The Alt-Stepford

Rating: 10/10 (17 September 2017)

Some people go to the movies for escapism - for a diversion; a well-deserved break from real life. Then there are those who frequent the cinema for elucidation of deeper truths, or explication unpacking sociopolitical concerns of the time. Somehow (somewhat amazingly), comedy veteran Jordan Peele has crafted a film perfectly geared to appeal to either camp - and as his directorial debut, to boot. Get Out is an unforgettable cinematic experience, tackling subtext almost eerily prescient in the wake of racially-motivated hate crimes, rallies, and dangerously escalating discrimination (both explicit and pervasively subtle. But, lest prospective viewers pass it by as a soapbox diatribe, Peele opts to frame his discourse through an ingeniously un-didactic psychological horror genre lens (think The Stepford Wives crossed with Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, thrown into a Hitchcockian Psycho blender, and churned with a table saw). It's fiendishly eloquent, but almost outlandishly absurdist. And it may be the most clever, bonkers, nail-biting, irreverently ingenious, and grimly fun time at the movies this year.
If that sounds like a confusing cocktail of diametrically opposed elements it is. Yet, somehow, Peele shakes, stirs, and serves the perfect filmic entrée disguised as an aperitif, its roller-coaster ride of emotions and response somehow working seamlessly as an ingeniously homogeneous film. Social satire and the horror genre have long gone hand in hand (in fact, "We all go a little mad sometimes" could practically serve as the tagline for the movie that is 2017 ), but Peele finds that true horror lies in the crushing weight of racially-motivated micro-aggressions sprinkled out by the caste of (sometimes) well-intentioned nouveau-liberals doing their best to counteract privilege by being a little too earnest in telling the only African American in the room that they would've voted for Obama for a third term if they could. Peele's satire may be barbed - perhaps too much so not to hit a nerve for some audiences - but its teeth are razor sharp, capturing the intricacies of moments of discomfort almost imperceptible apart from those experiencing them in both hysterical and cringe-worthy detail. His airtight script is succinct but extraordinarily precise, with dialogue rife with clever wordplay (watch for all of the seemingly innocent inclusions of the word "black" in innocuous conversation) and coy foreshadowing so intricate the film practically necessitates repeat viewings to drink it all in.
And just when you're engrossed in cackling and cringing under your breath at the savage Act 1 satire, Peele cordially reminds you that you're here watching a horror film - and hits you with no holds barred. Of course, he's never fully let you fully forget it, with a chillingly surreal prologue, and poetic flourishes sneakily maintaining a mood of general unease (protagonists Chris and Rose hit a deer on the way to visiting her parents in the countryside). Some of these are artsy piece of tone-setting foreshadowing. Some are playful red herrings. Some are both, with enough narrative bread crumbs scattered to elicit some painful 'I should've KNOWN!' face-palming in the third act for all but the most eagle-eyed viewers. And none are extraneous, all firmly in service of forwarding both the film's horror tropes and real-life horror intertexts in equal, grim measure. Case in point: "the sunken place" - a bout of hypnosis-paralysis Chris is subjected to that has the film at its most claustrophobically terrifying while also providing a crushingly perfect metaphor for feeling consistently beaten down and repressed in a closeted discriminatory culture.
As things take an increasingly chilling turn for the macabre (and Peele's pitch-perfect pacing stews tension to a frantic fever pitch with the effortless nonchalance of a seasoned veteran), Get Out's ultimate, rather sordid, gag is how easy it is to miss the forest for the trees. We find ourselves tempted, alongside Chris, to write off his spine-tingling experiences as paranoia (or the film artistically extrapolating on the experience of racial discrimination), when the reality could simply be that things are, in fact, so much worse than the fears a lifetime of living in 'polite society' has taught him to dismiss as overzealous. The realization starts witty, then becomes almost overwhelmingly sobering. And there's the definitive microcosmic distillation of the film's audience experience as a whole.
Daniel Kaluuya gives an outstanding performance as Chris, establishing a baseline of perfectly affable nonchalance to make the rawness with which he radiates horror at the indignities he's increasingly subjected to all the more harrowing. Still, Kaluuya's work is too sophisticated for rote 'final girl' horror reactions, and a couple of left-turn character choices skirting obvious Hollywood moral choices keep Chris enigmatic enough to remain compelling throughout. Allison Williams is equally terrific, perfecting a peppy charisma with just enough of a highly-strung edge to ensure she equally dodges cliché throughout. Catherine Keener and Bradley Whitford embody that particular strain of friendliness that is somehow icier and more imperious with every smile to almost unnerving effect, while LilRel Howery is reliably hilarious, pulling double-duty as the film's bombastic comic relief and incredulous moral centre. Finally, Caleb Landry Jones infuses his inherent slithering creepiness into a drunken jock archetype to perfectly unnerving effect, while Stephen Root's warm eloquence provides a welcome foil to the tone-deaf effete posturing threatening to suffocate Chris.
If ever there were a single film to distill the madness of the sociopolitical climate of the past year and make sense of it with acid wit and world-weary humour, it's Peele's unforgettable Get Out. It's psychological horror film as inventive and groundbreaking as it is sadistically playful. It's an unnervingly timely, walloping deconstruction of the intimate intricacies of privilege and prejudice for the "I'm not racist, but..." crowd. In short, prospective viewers would do well to follow the advice of its title - Get Out of your house, routine, deeply entrenched mindset, and drink in what hindsight will invariably decree the most illustrative (and fiendishly enjoyable) film of the year.
-10/10