another day and a more than a few decades, while senselessly adding these two casualties in the process.    

Uncut Gems

Directors: Josh Safdie and Benny Safdie
Starring: Adam Sandler, Lakeith Stanfield, Julia Fox, Kevin Garnett, Idina Menzel, Eric Bogosian, Judd Hirsch, Keith Williams Richards, Jonathan Aranbayev, Noa Fisher, Abel Tesfaye, Mike Francesa
Running Time: 135 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

In the Safdie brothers' crime thriller Uncut Gems, a new bar is set for unlikable, self-destructive protagonists, as Adam Sandler's jeweler and gambling addict Howard Ratner proves incapable of encountering any situation he can't make worse by lying, cheating, screaming, swearing or scamming. Whether it's his own family, celebrities or employees, they're all forced to just look on with annoyed exasperation at his antics, which demonstrate the lowest levels of self-control and human decency. It's nearly impossible to turn away from the wildly entertaining train wreck that is Howard's life, with its awfulness and unpredictability escalating with each passing scene, culminating an almost unbearably tense finale.

Heralded as the return of Sandler to what's increasingly become one of his rare "serious" roles, this dramatic departure really can't be listed alongside other his other excursions like Punch-Drunk Love and Reign Over Me, even as it surely will. The draw in those was seeing the actor dialed way down, while this feels more in line with his recognizable lunacy. But the huge exception this time is the unusually high quality of the Safdies' darkly comic material, which channels those qualities into dramatic strengths rather than exploiting them for cheap gags or toilet humor.

Reconciling the two Sandlers has always been a tricky proposition, both for fans, and possibly for him, as the disappointing box office receipts for his more challenging efforts have frequently found him crawling back to the familiar safety of mainstream low-brow comedies. You could say it's for the money, or maybe even the emotional exhaustion of putting himself out there only to find audiences just want the hits. That's why this feels like the ultimate compromise that should please both camps while successfully litigating the many facets of Sandler's onscreen persona. And yet, the picture remains extremely polarizing, so far out there in its delivery that it's as much an ordeal as an experience.

After a brief flashback to 2010 where a group of Ethiopian miners retrive a rare black opal stone in an African mine, we jump forward two years later to the KMH jewelry store in New York City's Diamond District, as owner Howard is struggling to pay off his gambling debts. Still owing $100,000 to loan shark brother-in-law Arno (Eric Bogosian), his relationship with estranged wife Dinah (Idina Menzel) has crumbled in the midst of his ongoing affair with jewelry store employee, Julia (Julia Fox). But when Howard's associate Demany (Lakeith Stanfield) brings Boston Celtics superstar Kevin Garnett (playing himself) into the store to shop, that rare African black opal arrives.

As Howard makes plans to put the special stone up for auction, Garnett becomes almost hypnotically captivated by the gem, insisting to hold on to it for good luck in his game before giving a reluctant Howard his 2008 Championship ring as collateral. But after pawning it to place a six-way parlay bet on Garnett's game performance, Howard's troubles really start, as Arno and his hired bodyguards are coming to collect. Discovering it may be more complicated than he thought to get the opal back from Garnett, Howard makes plans to place another huge bet that would turn his fortunes around. But with the clock rapidly ticking on his chaotic personal and professional life, it won't be easy.

While it isn't completely inaccurate to label to label this a dramatic crime thriller, there are plenty of laughs stemming from Howard's inability to read people and situations, almost obnoxiously bulldozing forward toward what he always believes will be certain success. He basically digs this huge hole for himself, inexplicably keeps digging in hopes of a turnaround, and ends up in a far worse position than he started in. The pattern repeats more than a few times, which is unsurprising given his gambling addiction, but Sandler keeps finding new ways to make it compulsively watchable with an unhinged performance that grips you right from the start and doesn't let go until the credits roll.

The jewelry store itself, with all its cramped chaos and malfunctioning security doors, feels like a powder keg primed to explode from all the nervous tension within, providing the perfect visual and atmospheric metaphor for the wheeling, dealing life of its owner. But fast-talking "Howie," with his schmoozing and empty promises, meets his match in Garnett, who's used to getting what he wants when he wants it. That's par the course for his celebrity clients, but the exception here being the value of this rare stone and Howard's obsession with leveraging it into a huge gambling opportunity destined to end badly just based on the number of people he's screwing over.

Seemingly everyone but Howard can sense his toxicity and uncontrollable temper, which sabotages every potential transaction, business or otherwise. You haven't seen anything until witnessing Howard attack a pre-fame The Weeknd in a club bathroom, trying to bribe his bookie, Gary (Mike Francesa) with a watch or manipulating his father (Judd Hirsch) to bid for him at an auction. If it's easy to believe that just the chance to appear alongside Garnett, The Weeknd and Francesa in a sports-related project was one of Sandler's main motivations for taking the part, we can at least take solace in the fact this is one of the more successful examples of outside celebrities being seamlessly incorporated into a film.

And in the case of Garnett, it's even better than that, with him adding a legitimacy that couldn't have come if they used a fictitious player or had another actor step in.  It just makes the proceedings feel real, especially when he goes toe-to-toe with Sandler in a handful of intense scenes. But the tragedy in Howard's story comes not from his interactions with sports figures and business associates like Lakeith Stanfield's wildly mercurial Demany, but his mistreatment of his estranged wife and kids and a stone-faced brother-in-law who's been burned by his relative so many times he's essentially had to resort to hiring hitmen to scare him into paying.

But what emotionally lands the hardest is his relationship with Julia, since it's the only aspect of his life where he doesn't appear to playing some kind of short con game. Julia Fox really gives a break-out performance as the feisty girlfriend who stands by him unconditionally, at points making us wonder if there really is more to this guy than weasely bluster, since their quieter moments is when he acts and appears most human, approaching something that almost nearly resembles likability. Of course, he manages to somehow mess that up too, leading to a scene where everything hits Howard at once, bloody and collapsing in ball of tears in his office chair being consoled by the only person left who cares. After all this guy's done, that Sandler can wring out empathy for this guy and have us rooting for his victory is a testament to how many gears he truly has as an actor, and a reminder how infrequently we've seen him display it.

That Sandler has the Safdies as directors sure helps, with them taking an unusually frenetic approach to this kind of material, with oddly effective choices that elevate both Sandler and the script. Between the breakneck editing pace and Daniel Lopatin's ambient, electronic score that seems to jarringly contrast with the picture's unnerving tone, there's really nothing quite like it. And it's capped with a literal and figurative buzzer beater of a finale that has Howard doubling down on his very worst tendencies, so optimistically smitten by his own hype that he can't see the many horrible ways his big bet can go wrong, this time with a participatory audience gathered for his self-destruction. That it bookends a film bizarre enough to open with the main character's colonoscopy should have been clue enough as to what we were getting into. But Sandler's unique take on this exhausting conman proves why each new dramatic role he tackles remains so highly anticipated. This is one of his best, even if it might be too stressful to watch again.  

Knives Out

Director: Rian Johnson
Starring: Daniel Craig, Chris Evans, Ana de Armas, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Shannon, Don Johnson, Toni Collette, Lakeith Stanfield, Katherine Langford, Jaeden Martell, Christopher Plummer, Frank Oz, K Callan, Noah Segan, M. Emmet Walsh
Running Time: 130 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

**Warning: The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers**

Rian Johnson's Knives Out distinguishes itself from just about any other recent mainstream film by filling a massive void. It actually feels necessary, resurrecting a sub-genre many have probably forgotten even existed. And in the process, he not only improves the formula, but reminds us just how thrilling a good old fashioned murder mystery can be, especially when executed with this much precision and ingenuity. It's easy to believe there are fewer big screen mysteries because the level of difficulty is so high, both in delivering a satisfying, unpredictable script and directing so many different actors sharing the same scenes. Johnson greatly excels at this, and while its closest cinematic relatives would seem to be something like Clue or Deathtrap, you'd have to be careful not to similarly categorize this as a "whodunnit?"

An inaccurate "whodunnit?" hook would immediately set audiences up for a big reveal or ending twist that may or may not work depending upon whether we feel the culprit is suitably surprising. The players in Johnson's game don't feel like chess pieces to merely be moved across the board until we're left with a killer, but multi-dimensional characters whose motivations and actions make them interesting and complex enough to carry a morality tale all of their own. It's also doubles as a scathing, satirical commentary about wealth and privilege, rightfully earning every comparison it's gotten to Best Picture winner, Parasite, with which it would make an intriguing double-feature.

By getting the"who" question out the way by its mid-point, Johnson takes the pressure off, freeing the script up to focus instead on the "how" and "why." And it's there when you become completely absorbed by the story, recognizing that unlike previous ensemble mysteries, we actually have someone worth rooting for. The story's focus never leaves her, from the first frame up until the last, granting audiences one of the strongest protagonists you could hope to find at the center of such insanity.

When wealthy crime novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead with his throat slit in the family's Massachusetts mansion on his 85th birthday, an anonymous tip sends famed private detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to the residence suspecting foul play. He's joined by Detective Elliott (Lakeith Stanfield) and Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan), local police who are more than ready to rule it a suicide as they begin questioning the eccentric Thrombeys, many of whom Blanc catches in lies and suspects would have strong motives to murder the ailing patriarch.

Leading up to his death, Harlan had seriously strained relationships with most of the family, mainly due to them freeloading off his fortune. He had just fired youngest son Walt (Michael Shannon) from his publishing company, threatened to expose that son-in-law Richard (Don Johnson) was cheating on daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis) and cut off daughter-in-law and hippie lifestyle guru Joni's (Toni Colette's) allowance, which helps pay for granddaughter Meg's (Katherine Langford) college tuition. On the night of his death, he also had a heated verbal confrontation with black sheep grandson, Ransom (Chris Evans). His only confidante was Harlan's nurse and caregiver, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas), who soon becomes Blanc's biggest ally in the investigation when he realizes she often hears and sees everything. But even she has a secret, along with an unfortunate propensity to vomit when lying. But as Blanc gets closer to the truth, the Thrombeys may instead end up tearing each other apart over the contents of Harlan's will.

Supposedly, one of Johnson's biggest inspirations writing this was the classic detective series, Columbo, and you can really see how that would be, as the blueprint does faintly echo the style of mysteries you'd expect to see on that show, one of tv's most underrated crime dramas. In it, a seemingly clueless, schlubby-looking title murder detective (incomparably played by Peter Falk) would brilliantly connect all these dots to eventually come to the conclusion of how exactly the perpetrator committed the crime. That person's identity can often be telegraphed early on, making the details the reveal the main event, heavily favoring character development over a traditional "whodunnit."

That series, and especially its classic Steve Spielberg-helmed episode, "Murder By The Book" couldn't have been far from Johnson's mind when deciding to tackle this. Unlike Columbo, Blanc at least seems superficially competent and smoother, if initially unremarkable, as he observes the local officers question each lying family member. We not only get a glimpse of the detective's low-key shrewdness in these moments, but also the clueless and somewhat hilarious selfishness of this dysfunctional family. It's early into the story when we realize Harlan was justifiably sick of all of them, most of whom just so happen to have convenient alibis of some sort. But while the Thrombeys claim they view his nurse Marta as a member of their family and would do anything to help her, the validity of that promise gets shakier the more information we glean about what they truly value.

The more we discover about Marta, the easier it is to see why Harlan holds her in such high regard. Johnson's device of having the character vomit upon lying is crazily brilliant, adding another layer of tension to each scene she shares with Detective Blanc and eventually Chris Evans' obnoxious character, who eventually reveals himself as both more and less than he appears. When Johnson pulls the rug out from under us far earlier than expected and the narrative shifts to Marta's survival, she tries against her better judgment to hide her horrible mistake and survive in a shark tank full of loony Thrombeys. Of course, Blanc is more than a few steps ahead in recognizing she's the key to him piecing together the remains of the puzzle. And this is exactly the kind of quirky, outside-of-the-box role we've been waiting for Daniel Craig to take in his 007 off time, reminding just how much timing and range he demonstrates in supporting character parts, especially something as quirky and dryly comedic as this. 

Ana de Armas is the real discovery here as Marta, managing to remain the film's honest, moral center even when being forced into dishonesty. A shy medical caretaker who just wants to do right, what makes de Armas' performance special is how that quality consistently peaks through in all her actions and mannerisms, no matter how frightened the character seems or how unpredictably insane things get around her. Marta keeps finding these hidden reserves of strength, even as all the other reveal their weaknesses, embarassingly trying to manipulate her. Spoiled, black sheep Ransom tops that list, with Chris Evans relishing in this guy's inadequecies and stealing nearly every scene he's in, uproariously clashing with every member of his family, each of whom hate him a little more than the next. The feeling is more than mutual, leading to his now infamous scene in which he individually singles all of them out with a choice expletive.

Just as you've never seen Craig or Evans like this, Toni Colette similarly surprises as the irresponsible Joni, a flighty Gwyneth Paltrow-like lifestyle guru who owns a GOOP-like company. Her and daughter Meg are clearly set up as the most liberal of the clan, but despite a heated political argument with Don Johnson's ultra-conservative Richard, both reveal themselves as close-minded to Marta's situation as he is. That's most disappointingly true of Meg, whom Katherine Langford plays as her closest confidante, only to quickly turn when Harlan's fortune enters the equation, almost reflexively sucked into the vortex of her self-serving family. It also says a lot that Michael Shannon isn't playing the craziest or most unstable character, but still delivers his fair share of insanity as Harlan's entitled son.

It would almost be too easy if the Thrombeys were all just one-dimensionally terrible people, but they're not, with a few even demonstrating varying degrees of likability. It's that they're priorities are so messed up that make them the story's antagonists and allow us to root for their comeuppance in the end. They're not merely "suspects" and their alleged involvement in the crime, if you could even consider it one, is almost beside the point. This could have been aspect some viewers had problems with, especially those expecting the entire film to revolve around a reveal. We do we get something similar, but better, as Blanc gives a detailed explanation that makes logical sense, while revealing truths about its characters that confirm our investment in them.

The third act helps further establish Marta as the only trustworthy person in Harlan's life, even if no one in the family understands this, as shown by their immediate accusation that she must have been sleeping with him to be left everything in his will. And of course they would think that, given every relationship they've likely had in their lives transactionally revolved around sex or money, rendering them oblivious to how two people could share a connection that doesn't depend on either. Harlan realizes she made a big mistake, but an innocent one that would carry far worse consequences for her illegal immigrant family than a physically incapacitated octogenarian whose relatives treat him like garbage. And the true brilliance in Johnson's screenplay comes to light when we discover it wasn't her mistake at all, and Blanc's unraveling of Ransom's plan comes as a direct result of both her skills as a nurse and genuinely good heart.

When the film's sensational final minutes expose Ransom as the sociopath he is, but the rest are barely any better, as Marta stares down on them from the balcony of her newly bequeathed estate. The Thrombeys are left scrambling in their former driveway, finding themselves for the first time on the outside looking in. Or, exactly where they belong. It's a twist as worthy of Rod Serling as Agatha Christie, and a reminder of the tightrope walk required to successfully pull off socio-political satire. Johnson lets the characters take the reigns, and the rest organically falls into place, as the best genre deconstructions do. The right person is left standing because she's deserving. It's a kick in the gut and a reward for viewers paying attention to all the details. Not so bad for a director still inexplicably being raked over the coals for a certain "controversial" Star Wars entry. But with a razor-sharp script and an eclectic, super-talented cast all being used to their maximum potential, it's impossible to deny this as a far better platform for his talents. Bring on the sequel.