Directed by: Shaka King

Written by: Will Berson & Shaka King

It’s in the mind that people die, well before their bodies. In America, the clock runs down double-time if you’re brought into this world with extra melanin. Slave Owners in America used Christianity as a way to justify their savagery and control mass populations of Africans through the fear of righteous retribution. When the slaves were freed they didn’t have to work hard to keep that pressure on the forehead of the Black American citizen so they’d know “free” didn’t mean “equal.” The systems in place, the media broadcast at all times, and the reinforcement laced throughout every aspect of our society are designed from its root to psychologically strip the Black American of stability, whether that be financially, intellectually, physically, or spiritually. Please, do not misinterpret. You, whoever you are, are in control. That control is not only hard to realize, but it might also cost you family, friends, and even your life to exercise. It is the duty of the disenfranchised to lift themselves up every day and improve themselves for their own benefit as well as that of others, is it not? Should we not all be reaching up and viciously attacking the thumbs that attempt to grind us into the smallest versions of ourselves?

 In Amerikkka, that sentiment is seen as an overwhelming threat to the status quo. The system requires that one does not believe in the organization, that they do not believe in the power of their voice, that they cower at the flashing lights in their rearview or the sirens that burst into their homes, waking them in the night. It beats resignation into the hearts and minds of the oppressed until they quietly assume a cog-like existence in a money-burning machine built on the crooked, worn down bones of their forefathers. All this, to set up the overwhelming amount of fear I can certainly understand Bill O’Neal must have felt in that first interview with the FBI. Regardless of my opinion of him as a person being about as low as is conceivable, I can understand how a lifetime of standing on a plank in hostile waters, trying not to fall in and drown, could twist a man into something else, something worse; a coward. 

Religion is no longer the arm that stretches into space, dangling cosmic consequences over the head of the Black American. No, that job has been divided by the federal government into multiple limbs that work in harmony like an orchestra of oppression. 

“Brother, listen to the ancestors; something bad is coming. Run!” - (Get Out, 2017)

Like a fish to bait, people end up caught in the trap, hoping they’ll eventually be seen as an equal when in truth, the sweet tune that lured them in was a lie and they’re just a slave in a suit.

Religion, specifically Christianity however, has gone nowhere in the black community and whenever there’s a chance to, we’ll prop up a person as the second coming, denying his humanity in service of creating a character capable of carrying the entire burden of freedom on their back. Is this a good thing? Does it make for a compelling film? 

Judas and the Black Messiah ​follows Daniel Kaluuya’s Fred Hampton as he travels across Chicago, attempting to unify the different gangs and organizations of the city under one banner to assist the people in liberating themselves from police oppression. All the while Lakeith Stanfield’s, William “Wild Bill” O’Neal, is informing the FBI of his movements, steadily escalating his level of cooperation the more of a “threat” the government believes Hampton to be. 

The screenplay by Shaka King and Will Berson is a bit of a mixed bag. On the one hand, Fred Hampton and on the whole, The Black Panther party, are not subjects I had much knowledge on before the film. Afterward, I’ve felt compelled to research them more than ever. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing something essential from almost every interaction on screen. The direction of the stories and characters in it are well done, but lacking in dimension. It feels like a symptom of shorthand storytelling, sacrificing the substance of each event to ensure its representation. This allows palpable suspense to build surrounding the death of minor characters given their context in the larger narrative but precludes deep emotional affect.

Each character's perspective is represented well, including that of Roy Mitchell, played by Jesse Plemons, who adds more dimension to what, in a lesser biopic, would have been a cartoon character along with all of his colleagues in the FBI, including Martin Sheens’ J. Edgar Hoover. The emphasis on building varying worldviews highlights how at every level of the game, someone is being played. 

Unfortunately, the film's issues make themselves clear the closer we get to its conclusion, suffering from too narrow a focus and too broad a story. The only characters that are really given a degree of depth or growth are Bill O’Neal and Dominique Fishback as Deborah Johnson. The character of Fred Hampton, while masterfully played and potentially perfectly representative of the man, is underdeveloped. The film is so focused on contextualizing the era that it forgets to bring emotional context to the man inspiring the movement. It doesn’t dig into the burdens of leadership or the psychological toll it takes in any depth that would humanize Hampton. It’s primarily occupied with the intrigue inherent to this story and its biblical parallel rather than exploring that idea or commenting on it. Each character has all of the pieces of a whole person but they’re rarely asked to express more than one at a time, unless, in the case of O’Neal or Johnson. For the most part, who we first meet is the same person that ends the film, resulting in most of the characters feeling like responses to the titular Black Messiah.

This must be said. The portrayal of Bill O’Neal is wrought with the trauma of any great traitorous performance. He’s self-centered, cowardly, and lacks the conviction to choose who he wants to be. I hated this man throughout the course of the entire film until a brilliant moment at the very end illuminated his perspective and I found myself with an entirely new take. Well played, King.

Bill O’Neal was a terrible person who betrayed the people closest to him for his own personal gain. He’s worthy of every treacherous name in the book, most of all, UNCLE TOM​     . He’s also​     a victim. What Stanfield was able to layer into his performance is the psychological oppression forced upon black people by the government and law enforcement agencies. The feeling that at any moment one’s life could be stolen from them, is ever-present in the film and as 2020 illuminated for many, has been since day one. Bill put himself in the compromised position that started the tumbling of the film's dominoes but that’s beside the larger point. His continual betrayal of himself is indicative of the brutal inner turmoil born from American Slavery and perpetuated by American policing. 

Visually, the film is well made, using the architecture and starkness of Chicago to give it an edge. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel but it spins like a top. Sadly, it’s not enough to distract from the bloated runtime or make the film stand out in a crowd. 

The lack of emotional exploration and the standard biopic structure sour what could have been an even more interesting deep dive into these complex characters' fascinating story. 

Please, watch this film. It may upset you, disgust you or motivate you. If you’re anything like me it might do all three.

I would recommend Judas and the Black Messiah.​ 

I am a Black American. I live the struggle every day. If you’re a minority in America, you’re living your own struggle too. More power to you.