Judas and the Black Messiah review – a biopic almost as subversive as its subjects

There’s great joy to be found in any historical film that dares to be as subversive as its subject. Last year, Justin Kurzel’s True History of the Kelly Gang turned the violently unpredictable life of Ned Kelly into a surreal lesson on how legends form a nation. Now Shaka King gives the assassination of Fred Hampton a similar treatment in Judas and the Black Messiah. The instantly-gripping trailers promised a rigorous biopic fronted by an electrifying Daniel Kaluuya performance, and whilst Judas does deliver on that front, it has a far stranger and more psychological streak, boldly focusing in on an opportunistic and even somewhat delusional anti-hero.

Kaluuya gets top billing as Hampton, and his presence looms large in every scene of the movie, but the character we actually spend most time with is Bill O’Neal (LaKeith Stanfield), a bold and brash car thief who, after being nabbed by the FBI, becomes a federal informant against Hampton and the Chicago chapter of the Black Panther Party. In a more conventional movie, O’Neal would likely be a deeply reluctant mole, tortured by what he’s being forced to do, but King and co-writer Will Berson mostly avoid this obvious route.

O’Neal is indeed tormented, but mostly by his worries that the other Black Panthers will find out who he really is and kill him, and he clearly gets great pleasure out of being a double agent. His thrilled smirks as he lures his fellow Panthers into betrayal after betrayal are infuriating, but Stanfield’s incredible, mercurial performance keeps O’Neal as a compelling protagonist regardless. You can never quite get a full handle on O’Neal, oscillating between fear, regret, and smugness, and Stanfield gives a depth to this villain that makes him a more than worthy adversary for Kaluuya’s heroic Hampton.

Judas is hardly shy in its politics and honest portrayals of the evils of the FBI and its patsies (one look at the title should be enough to tell you that). O’Neal’s white FBI handler Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons, superbly slimy) seems reasonable enough at first until his true, cruel colours show, and King’s portrayal of J. Edgar Hoover (played by Martin Sheen) may well be the least flattering ever, finding the root of Hoover’s repugnant racism in a profoundly creepy sexual jealousy. Hoover even goes so far as to ask Mitchell how he’s planning for the day when his currently 8-month-old daughter comes home with a Black man, Sheen putting a revolting relish on the line, admirably willing to step into the shoes of a monster.

King damns all these men, but saves the most scorn for O’Neal. Judas is framed by a reconstruction of an actual interview O’Neal did for a documentary, in which he stated that history would judge him and put him in his rightful place, and King does just that with a brutal coda that knocks the stuffing out of you. Miring the audience in this muck, though, means that Hampton shines all the brighter, granting Kaluuya’s powerful performance all the more intensity.

It’s a turn overflowing with charisma, and as Hampton converts people to his cause dozens at a time, it never once feels false, even when he steps into a town hall with a Confederate flag in it and leaves with a room full of new recruits to his Rainbow Coalition. There’s power in the smaller moments, too, though Hampton’s speechwriter and girlfriend Deborah (Dominique Fishback) is given too little to do, but this is a performance of grand speeches and barnstorming monologues, bordering on the theatrical, and Kaluuya is magnetic from start to finish.

King’s fills out the rest of the Chicago Panthers with smart casting, bringing in young Black actors who already strike iconic figures like Ashton Sanders, Algee Smith, and Darrell Britt-Gibson – actors who can, even with not too many lines, feel like they’re pivotal parts of history. This is only King’s second feature film – and his first never saw a release outside of a limited US festival run – but he has an incredibly keen eye for the iconoclastic and the surreal. As the walls close in around O’Neal, he enters into a waking nightmare, stalking through the city in the small hours where you’re not quite sure what’s real and what isn’t.

When it comes to the assassination itself, it’s disorienting, sudden, and brutal, a gangland execution that has nothing to do with law, order, or peace, but King affords Hampton a sliver of dignity and discretion in his final moments, even in the midst of the police’s casual sadism. There’s a lot going on here, juggling tones and genres (it’s part crime-thriller, part sincere biopic, and even part action movie in the shootouts) in a way that sometimes threatens to derail things, but three monumental central performances from Stanfield, Kaluuya, and Plemons keep the ship steady. Refusing to bow to biopic conventions, Judas and the Black Messiah turns its unevenness into a strength, a gripping and unpredictable picture that’s just as comfortable in a discussion of Maoist political theory as it is a gunfight.

Judas and the Black Messiah is available on various streaming platforms from 11 March.