Most viewers frequent the multiplex to be entertained, escaping the daily woes of their lives. Others attend the multiplex to be challenged, to expand the limited perimeters of their life perspective. But every now and then, a film encompasses both of these qualities, shaking audiences to their core in dutiful cinematic fashion. Jordan Peele’s brilliant, genre-bending social satire Get Out is one such film. When examined at face value, Get Out may appear to be a traditional horror film with echoes of The Stepford Wives (1975) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956). However, upon deeper reflection, the film reads as both a fierce critique of contemporary liberalism and an eye-opening examination of the black male psyche. As we continue our celebration of black excellence in honor of Black History Month, it only seems natural to highlight a film that forwarded the conversation on race in a unique and revelatory way.
Racism and racial identity have been topics of interests since the birth of cinema. As a society, we are perpetually fascinated with understanding the people and cultures around us. However, over the years this process has proved problematic in regards to ethnic representation. Primarily, because minorities are routinely relegated to demeaning, criminal, or subservient roles that paint a bleak, narrow, or misguided perception of their personal experience. The more insidious aspect of this practice is that people of colors’ unique experiences are often “interpreted” for them by members outside of their race.
Some have defined films of this nature as “White Savior Films” (The Help, The Blind Side) or “Magical Negro Films” (The Legend of Bagger Vance, The Green Mile). It’s not that these films can’t be compelling or well-intended, but rather they portray people of color as either “overly-sanctified” (only victorious in a mythical sense) or “overly-submissive” (incapable of standing up for themselves). What they fail to examine is the grey area in between (the messiness, the flaws, the strengths, the triumphs) that make them human. In many cases, people of color become supporting characters in their own stories in service of the do-goodism of their white counterparts. Few people left The Blind Slide knowing much about Michael Oher (the black homeless boy turned NFL star of which it is based), but they indisputably remember the Tuohy family (most notably, Sandra Bullock’s Leigh Anne). This is one of the many reasons Get Out is so refreshingly dynamic. It explores the nuances of the black experience (from the perspective of the black person) with disturbing authenticity.
The setup is familiar: A happy, young couple (Chris and Rose – Daniel Kaluuya, Allison Williams) travel to an isolated residence for an eventful weekend at Rose’s family home. Only Rose and Chris are an interracial couple and she may or may not have mentioned that Chris is black. What could possibly go wrong? EVERYTHING (the answer is everything). Of course, the audience only thinks they’ve heard this story before.
Chris, the title character is warm, soft-spoken, and exceedingly polite. Rose appears to be an outspoken progressive who can’t comprehend the anxiety Chris feels meeting her parents. Of course, her parents, Dean and Missy Armitage (Bradley Whitford, Catherine Keener) are eerily hospitable. Dean addresses Chris as “my man” and proceeds to tell him that he would have “voted for Obama for a third term.” It puts Chris in a precarious position because rather than being offended by Dean’s politically incorrect comments, he’s forced to humor him to minimize the possibility of a conflict or threat.
What was meant to function as a social icebreaker, only further solidified Chris’ blackness. You’d be pressed to find a person of color who couldn’t relate to this moment. Instances like this give Get Out its stealthy power because they confuse and complicate our anxiety about Chris’ safety. The more the Armitages overcompensate to put Chris at ease, the more uneasy we all become.
It becomes apparent that Get Out is less a social commentary about overt racism and more a social commentary on implicit racism and micro-aggressions. This process manifests in very intricate ways. During an “unexpected” social gathering hosted by the family, Chris is inundated with unsolicited commentary from the Armitages’ elite, upscale guests (“Are you a good athlete?,” “Is it true what they say about your down under?”, etc.) Their dialogue is cringe-worthy because it fetishizes his black form and physicality while disregarding the human being inhabiting it. As audience members, we are invited to see and feel Chris’ discomfort because it’s channeled exclusively through his unique viewpoint. Peele’s script is ingenious in this respect because it challenges and holds a mirror up to the audience, forcing them to reflect on their own actions and prejudices.
We soon learn that Chris’ cautious intuition (with more than a little assistance from his wise-cracking voice of reason and friend Rod—LilRel Howery) was not unfounded. He’s not merely a “guest” at the Armitage’ estate, but rather a “trade” to be auctioned off for sinister means. Chris, like so many of Rose’ former ethnic lovers, is being used for a physical transference, in which bidders pay to permanently inhabit his mind and body. This supernatural element of the story is fascinating because it metaphorically critiques the practice of cultural appropriation.
The bidders have no remorse for stripping their victims of their essence because they never viewed them as three-dimensional beings (with emotions and human agency) to begin with. By physically inhabiting the skin of these people, they make them slaves in their own bodies while simultaneously silencing their voices. I liken this practice, in real life, to individuals who adopt and accessorize themselves with black culture, but fall silent on the social issues and causes they fall victim to.
Peele’s brilliance comes from his ability to make the audience question their own contributions to the systemic oppression of people of color without waving its proverbial finger in their face. It’s written with such cleverness and unassuming insight, the audience is able to come to these conclusions on their own. By rooting the black experience in the context of a horror film, it gives audiences a visual representation of the anxiety and fear that often goes unexpressed.
Get Out is the Russian nesting dolls of social thrillers. Just when you think you’ve pinned down its hidden message, it reveals another layer to dissect. Like “the sunken place” (the dark mental abyss where Chris’ unconscious fears envelop him), Get Out teaches us about ourselves and asks us to redirect our steps. Peele’s direction is patient and skillful. By allowing Peele to be the governing voice and interpreter of Chris’ psychological terror, the experience is given gravitas and authenticity. It’s no wonder the film’s critical and box office success garnered the attention of the Academy. With four Oscar nominations (including Best Picture, Actor, Director, and Original Screenplay), the Academy (and the film) are shaping and modernizing culture in favor of more inclusive, progressive ideals.
Get Out is not just a brilliant genre film, but it’s also a pointed cinematic essay exposing the existing flaws with white liberalism. It suggests that racism hasn’t dissipated in our culture, but rather it’s changed form and it presents itself in subtle and stealthy ways that were previously invisible to a well-intentioned white America. As a film exploring the complexity of racism, Get Out is as “woke” as they come, because it suggests that you don’t have to don a white knight uniform and shout the N-word to contribute to the larger issue. That’s the power of good cinema.
