Get Out (Jordan Peele, 2017)

Catherine Keener, Bradley Whitford, Allison Williams, Daniel Kaluuya, and Betty Gabriel in Get Out

Chris Washington: Daniel Kaluuya
Rose Armitage: Allison Williams
Missy Armitage: Catherine Keener
Dean Armitage: Bradley Whitford
Jeremy Armitage: Caleb Landry Jones
Walter: Marcus Henderson
Georgina: Betty Gabriel
Andre Logan King: Lakeith Stanfield
Jim Hudson: Stephen Root
Rod Williams: LilRel Howery

Director: Jordan Peele
Screenplay: Jordan Peele
Cinematography: Toby Oliver
Production design: Rusty Smith
Film editing: Gregory Plotkin
Music: Michael Abels

Jordan Peele's witty, scary Get Out seems to have hit just the right nerve in Trumpian America. It's not only a strong contender for Oscar nominations for picture, director, screenwriter and actor, it's also one of the sharpest films about race in the United States in years. That's because, I think, it's a genre film: a horror comedy. It's not so hard to make a statement about race in a drama like last year's Oscar-winner Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016) or an earlier best picture winner like 12 Years a Slave (Steve McQueen, 2013), which white audiences could watch and feel satisfied that they've learned a lesson. But the essence of comedy, especially one that blends horror into the mix, is to make audiences feel uncomfortable: We laugh almost in spite of ourselves because we see people doing things that we recognize and feel embarrassed about in our own lives. I sometimes think the words "racism" and "racial prejudice" are inadequate depictions of what really afflicts most Americans today, which is race-consciousness: the constant awareness of racial difference that we carry around with us. It works both ways, as Peele demonstrates in the opening of his film. Chris Washington is as aware of the cultural differences between him and his white girlfriend, Rose Armitage, as she is. They're about to visit her family in the deep affluent suburbs, and she jokes about how race-consciousness will manifest itself during their visit: Her father will try to establish his liberal, non-racist bona fides by telling Chris that he would have voted for Obama for a third term if he could have. And we laugh when, sure enough, he does. (Having Rose's father played by Bradley Whitford, star of that liberal feel-good series The West Wing, adds a touch of irony.) If Peele had stayed on this note, Get Out would have been just an amusing social comedy, but he introduces real tension with his opening scene, which shows a then-unidentified black man walking down a suburban street at night, muttering to himself about how disoriented he is. Suddenly a car appears, passes him, then makes a U-turn and begins following him. The man panics, and before we know it, the car stops and a man gets out and attacks him and shoves him into the trunk of the car. Then we're introduced to Chris and Rose while retaining the awareness that their relationship is shadowed: Get Out is not going to be an update of Stanley Kramer's 50-year-old Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. Eventually, as tension builds and comedy shades into horror with sci-fi touches, Get Out moves from race-consciousness comedy into an actual statement about racism, in which black people are valued for the services they can provide for white people. As a director, Peele has Hitchcockian gifts, though he sometimes misses: There's no need for an orchestral sting in the scene in which Chris is walking through the Armitage house at night and a figure passes behind him -- it should have remained almost a subliminal moment for the viewer, leaving a "did I see that?" impression. But the real strength of the film is in its screenplay and its performances. Daniel Kaluuya is near-perfect as Chris, at first preternaturally calm and self-possessed even in the awkwardness of meeting his girlfriend's parents, then showing his gradual uneasiness with the anomalies that manifest themselves. The ending of the film was reportedly, and smartly, changed: Chris was to be arrested after the violence that takes place. But in the context of the wave of headlines about police mistreatment of black suspects Peele felt that ending was heavy-handed and substituted a "happy ending" that still feels unsettling: What will happen to Chris when the cataclysm at the Armitage house is discovered and investigated? Peele has said he has ideas for a sequel, but I hope he doesn't make it. 

Sicario (Denis Villeneuve, 2015)

Benicio Del Toro and Emily Blunt in Sicario

Kate Macer: Emily Blunt
Alejandro: Benicio Del Toro
Matt Graver: Josh Brolin
Dave Jennings: Victor Garber
Ted: Jon Bernthal
Reggie Wayne: Daniel Kaluuya
Steve Foring: Jeffrey Donovan
Manuel Diaz: Bernardo Saracino
Silvio: Maximiliano Hernández

Director: Denis Villeneuve
Screenplay: Taylor Sheridan
Cinematography: Roger Deakins
Production design: Patrice Vermette
Film editing: Joe Walker
Music: Jóhann Jóhannson

Sicario is a suspenseful, well-directed, superbly acted, and finely photographed film whose chief flaw is that it can't decide between what it needs to be, an action thriller, and what it wants to be, a biting commentary on the international social and political consequences of the War on Drugs. As the latter, Sicario could almost be a postscript to Traffic (Steven Soderbergh, 2000), to the point that it casts Benicio Del Toro, who won an Oscar for the earlier film, in the key role of Alejandro, a CIA operative with a personal agenda. Emily Blunt, an actress who seems to be able to do anything (she's been cast as Mary Poppins in a forthcoming sequel), plays Kate, a young FBI agent whom we first see leading a SWAT raid on a house in Chandler, Ariz., that is suspected of being a link to a Mexican drug cartel. Not only is the house full of dozens of corpses, an outlying building explodes when agents try to open a locked trap door, killing two of them. Because of her work on the raid, Kate is offered an assignment on a special team to capture Manuel Diaz, the man responsible for the bombing. The operation is headed by Matt Graver, a jokey, casual, swaggering type whom Kate's partner, Reggie, mistrusts immediately. Kate herself gets stonewalled when she tries to get more details about their mission, and even what part of the government Graver and his mysterious, taciturn partner, Alejandro, work for. It's the CIA, of course, and Kate's presence on the mission is largely to provide an excuse for the presence of the agency on this side of the border, where it's not supposed to operate unless it's working with domestic law enforcement. Their first mission, in fact, is across the border, to Juárez, where they are to pick up an associate of Diaz's who has been captured and is being extradited. Much of this trip is seen from the air: We watch the line of SUV's, looking from above like large black beetles, that carry the members of the task force across the border, smoothly gliding around the traffic backed up at the checkpoint and into the city. It's on the return trip that they encounter a bottleneck: a staged traffic accident strands the convoy in traffic, where they are ambushed by cartel operatives trying to prevent the captured man from testifying. Having survived this encounter, Kate is naturally more determined than ever to get some answers to her questions about the real nature of the mission and the exact roles being played by Graver and Alejandro in it, but she will find that the more she knows, the more danger she is in. Intercut with Kate's story are vignettes of the life of Silvio, a Juárez cop, and his wife and young son. Director Denis Villeneuve and screenwriter Taylor Sheridan keep the significance of these scenes from us until they finally merge with the principal plotline toward the end of the film. It does not end well, of course. Kate has a disillusioning revelation about the purpose of the mission that has put her in harm's way several times, and although the downer ending of the film has an impact of its own when it comes to social and political commentary, it clashes oddly with the generic thriller medium in which it's set. But Villeneuve's direction serves both elements of the film well, Roger Deakins's cinematography received a well-deserved Oscar nomination, and Joe Walker's film editing probably deserved one.