Artwork by Michael DiMilo
Film Review of Judas and the Black Messiah
By Geoff Carter
Shaka King’s Judas and the Black Messiah is not only a gripping biopic about the betrayal and assassination of Black Panther leader Fred Hampton, and William O’Neal, the FBI informant who betrayed him, but it is also a thoughtful work that examines the intertwining fates of the Panthers, the Chicago community, and the white establishment.
It’s been a season of plenty for films about the Black experience in the sixties. Da 5 Bloods, The Trial of the Chicago 7, and MLK/FBI have brought fresh perspectives into the radicalized counterculture of the time. But should these films be treated as historical artifacts? The answer, of course, is no. While they my be based on true events, films—all artistic works—are created for another purpose, to affirm or clarify the people and sensibilities within their narratives.
Judas and the Black Messiah begins with documentary footage of the actual William O’Neal as he appeared in the 1990 documentary Eyes on the Prize, a production recounting the history of the 1960s Civil Rights movement. O’Neal, whose role in Hampton’s betrayal had been revealed years before, was asked in the interview about his involvement in the Black Panthers movement. He replied that he was proud to have been in the middle of the struggle, to not have been standing on the sidelines. This glib proclamation was an obvious lie, a lie that O’Neal that had somehow whittled into a brittle rationalization of the guilt he must have felt. But to say it out loud seemed to be too much—O’Neal suicided the night Eyes on the Prize premiered.
We first see O’Neal in the film (played with remarkable canniness by LaKeith Stanfield) as he is attempting to play a scam by pretending that he is—of all things—an FBI agent. He is caught and approached by Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons), a real FBI operative. Mitchell proposes to O’Neal that is he wants to stay out of jail, he has to infiltrate the Black Panthers and become an FBI informant. O’Neal agrees.
He joins the Panthers, earning Hampton’s (Daniel Kaluuya) trust, and eventually working his way up to head of security. The audience’s introduction to Hampton is from O’Neill’s point-of-view. We see Mr. Hampton lecturing a group of students in a run-down gym, providing breakfast to poor children, and forging alliances with Black and Puerto Rican gangs, as well as poor Southern whites, to create the Rainbow Coalition. Kaluuya’s portrayal of Hampton is brilliant. He has a solid and reassuring presence but is furiously zealous when speaking; he is unflappable while facing down belligerent gang members, and self-assured enough—despite his youth—to forge a Marxist philosophy tailored to his own, and his people’s, situation.
O’Neal is constantly, in turns, wooed, entertained, and paid by Mitchell whose audiences with J. Edgar Hoover (played chillingly by Martin Sheen) leave no room for doubt that he believes Hampton is indeed a Black messiah, a threat to the American, the white American, way of life. Hoover makes his intent concerning the Panthers clear to Mitchell.
In the meantime, Hampton meets and falls in love with a young Panther acolyte named Deborah Johnson (Dominique Fishback), who reveals one of the most telling aspects of Hampton’s character. After seeing him speak, she tells him that he is indeed a poet, which seems to be the backbone of King’s narrative, that Hampton was a visionary, a warrior-poet dedicated to his conception of a working class united to better their lot in the world. This is most evident in a scene near the end of the film when Hampton is rallying a crowd comprised of a diverse crowd, including the Rainbow Coalition. O’Neal is there and spots Mitchell in the audience. As he fervently cheers Hampton, Stansfield’s face reveals the struggle going on within him, of which Mitchell is all too aware. He puts more pressure on O’Neal, which surfaces as desperate zealousness to fight the CPD. At one point, he shows Hampton an ammo box full of explosives in his trunk and tells him they need to take immediate action. Hampton refuses, calling him crazy.
Judas is also a tightly constructed thriller. Because of the Panthers’ belief that they needed protection from policy brutality, they advocated openly carrying guns. The film grippingly depicts the escalating violence between the Panthers and the establishment. At one point, the Chicago Police Department decides to take on the Black Panthers headquarters. After savagely provoking the Panthers as well as the people in the neighborhood, the Panthers react to them and a gunfight ensues. O’Neal shrewdly removes himself from the fray. After prevailing, the CPD deliberately—in broad daylight—blows up the headquarters. In a touching scene, the community, led by O’Neal, rallies to rebuild the headquarters.
Finally, Mitchell asks O’Neill for the layout of Hampton’s apartment. O’Neal reluctantly complies and then later is approached by another undercover agent who supplies him with a drug to knock Hampton out. And so Judas betrays his Messiah and collects his thirty pieces of silver.
King’s interpretation of the actual history of the assassination involves a complex web of psychology, race, ideology, and personality. Judas and the Black Messiah is not a textbook for a US History class; it is instead a treatise on the effects of desperation and the politics of white paranoia on the Black community. William O’Neal betrayed one of the brightest lights in the Civil Rights Movement. He did so to survive. He was seduced by Mitchell’s promises and buried his guilt so deeply it no longer seemed real. But it never went away.
Judas and the Black Messiah is an incredible film, stacked with intricately constructed layers of psychology, history, and legend that combine to form an unexpectedly compassionate picture of a revolutionary movement and the man who formed it. The writing and direction are absolutely superb, the supporting actors are all incredible, and its ending—while completely expected—is heart-rending.
This is not history but it’s pretty damned close, although it’s definitely not the history you studied in high school.
