It’s not often that we witness history being made in the form of a new director almost immediately establishing themselves as a future master of the medium. Shaka King is a young filmmaker who seems to be well on his way to defining cinema in his own unique way, as made abundantly clear by Judas and the Black Messiah, his second feature-length film, and the introduction to his work for the vast majority of viewers. King is someone who is going to take on the cultural institution with poise and a genuine interest in telling stories, and watching this film, we can see how he is essentially a descendent of many of the great filmmakers that preceded him in the growing canon of African-American history being represented on screen. Judas and the Black Messiah has the vitriolic anger of a young Spike Lee, the socially-charged intelligence of the films of Charles Burnett, and the effortlessly cool demeanour of the greatest blaxploitation films that inspired an entire movement that helped consolidate these stories as not only worth watching, but also worthy of the mainstream. It would be foolish to suggest that this film is free of any flaws, or that it isn’t rough around the edges – however, it actively acknowledges these shortcomings, and actually manages to repurpose them in such a way that they become positive influences on the film as whole. Fuelled by both anger and an incessant interest in the subject matter, King and his bevvy of collaborators creatively look into a fascinating story, which carries the traits of a truly powerful social drama, disguised as a compelling historical account of a dark moment in America’s past.

The film tells the story of Fred Hampton, the controversial chairman of the Black Panther Party, and his relationship with both his army of resistance fighters, and the federal authorities that were frequently angered by his militant stance against racism, and his refusal to back down from his position as the leader of a liberation revolution. History tells us that Hampton’s downfall came in the form of William O’Neal, a petty criminal who is given the choice of either going to prison for his misdeeds, or finding his way into the epicentre of the Black Panther Party, and informing the FBI on the daily routines and plans of Hampton and his fellow revolutionaries. It’s a story that many films have given some time, since the short but tragic life of Hampton and his work in the Black Panthers is amongst the most important in the era of the Civil Rights Movement, almost comparable to the actions of other revolutionaries such as Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, both of whom linger as spectres over this film. King (along with screenwriters Kenny and Keith Lucas and Will Berson), constructs an incredibly simple drama about the relationship between Hampton, the proverbial “Black Messiah”, and the man who entered into his most intimate circle of trust, and eventually played a vital role in his assassination, making him the “Judas” in the relationship. The religious iconography is certainly not lost throughout the film, especially when Hampton is portrayed as a passionate but benevolent leader of the revolution, who is willing to work with other marginalized groups to take on the institution – and by portraying the story through the dual focus of the doomed chairman and the man who was forced into a position of betraying someone he genuinely came to respect, the film paints a haunting portrait of the realities that many people faced during an era of immense social unease, which has continued in some way or another to the present day, making this a stark and discomfiting snapshot of the tensions that come about as a result of institutionalized racism.

As a two-hander, Judas and the Black Messiah depends almost entirely on the work being done by its two leads, and neither Daniel Kaluuya nor Lakeith Stanfield arrived unprepared, as they were clearly willing to take on the challenge of playing these roles, which they do with absolute determination. Fred Hampton is not an easy character, especially not in the context of this film, which presents him in two radically different ways. His public persona is that of a passionate, vicious resistance fighter who is able to energize audiences with the power of his words, but behind closed doors, he is a quiet and sensitive young man who is trying to make a future for himself and the family he hopes to have one day. Kaluuya gives an electrifying performance, being able to capture both the grandiosity of this charismatic leader, but also portray his more sensitive side, which he does through the development of the character beyond what most audiences know of him. Stanfield matches him in every way, playing the conflicted FBI informant who takes on the assignment without realizing how dangerous such an agreement can be – and the incredibly violent tendencies of some of the people in the organization mean that, if his role is revealed, he is bound to suffer a very grim fate. Both actors bring everything to these performances, elevating the material above a simple true-life drama, and turning it into a thoroughly captivating portrait of the relationship between two men who claim to be fighting for the same cause, but actually have wildly different interpretations of what constitutes justice, and the dangers that come as a result of expressing their individuality beyond preconceived standards.

On both a narrative and structural level, Judas and the Black Messiah is not particularly complex, but there are some interesting directorial flourishes added to make this more than just a straightforward account of the rise and fall of Fred Hampton as a result of federal interference in his affairs. King has a very distinct visual style, and throughout this film, he is evoking a vivid vision of a world gone mad, drawing on some of the masterful explorations of the Civil Rights Movement that cinema has produced over the past half-century. This is where the strengths of Judas and the Black Messiah rest most comfortably, when it isn’t trying to be a definitive account of Hampton’s life and legacy, but rather a powerful drama that uses the real-life inspiration as the baseline for a harrowing snapshot of a terrifying moment in history. Much of what makes this film so compelling is how it looks beneath the veneer of historical fact, and focuses on the inner psychological states of its characters – both of the leads, as well as some peripheral characters are given moments of introspection, where they start to question their role in the struggle (such as the FBI agent played by Jesse Plemons, who also doesn’t realize the ramifications of his actions, only focusing on the objective goal, rather than the impact it will have). Judas and the Black Messiah is a film rooted heavily in historical fact, but the areas in which it is often most compelling are those in which it finds a way to explore the human element, layering on haunting demonstrations of social warfare has on the collective spirit of a country, the kind that doesn’t take place on a traditional battlefield, but is just as terrifying and damaging to culture.

There is a distinct authenticity to Judas and the Black Messiah, a dedication to keeping everything simple and along the most fundamental historical lines imaginable, while still provoking some deeper, dormant ideas that aren’t always the focus of such stories, at least not in the form many of them take. The life of Fred Hampton is one that deserves to be known by everyone, since both the work he did while he was alive, and the circumstances surrounding his death, carry a wealth of meaning for contemporary audiences. We can all learn something from the passion he brought to his actions, and how unfair it was that he was silenced because he dared to seek out a better life, not only for the group he represented, but for every marginalized population that suffered under an oppressive system. Formed with a harrowing honesty, which explores both the public and personal life of Hampton, and the people who followed him into battle (including one person whose entire life came to be defined by his agreement to follow this man and eventually betray him for his own gain), Judas and the Black Messiah is a striking work of representing history in a way that develops on a number of profound ideas. Challenging but accessible, this is a powerful, meaningful glimpse into the inner machinations of a social struggle that has yet to be resolved – and perhaps it’s through telling these stories, and giving representation to the people who are obscured by the fact that history is always written by the victor, that we can start to see some fundamental change, since any kind of movement starts with a shifting of mentalities, and the eventual call to arms that inspire revolutions, whether those that are physical or contained entirely within the minds of those searching for a better life for them and their descendants.