Directing: A
Acting: A
Writing: A
Cinematography: A-
Editing: A

It’s a rare thing when you can tell a film is of superior quality from the first frame, and Judas and the Black Messiah is one such example. I was unaware of director Shaka King before this, but you can bet I’ll be remembering that name, seeking out his other work, and looking forward to what he does in the future. That this is only his second feature film is a stunning accomplishment.

That it’s based on an incredible true story is just the jumping-off point. As with any mainstream American movie, certain artistic license is taken, such as characterizing FBI informant Bill O’Neal’s position in the Chicago chapter of the Black Panther Party as much more significant than it really was, or depicting his relationship with chapter Chairman Fred Hampton as much closer than it really was. These details are beside the point; a film’s purpose is to offer a narrative, and this one is a whopper. What remains a matter of historical record, and depicted accurately, is that O’Neal sold out Hampton to the feds, and it was ultimately tragic for everyone involved.

Which is to say, Judas and the Black Messiah is not a fun story. In fact, by the time it reaches its conclusion, the emotions it stirs are difficult to characterize. Shaka King is using this specific story to allude to a far bigger picture, a point in a vast history of a nation built on oppression. Some of the opening shots feature activist audio recordings offering a distinction between rioting and rebellion, which themselves offer some context to several scenes that come later in which Black Panther Party members find themselves in shootouts with police, where police and Black civilians alike are shown getting shot and in many cases killed. It would be a mistake to say this film is offering any defense of any of the violence shown—which, by the way, is uniformly, expertly staged—but rather, what inevitably happens in our communities when injustice is not just allowed to flourish, but actively tended.

And all that is merely the backdrop to a story in which the protagonist is arguably the villain. Shaka King won’t let us off quite that easily; there is too much nuance to any of these characters to put them in tidy slots like “bad guy” or “good guy.” The villain here, really, is white supremacy itself, and that’s what anyone paying any attention at all should take from this film. Bill O’Neal, played with career-best sensitivity by LaKeith Stanfield, is a man whose motives we can understand, if not condone. After being caught impersonating an FBI agent as a ruse to steal cars, the FBI itself recruits him to volunteer with the Black Panthers, and get close to Fred Hampton. His FBI contact is played by Jesse Plemons, who is proving time and time again that he fits perfectly not so much as a leading man, but as the kind of richly reliable character actor whose career will almost certain span decades.

Plemons is one of only two white supporting characters of particular note in this movie, the other being FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover himself, with Martin Sheen nearly disappearing into the small but memorable role. This is a pretty impressive feat given Sheen’s fame, and an incredible hair and makeup job.

Indeed, everything about the production of Judas and the Black Messiah is top-notch, and it’s easy to imagine Academy Award nominations in nearly every category. Daniel Kaluuya is incredible as Fred Hampton, aided in large part, as with every actor, by wonderful costume design and production design. Cinematography by Sean Bobbitt (The Place Beyond the Pines, 12 Years a Slave) is subtle and sleek. Kristan Sprague’s editing forms a polish of the narrative which is perfectly augmented by an original score with an uobtrustive yet infectious groove by Craig Harris and Mark Isham.

Miraculously, none of this gives the film any air of pretension. This is just storytelling at its finest, plain and simple: it offers endless fodder for discussion, perhaps even debate, but the history and politics are not what make it a great movie. It’s the drama itself, the journey of these two men, one who fatally betrayed the trust of the other. (Even the film’s title could not be more perfect.) Certainly the details create a rich tapestry that elevates the film, but it’s the simplicity of the central relationship that draws you in. Crucially, we are never given an easy answer as to whether O’Neal’s clear emotional turmoil has more to do with any feelings of guilt about his betrayal, or merely the increasingly hazardous position he’s put himself in.

To say that the struggles depicted here, and the endless conflicts between Black Americans and the police, are as relevant now as they ever were is an obvious understatement. Judas and the Black Messiah commands attention, not just because of its vital historical context, but because it is every bit as great an artistic achievement. It’s a triumph of cinema.

*An incisive study of real-world betrayal.*

Overall: A