I'm usually bored by awards-season biopics - the ones that are generally acceptable and safe bets for critics, that usually end up with the lead actor or actress accepting their reward for dressing up and imitating a famous figure. We saw this in films like Judy, Darkest Hour, and Bohemian Rhapsody. This isn't a new phenomenon, either. It's no secret that studios campaign for these films for best actor and actress categories because of this game of dress-up. But in the case of Judas and the Black Messiah, well, how many people do you think know who Fred Hampton is compared to Judy Garland, Winston Churchill, and Freddie Mercury?
That's what makes me love this film, and is a nugget of my response to those who say that this film is a black film made for white audiences. Daniel Kaluuya's bloodshot stares, his slight head tilt, slight Chicago accent and impassioned speeches are riveting, and LaKeith Stanfield's hesitancy, nervous laughter, slumped stature rides home the crossroads that his character finds himself in. At the end of this film, there are no moments of Hollywood redemption, all-too-poetic moments where you know a gleeful writer can alter a story about two dead people, - it's as close of a factual retelling presented as a thriller as it could be. And the facts, not the indulgent aesthetic choices that could have been in this film, should make you want to mourn and riot.
Rating: 4.5 / 5