Film review

  • Get Out

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Jordan Peele (2017)

    In the prologue to Get Out a young African-American man (LaKeith Stanfield[1]) is walking through a suburban neighbourhood after dark.   It looks to be an affluent area; it’s clear, from what the young man says into his phone, that it’s a predominantly white one.  When a car pulls up close behind him, he’s right to be apprehensive:  a few moments later, he’s been bopped on the head by a masked assailant and bundled into the vehicle.  The sequence is accompanied, oddly and rather intriguingly, by ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’, sung by Flanagan and Allen.  By the time the opening credits are over, we’ve also heard ‘Redbone’ by Childish Gambino and a piece called ‘Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga’, the main theme of Michael Abels’s original music for Get Out.  The quickly eclectic soundtrack is a kind of foretaste of the unusual mixture of ingredients concocted by Jordan Peele in his debut feature – a racial social comedy that turns into a racial horror movie.

    Rose Armitage (Allison Williams) and her photographer boyfriend Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya) go to spend the weekend with her parents, whom Chris hasn’t met before.  He’s concerned that Rose hasn’t told them he’s black but Rose insists their interracial partnership won’t be an issue.  In plot terms, Get Out is basically the story of how Chris comes to realise he should have been more concerned with what Rose hadn’t told him, about her and her family.  The Armitage parents – neurosurgeon Dean (Bradley Whitford) and psychiatrist Missy (Catherine Keener) – are impeccably liberal and alarmingly huggy.  Rose has assured Chris that her father, given the chance, would have voted for Obama a third time – a fact Dean is impatient to confirm during the tour that he insists on giving Chris of the large and impressive family home.  Pointing out his collection of ethnic objects, Dean remarks what a pleasure it is to be able to partake of different cultures.

    Chris’s introduction to the Armitages also includes some more disquieting elements.  On his and Rose’s drive over, their car (with her at the wheel) hits a deer; when they mention the incident, Dean inveighs against the intolerably increasing deer population – a view which makes the antlered head mounted on a wall in his house even creepier than such trophies usually are.  The sustained conscientious welcome Chris receives from Rose’s parents is qualified by the joshing, racially provocative contributions of her younger brother Jeremy (Caleb Landry Jones), a medical student, at the dinner table on the first evening of the visit.  And the Armitages have two black servants – the maid and cook Georgina (Betty Gabriel), the groundsman Walter (Marcus Henderson).  ‘I know how it looks’, Dean tells Chris, with a guilty sigh, before explaining that Georgina and Walter cared for his elderly  parents; when they died, he and Missy felt morally bound to retain these loyal retainers.

    Although the social comedy of Get Out isn’t especially surprising, it’s well observed and played, and consistently amusing.  It continues into the second day of the weekend, at a social get-together where the Armitages’ guests are mostly elderly.  But Jordan Peele sows enough early seeds of unease to make it clear he means to reap a sinister harvest (and Abels’s score largely underlines that intention).  When he says ‘I know how it looks’, Dean isn’t referring to the unnaturally smiling faces of Georgina and Walter or the servants’ zombified quality but these are as hard to miss as the colour of their skin.  Even if you don’t know beforehand that Get Out will use the tropes and traditions of horror films to attack the myth of ‘post-racial’ America – and the movie’s huge success (commercial and critical) has already made it hard not to know that beforehand – you soon start wondering how the story’s journey to the dark side will be accomplished.  Jordan Peele manages it in ways that keep his film entertaining throughout, even if the echoes of other movies and the generic familiarity of the eventual gore-fest risk obscuring the socio-political points Peele is making.   How successfully the white characters in Get Out can be said to transition from well-meaning figures of fun to evildoers is a trickier question.

    The Armitages have discovered the surgical secret of eternal life or, at least, pseudo-immortality.   The process starts with Missy hypnotising young African Americans and relegating their mentality to a ‘sunken place’.  Dean then performs ‘transmentation’ – brain surgery to transfer the consciousness of aging white people into the bodies of their physically healthier black hosts.  Dean’s parents aren’t dead but sort-of alive inside the heads of Walter and Georgina.  That young man at the start of the film turns out be one Andre Heyworth, whom Chris knew through his best friend Rod (Lil Rel Howery).  Andre’s disappearance from his home in Brooklyn several months ago has been unexplained until Chris meets him, as the companion of a much older white woman, at the Armitages’ gathering.  Andre now has a new name, Logan King, as well as a senior citizen’s dress sense.

    There’s a twist to the transmentation process:  a sliver of the black host’s consciousness persists in the brain alongside the dominant white parasite mind.  This explains two striking moments in the film.  As Chris and Georgina lock eyes, hers fill with tears that contradict the glazed contentment of her expression.  When Chris takes a photograph of Andre-Logan, the flash on his phone causes Andre to freeze, suffer a nosebleed and urgently instruct Chris to ‘Get out!’  That turns out to be easier said than done.  Chris is, of course, the next intended transmentee.  While he and Rose take a break from the increasing stresses of the gathering, Dean holds an auction for Chris and Jim Hudson (Stephen Root), a blind art dealer, makes the winning bid.  The transmentation project is a family business, as Chris discovers in video footage of Dean’s supposedly late father Roman (Richard Herd) extolling the merits of staying alive forever.  Jeremy’s medical studies allow him to assist Dean in their home operating theatre.  Rose’s role is to bring black boyfriends home to meet the parents:  a cache of photographs Chris comes upon makes clear that, contrary to what she’s previously told him, he’s far from the first African American that Rose has dated.  I didn’t understand why Andre had to be physically abducted (or who abducted him) rather than lured by Rose.

    Jim Hudson, when he explains to Chris what he has bid for, suggests the Armitages are using African-American subjects just because blackness is currently fashionable.  Chris doesn’t buy this and nor would anyone watching the film:  Get Out is saying that, in terms of racial exploitation in America, black is always the new black.  Jordan Peele strongly and shockingly implies – first through the remarks of one of the Armitages’ guests (as she feels Chris’s muscles and her gaze drifts down to his crotch), in due course through the larger storyline – that whites may admire and even covet, black bodies but regard black mentality as inferior and disposable (though Jim’s longing for Chris’s eyes, hardly race-based, rather confuses the issue).  The immortal longings of the Armitages and their like reflect white America’s determination to rule the roost forever.

    Peele presents these urges as the shadow side to liberal white feelings about race but there’s a difficulty in translating that into the film’s narrative.  According to Lanre Bakare in the Guardian, ‘The thing Get Out does so well – and the thing that will rankle with some viewers – is to show how, however unintentionally, [white middle-class liberals] can make life so hard and uncomfortable for black people’.  The film certainly does show this in its comedy opening but not in its horror story aspect: since the Armitages are entirely conscious of what they’re doing, they are – as Bakare also labels them earlier in the same paragraph of his review – the ‘villains of the piece’.  While Jordan Peele is understandably slippery about the inherent conflict between the Armitages before and after they’re unmasked, the actors playing them can’t avoid the issue so easily.  The layers of personality that she brings to a role enable the brilliant Catherine Keener to solve the problem:  you know there’s more to Missy than meets the eye.  In comparison, Allison Williams and Bradley Whitford are less suggestive, switch more abruptly and expose the fault line in Peele’s screenplay.  Jeremy Armitage is more evidently dodgy from the start and Caleb Landry Jones, an attention-seeking actor, gives a performance to match.

    The black performances are more satisfying.  Samuel L Jackson’s complaint that a non-American is playing Chris suggests that nativism of more than one kind is at work in the US in 2017; I can hardly overstate the pleasure I get from seeing Daniel Kaluuya in this starring role – it makes me feel vindicated as a talent-spotter.  It was obvious from Harry & Paul back in 2010 that Kaluuya was something out of the ordinary:  his Parking Pataweyo – sly, smilingly sadistic, charismatic – showed a depth of characterisation remarkable for a bit player in a comedy sketch show.   Here he shows a brilliant repertoire of reactions, as Chris moves from a social unease that others don’t feel, to disorientation under Missy’s hypnosis, to all-out terror.  Armond White, whose notice has supplied the only green splodge among the two hundred plus critic reviews of Get Out posted on Rotten Tomatoes to date, complains that Kaluuya’s ‘dark-skin/bright-teeth image inadvertently recalls the old Sambo archetype’ .   I’m not sure that is inadvertent on Jordan Peele’s part:  it’s this association, in counterpoint to the evident intelligence that Daniel Kaluuya gives Chris, which helps make the character so successfully discomfiting.  Kaluuya’s natural warmth ensures that Chris is intensely likeable too.   (The same warmth made Parking Pataweyo confoundingly engaging.)  Although Andre-Logan doesn’t make complete sense, LaKeith Stanfield’s acting is, as usual, excellent.   Lil Rel Howery delivers a robustly funny, crowd-pleasing turn as Rod, the pal who looks after Chris’s dog during the meet-the-parents weekend away and who, thanks to his day job in transportation security admin, turns out to be his friend’s eventual saviour.

    His script and characters may not be entirely convincing but Jordan Peele, best known until now for his work in US television sketch comedy (MADtv, Key & Peele), shows great assurance for a first-time director, and justified confidence in the basic idea he’s come up with – one that’s all the more effective because it’s so versatile.  Nick Pinkerton in his Reverse Shot review accurately describes the premise of Get Out as ‘a malleable metaphor for just about any racial anxiety you please: the white coopting of black cool … ; the ongoing use of unwilling black bodies to perform white labor from plantation to penitentiary; and the pressures of conformity borne by the blacks living among white affluence’.   Peele works out more specific motifs ingeniously too.  The deer that collides with the young lovers’ car on the way to the Armitage home anticipates the hypnotised Chris’s description of his mother’s death in a hit and run accident.  (In a flashback to this source of enduring trauma and guilt for Chris, his eleven-year-old self is played by Zailand Adams.)   We’re on the verge of seeing Chris himself as a wounded animal until, through his quick thinking, he uses the antlers of the stuffed head on the wall to take lethal revenge on the Cervidaephobic Dean Armitage.  Calling Dean’s father Roman sounds like a nod both to the name of the coven leader in Rosemary’s Baby and to the director of that famous film.  References of this kind – simply because they situate Get Out so explicitly in a movie tradition – have the effect of giving viewers who understand them a bit of distance from the startling implications of Jordan Peele’s material.  Even so, the film is potent because of the force of the political cynicism you feel coming from behind the camera.  This picture has arrived at a time when America is exceptionally ill at ease with itself and its traditional allies are sharing that unease.  It’s no wonder Get Out is a hit.

    21 March 2017

    [1]  He was credited as Keith Stanfield in Short Term 12, Straight Outta Compton and Miles Ahead.

  • Graduation

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Bacalaureat

    Cristian Mungiu (2016)

    I wrote in a note on the writer-director Cristian Mungiu’s previous film that ‘Perhaps the gloomiest aspect of Beyond the Hills is that it takes place in a Romania nearly two decades on from Ceaușescu but the place seems as glum … as before’.   This is even more explicitly the case with Mungiu’s latest, Graduation.  The main character is Romeo Aldea (Adrian Titieni), a middle-aged hospital doctor who lives and works in Cluj (Romania’s largest city after Bucharest).  He and his wife Magda (Lia Bugnar) returned to Romania shortly after the fall of Ceaușescu.  They did so, Romeo tells their teenage daughter Eliza (Marie-Victoria Dragus), believing that the country was suddenly full of new possibilities.  More than twenty years on, Romeo knows better.  This makes him all the more anxious for Eliza to make the most of an imminent opportunity.  Romeo has always been academically ambitious for his clever daughter.  Eliza now has the offer of a place at Cambridge, conditional on the award of the Romanian Baccalaureate, the national school-leaving qualification.

    The day before the final exams start, Eliza is confronted by a man who tries to rape her.  She struggles and screams enough to scare him off but, in doing so, injures the wrist of her writing hand.  This will seriously impede her ability to complete an examination paper within the normal time allowed but the exam administrators aren’t willing to make special arrangements for her.  Romeo sees the UK as a meritocracy – a country where, unlike Romania, ‘you don’t need connections’ in order to succeed.  He says so to the police chief (Vlad Ivanov) whose team is investigating the attempted assault of Eliza.  From this point on, Graduation is predominantly a critique of what Cristian Mungiu sees as a corrupt, pervasive culture of back-scratching.  The police chief offers to put Romeo in touch with a high-ranking politician in Cluj, who could lean on the local education chief to see that Eliza gets the exam results she needs; in exchange, Romeo might perhaps arrange for the ailing politician to jump the queue for a major hospital operation.  Romeo is desperate enough for his daughter to succeed and escape to compromise his professional probity.  For her part, Eliza, as a result of the attack and its aftermath, is increasingly equivocal about the prospect of leaving home and the boyfriend (Rares Andrici) of whom her father disapproves. 

    You wouldn’t expect this disenchanted view of present-day Romania to be light-hearted but Graduation is excessively dour – monochromatic in mood and look.  (The cinematography is by Tudor Panduru.) Cristian Mungiu takes a few early steps to develop an ominous atmosphere:  the film starts with a stone being thrown through a window at the Aldea home; a bit later, the windscreen of Romeo’s car is smashed.  But drab claustrophobia soon sets in.  The deceit and suspicion that undermine trust in public institutions is mirrored in private life.  Romeo’s marriage to Magda is in its death throes; he’s having an affair with a younger woman called Sandra (Malina Manovici).  Eliza wouldn’t have been attacked if her father had driven her all the way to her high school: instead, he dropped her off a little way away, so that he could grab a few minutes with Sandra before he started work at the hospital.  Mungiu’s characters have family and work responsibilities; they may have useful contacts or lovers; none of them seems to have any friends in the nice sense of the word.  I realised this in the film’s closing scene, when Eliza has got the grades she needed, Romeo attends the graduation ceremony at her school, and she asks her father to take a photograph.   She and her classmates stand smiling into the camera.  I didn’t remember a word being exchanged between any of them in the preceding two hours plus of Graduation.

    Eliza reveals to Romeo in this last sequence that she’s still not keen on leaving Cluj for Cambridge, as well as something her father didn’t know:  she got so upset at her first exam, she says, that the administrators, after all, took pity and gave her extra time.  So Romeo needn’t have got into that tangled web of favours.  This twist-in-the-tail irony feels like a multiple cheat.  It’s too pat.  It’s implausible that Eliza, in the face of the succession of stressful and upsetting events that occur in the story, would have had the sang-froid to keep quiet about it until the last minute.  And it contrasts sharply with all the things that Cristian Mungiu leaves unresolved:  who threw the stones; whether Eliza goes or stays; the identity of her assailant.  The identity parade is a powerful scene but it demonstrates only that the police want to pin the crime on their suspect of choice.  Graduation is a strong expression of its creator’s choler about the state of his nation but it’s limited and unilluminating as a human drama.

    12 March 2017

Posts navigation