★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jordan Peele’s directorial debut isn’t titled I’m not racist, I have black friends: The
Movie, but it may as well be. The film sees photographer Chris (Daniel
Kaluuya) visiting the affluent family of his girlfriend, Rose (Allison
Williams), unsure as to how they’ll react to the news that he is, in fact, black. Against the urging of his best friend, Rod (LilRel Howery, who
delivers a landslide of the film’s comedic joys), Chris puts on a brave face
and makes the trip. Upon arrival, the cringeworthy greeting from Rose’s parents
(Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) establishes an atmosphere of
awkwardness that could so easily be dismissed as over-friendliness, but amounts
to something far more sinister.
From the instant we’re introduced to the Armitage household,
with its two black servants and immaculate displays of courtesy, Peele slashes
the veneer to allow scalding satire to bleed through. There are comments on
cultural appropriation (Roses’s father, Dean, proudly shows off his myriad of multicultural
objects that now amount to little more than mantelpiece trinkets), the usually
glossed -over smugness of liberal racism (Dean’s over-emphatic oath that he
would have voted for Obama for a third term, given the chance) and the fetishising
of black bodies. Rose’s extended family gawk at, poke and fawn over Chris’
physical form. “Is it better?”
one of the women asks, slipping Rose a knowing look, while a genial uncle
declares “Fair skin is out – black is back in fashion!”
No, these aren’t your usual cackling, toothless hicks who
readily admit to their backward views with glee; wine takes the place of
moonshine, slack-jawed grimaces swapped for painted smiles. In fact, they’d
probably rush to tell you how much they “simply loved” Get Out. Even at
the most jaw-dropping, unutterable moment of discriminatory revelation, Stephen
Root’s blind art dealer decries any inherent racism, before immediately explaining
his motivation in a way that can only label him so.
I’m hesitant to co-opt a review about a film primarily
concerned with racism and cultural satire to gush about its genre trappings,
but considering the rut that studio horror has dropped into recently, we’d best
appreciate what Peele has gifted us here. When was the last time a multiplex
horror drew on something like Invasion of
the Body Snatchers for more than cheap nods to horror nerds? There are
contemporary comparisons to make, too: an early scene projects the suffocating depths
of Under the Skin through the most
famous visual cue from Trainspotting.
Oh, and it’s got actual cinematography, not just a greyscale frame left empty
in preparation for jump scares!
Cattle-prod frights do appear, but incorporated into a
general aura of skin-prickling unease that only intensifies as Chris discovers
what lies beneath. And, God, is it a thrill. The steadily-rising dread delivers
on every promise the critical hype machine could possibly spit at you, from a
supremely unnerving cold open to a conclusion that’ll leave nail marks in your
palms for weeks. There are so many moments worth gushing over, but my aversion
to spoilers and usual failure to adequately explain a plot means I won’t do
that here. All you really need to know is that it’s smart, sharp, scary and
everyone in it is sublime (with particular emphasis on Kaluuya, Williams and
Keener). How many more great films can 2017 throw at us before we’re exhausted?
One more, it seems.
