Judas and the Black Messiah (2021)

On his Friday, March 13th episode of Real Time with Bill Maher, the late-night host brought up the #OscarsSoWhite movement to claim its mission is no longer needed. Maher argued that the Academy does not overlook “minority achievement” anymore and told the #OscarsSoWhite movement to “take the win.”

A long history of white-dominated Oscars award winners and nominees would say otherwise. Although we’ve made much progress in 2026, underrepresented groups are still just that: underrepresented. According to The Inclusion List, of the 218 Oscar nominees in 2026, 28% were from an underrepresented racial/ethnic group, and 33% were women. Maher was right in one thing, though: we have made progress. Equality and equity in the film industry may have yet to be achieved, but 2026 ranks highest in Oscars history for its representation of minorities in all categories, and that’s definitely something to be celebrated.

Lee Daniels’s Billie Holiday biopic The United States vs. Billie Holiday was released on February 26th, 2021, and my immediate reaction to it was one of discomfort. I have been reflecting on this ever since.

The film tells the story of (as the title suggests) Billie Holiday and the legal persecution for “drug use” she faced from the Federal Bureau of Narcotics as a result of singing the song “Strange Fruit” after threats from the government to stop performing it. The film is imperfect, but its imperfections are not what I want to focus on because, firstly, I feel others have sufficiently taken this film to task for its shortcomings, (I recommend reading this review by K. Austin Collins for Rolling Stone) and second, I believe these imperfections say more about the ways in which we use film to remember the past than it says about this film in particular. The general consensus I’ve gathered on this film from critics is that though many of the performances on display are stunning, namely Andra Day as Holiday, the directing and editing lack the focus necessary to make the film a cohesive biopic. What I ended up questioning about the film was not what could have made it stronger, but rather why it matters that this film was made now, in our current culture. If one assumes the film was made to create a highly nuanced representation of Holiday and her work or represent the historical truths of her life, then the film falls woefully flat. When considered alongside recent releases such as MLK/FBI and Judas and the Black Messiah, however, the questions I believe we are collectively grappling with is how do we reckon not only with the racial violence committed by the United States government in the past, but the way that past is still our present.

The film begins with text that reads “In 1937 a bill to finally ban the lynching of African Americans was considered by the senate” and after fading out, new text appears that reads “It did not pass.” After the two-hour run time, the film ends with text that reads “In February 2020, the Emmet Till Anti-Lynching Act was considered by the senate” and then, mirroring the beginning of the film, reveals that “It has yet to pass.” These two facts placed side by side paint a rather clear picture of how our legislature’s failures are ongoing and how the struggle for civil rights exists as much today as it did in the ’50s and ’60s. How are we reckoning with this, however? Is it enough for filmmakers to represent the ways in which the law has harmed Black people in the United States, in all of its violence, and hope that the guilt it inspires will change the hearts and minds of the public? Perhaps asking if this is enough isn’t even the right question. Maybe what we should be asking ourselves is if this depiction of the United State’s violence is even responsible.

In his review for RogerEbert.com, Matt Zoller Seitz writes that:

Warner Bros.'s latest feature, Judas and the Black Messiah, takes viewers to 1968 Chicago. That’s right, the Black Power era. More specifically, the Black Panther Party. The drama recounts the life of Black activist Fred Hampton. He rose to prominence as the mesmerizing chairman of the Illinois Black Panther Party.

On December 4, 1969, Fred, 21, and BPP member Mark Clark, 22, were assassinated during a police raid on Fred’s apartment. William O’Neal, an FBI informant within the Illinois BPP, was partially responsible for the ambush.

At the age of 17, O’Neal faced an ultimatum — spend up to five years in jail for his crimes, or become an informant for the FBI. Eventually, “Wild Bill” joined the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party, climbed up the ranks, and became head of security. Bill grew close to the members and established a friendship with Fred, only to betray him and cost him his life. All Bill cared about was himself — he wanted to avoid prison time, so he worked with Agent Roy Mitchell to take down Fred Hampton. Bill is a coward, a traitor, and a malicious person.

The film centers on Bill O’Neal, portrayed by the underrated star LaKeith Stanfield, and his decision to destroy Fred Hampton. I’ve seen several of Stanfield’s movies, and let me tell you, he is one of the best. He delivers an incredibly compelling performance, committing himself to the role.