For a long time now the cultural reputation of the Black Panther Party has been in need of a reorientation. Since it’s inception it has been labeled as an extremist organization, publicly vilified, and even decades after its’ dissolution has still been considered a controversial political movement for its vocal stances against the police, the military, and capitalism, as well as its’ bold rhetoric and commitment to the American Right to Bear Arms. Early into its’ existence, French New Wave filmmaker Agnes Varda made a great short film documenting the origins, character, and true purpose of the party from the protests in Oakland over the arrest of party founder Huey P. Newton in 1967. Around that same time in Chicago an Illinois chapter was forming and a charismatic young activist was beginning to make a name for himself there.
Judas and the Black Messiah is the story of Fred Hampton, or rather the tragedy of Fred Hampton; and it might be the best cinematic representation of the Black Panthers since that Varda film in 1968. Here they are seen without the pretense of a social threat, as passionate activists working to lift up minorities and lower class citizens in their community. Violence, though an option for them, is not the code they abide by, and Hampton is a leader for the ages.
There are two things commonly known about Fred Hampton: that he was the BPP chairman in Chicago with great oratorical skills, and that he was assassinated through a conspiracy by the FBI. The focus of this film, the second from director Shaka King (produced by Ryan Coogler) is on Hampton’s personal life, his beliefs, and his impact in Chicago; but also on William O’Neal, the informant enlisted by the FBI to infiltrate the Black Panthers and who played a critical role in Hamptons’ ultimate murder. Daniel Kaluuya plays Hampton and LaKeith Stanfield is O’Neal (in an extension of this Get Out reunion, Lil Rel Howery has a minor role as another informant).
Kaluuya was pitched the role while filming (fittingly enough) Black Panther with Coogler, and he gives himself over completely to it. In perfect sync with the implication of the title, Kaluuya’s Hampton is both man and myth, an extremely grandiose inspirational figure, and simply a guy with convictions and a dream for an equitable future. He embodies such an extremely powerful presence in any situation Hampton is in, a power that is adapted to his vigorous speeches, each and every one of which are standout moments for the film. It may well be Kaluuya’s best performance yet.
Stanfield on the other hand is very non-confident, wary, and uncertain for much of the film, a lot of it filtered through his perspective. He and King do their best to make O’Neal sympathetic and never once imply he’s the villain of the piece. That said, they’re careful not to make him solely a tool of the FBI, as he’s seen enjoying the perks granted to him as a rat. O’Neal himself once said he never believed in the Black Panther cause, yet this film depicts him as a man in conflict, unable to deny the good of the organization, but always looking out for himself first and foremost. He legitimately goes out of his way to rebuild the BPP HQ after police destroyed it, but in the firefight leading up to its’ destruction, he abandoned his comrades when he promised to provide cover. Throughout the film Stanfield is fine, if a little reticent to the deeper complexities of the character. Often he is merely tasked with being our avatar, our eyes into both the world of the Black Panthers and the horrifying tactics of the FBI, whose grip on him only grows stronger the longer he keeps up the ruse.
That is the side of the film that is perhaps the most interesting, how incontrovertibly corrupt and criminal and deeply racist it allows the FBI to be. To some degree it consolidates that in one person, director J. Edgar Hoover (here played by Martin Sheen), who was Hamptons’ most vocal detractor. But then there’s Jesse Plemons’ Agent Mitchell (who it’s implied is himself in a minor moral crisis over the FBI’s actions), O’Neal’s handler, frequently making veiled threats and using coded language to assert his power in that relationship -and of course his partners’ poor attempt at black slang in forging a pamphlet designed to sow disinformation in the community. The bureau is revealed to be entrenched in its bigotry, willing to go to any lengths to justify it. There’s a great scene where O’Neal fails to egg Hampton into approving a terrorist tactic while wired, and another where he learns a sadistic torturous killing described by a Party member was actually committed on the FBI’s orders. These (and other activities by COINTELPRO that don’t make it into the movie) starkly paint a picture of just how much Hamptons’ government wanted him dead for no other reason than the power of his voice.
And Hampton was only twenty-one at the time, closer in age to Ashton Sanders and Algee Smith, who play two of his top lieutenants, than to Kaluuya. These two have their own minor but interesting story threads, in addition to everything else going on, as does Hamptons’ girlfriend Deborah (Dominique Fishback), which really go a long way to making the organization feel more human. King’s direction unmistakably frames them in the subjective, hones in on their community, their outreach (in the formation of the Rainbow Coalition), and violence in a strictly reactionary sense only. The violence threatened or perpetuated against them is much more immediate and intense. It never feels apocryphal either. The dialogue of the cops on that fateful night is echoed in the language of cops documented just last summer -and the actions are extremely comparable. Fred Hampton appeared as a minor character in Aaron Sorkins’ The Trial of the Chicago 7, which is set around the same time. Like that film, Judas and the Black Messiah has a searing resonance to todays’ extreme political landscape, that movement for black liberation one that has been rejuvenated. Unlike Sorkin though, King actually has something to say and some genuine convictions that go beyond idealism. He recognizes the need for Hamptons’ revolution.
The Biblical allusion of the title is really powerful. Not only in how it mythologizes Hampton by aligning him with a religious figure, but in the way it immediately grips you with the reference to classical betrayal. And it’s true the film reminded me a lot at times of Jesus Christ Superstar, which similarly devotes as much time to its sympathetic Judas as its’ glorified Messiah. That’s not bad company to be in though, and I think King and Coogler and their team pulled it off. This movie is going to stick with people, if for no other reason than Kaluuya’s magnificent performance, or its’ audacious framing of the FBI, or Stanfields’ pervasive guilt, or just the importance of its’ message. White culture widely condemned the legacy of Hampton and the Black Panthers -they weren’t so much killed as crucified. But now it seems, with the aid of their descendants (literally including Hamptons’ son -a consultant on the film), they have been in effect and nobly too, resurrected from the dead.
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