I think it's inevitable and almost insultingly basic to say that Amandla Stenberg has, long at last, finally been in the film she's truly wanted to star in. Since making her cinematic breakthrough in 2012, portraying the woefully-fated Rue in The Hunger Games, her brand as an actress withered, instead being branded moreso as a pro-black advocate who happens to have Hollywood connections. It seems, however, that Hollywood has both championed and punished her for this fact. She definitely had the black audience on her side, in the wake of Raven-Symone coincidentally losing her black cred around the same time, but not only was she decried by some for, gasp, having the balls to "start shit" with Kylie Jenner, the cinematic roles she was receiving were seen as quite lackluster.
It seems that in these socially woke, BLM times, Hollywood wanted to give her the title of "rising star," but without the actual sustainable power, which led to middling parts in films such as Everything, Everything, Where Hands Touch, and seemingly the most egregious, The Darkest Minds, all of which ironically enough involve Stenberg, a pro-black advocate, portraying characters that fall in love with white people, and two of those examples being based off books. However, when you can't earn that Fault in Our Stars money, nor can you earn that Hunger Games money, you always have the socially conscious outlet to strike a chord.
Enter The Hate You Give!
The film's star is Amandla Stenberg as Starr, a high-school student surviving with two identities: the non-confrontational, proper Starr at her predominately white prep school and the trap music-loving, slang-spouting Starr in her predominately African-American hometown of Garden Heights. She finds these two cultures being forcibly meshed after a late-night party. Her childhood friend, Khalil, drives her home, but is stopped by police. During the encounter, he is shot and killed in front of Starr. Because Starr was the sole witness, she receives outside pressure to testify against Officer #115 and has to face the unintentional ignorance from her school. Meanwhile, Khalil used to sell drugs for King, who threatens and stalks Starr's family out of fear that Starr's testimonial will only bring attention to King and his illicit business.
There is one thing the film is manage to provoke: thought. This film raises thematic points that are cogent, stimulating, genuine, and even at certain points, fair. Consider the scene that sets the plot in motion of the officer killing Khalil. The situation itself (a white cop murdering a black teenager) is inherently prejudiced and unfairly biased and it's easy to quickly label it as such, solely on a surface level, especially given how the officer pointlessly questions Khalil about selling narcotics and how he treats Starr, barring her from recording on her phone and handcuffing her, despite her not committing any wrongdoing.
However, when the officer discovers that the "weapon" he was suspicious and paranoid of is a hairbrush, the officer soon becomes even more skittish and regretful, almost expressing a contrite apology. This aspect must mean that the officer isn't a racist, but is merely a victim of circumstance and of hasty, overly-impulsive decision making. He is afraid. However, what is he actually afraid for? Is he afraid because of the terror and senselessness of his personal transgression or because of the soiling of his personal security and image? It's ingeniously never made clear, which (a) brings even more angst and horror to the situation, (b) brings a brief flash of humanity to the officer and (c) further illustrates the argument that the true villain is the crude, capitalist, corporate-fucking judicial system, which forces commoners to suffer and let the higher-ups in position get away because of money, power, and potatoes.
Another enrapturing facet of the film is its portrayal of cultural identity, not particularly through the eyes of Starr, but from her nurse mother and her kingpin-turned-grocer father. Starr's mother is the reason for Starr attending a prep school, due to her not wanting Starr to be beat up, hooked on drugs, or pregnant, and she is hell-bent on moving out of Garden Heights. However, Starr's father admires the spirited, tight-knit community, in spite of the squalor and drug-infested landscapes. Both present legitimate perspectives, which lead to the question of how much of yourself should you sacrifice in order to thrive? Do you stay closer or move farther away from your roots? Does either/or detract from yourself?
The film also makes incisive commentary on white fragility and faux-liberal ignorance. In one scene, the students at Starr's prep school stage a walkout in response to the death of Khalil. However, with the exception of one #BlackLivesMatter sign, none of the students truly accept the gravitas of this horrific situation, neither do they even discuss the event in anything but offhand terms. "It's in response to the horrible thing that happened to that person," Hailey, Starr's prep school friend, perfunctorily explains, "as well as being an excuse to cut class." This escalates throughout the film, bit by bit, with Hailey delivering insensitive and myopic statements in front of Starr, all the while being offended by the mere idea of her being called a "racist." This all erupts in one of the most explosive, powerful moments involving Starr, Hailey, and a hairbrush.
As you may notice, I don't seem to discuss Starr herself very much, but actually, that's part of the brilliance of the film. For a solid portion of the film, the plot revolves around Starr, but doesn't draw a direct lineage with Starr. While Starr is the main character, the majority of the film is everyone else reacting to the circumstances involving Starr, as well as the sheer environment, which portrays a ugly, derelict town with such color, vision, and warm insight. Starr re-focuses and hijacks the plot to put her as the center of attention when the character herself gains her aplomb, self-assured voice, and her true, primal expressions on inequality and systematic apathy.
And what a character she is! While her story arc isn't intrinsically groundbreaking, it is narratively beguiling. She masks her disgust and any sort of incendiary propensities behind a guilt-ridden form of passiveness and a doe-eyed, dolorous gaze until the blazing fire ignited by injustice and blindness can't be concealed any longer, with every now and then donning one of the most sincere, adorable winning smiles ever to be shown on film. And that smile belongs to Stenberg, giving the fundamental performance in the film and of her career. She has the heaviest burden with this role, but she courageously and fiercely pushes through her role, portraying every scene so tragically, so authentically, and so lovably. It would make my entirety of 2019 if she could pick up an Oscar nomination.
However, the rest of the cast pull off incredible work, as well. Russell Hornsby adds an incredible layer of compassion and intrigue to his role as Maverick, Starr's father. Here is a man who grapples with his past, yet is the most persuasive, level-headed, intelligent, commanding voice and presence in the whole movie. Regina Hall gives her most avuncular, enticing performance as the sweet-natured, yet no-nonsense mother of Starr. Algee Smith, for his ten minutes of screen time, portrays Khalil with a sympathetic sneer and a hypnotic, star-making smile.
Anthony Mackie shows off his menacing, despicable side as King, the drug lord and Common, a.k.a. Mr. Makes My Day Brighter Every Time I See Him Onscreen, almost seems to be marginally subversive of himself as Uncle Carlos. His character is particularly interesting, because who Common is portraying is someone that isn't making proper strides to advance and empower his own community. He loves his family, but when he is confronted about the underbelly of his job, he always concocts up an excuse. One precise moment is when Carlos discusses the frenzied mindset of confronting a black suspect, but when Starr asks about a white suspect, Carlos admits his own implicit bias, but refuses to mend or reverse it, saying to a teary-eyed Starr, "It's a complicated world." It's odd to see Common play such an antithesis of himself, but in a human way. We know these people. We've seen permissive black people like this and it's transfixing how Common both seem to bemoan and excuse his own appalling bias.
Admittedly, however, there is a time or two where the film seems to dangerously veer into the melodramatic side. There's one bit of dialogue said by Starr near the end during a confrontation between her family and King that I felt was over-indulgent and detracted what could've been an effectively, quietly plaintive moment. Some might argue that the final monologue is too cheery and rapidly forcing a resolution, but in my eyes, I think it works. The movie is based on a novel by Angie Thomas, which was targeted to young adults. That ending monologue is attempting to speak to young girls, moreso black girls, but you could argue all young girls; to empower them, to present yourself as one singular person unabashedly, to know your limits, but know that change might mean pushing them.
Honestly, I might've accused it of being too sentimental and pandering to teenagers, as if they are toddlers that need simplification, but not when it's through the mouth of Starr. Like Moana in 2016, Starr is a character that young girls, once again, mostly black girls, can look up to. I can imagine a lot of black girls rocking braids and donning a hoodie like Starr. She has the voice and The Hate U Give has the message. When critics were dubbing Blindspotting as the next Do the Right Thing, I actually think they were referring to this film.
Think about it. Both films include a disillusioned protagonist that ultimately tries to avoid explosive confrontations, but their own outrage towards injustice leads them to being the primer for chaos. Sure, it may be filtered for teenagers, but the power, fury, and intensity that Spike Lee laid forth back in 1989 can certainly be found from director George Tillman Jr. and late screenwriter Audrey Morris almost thirty years later. The Hate U Give gets all of my love!
And I'm ready for Armond White and any other loud-mouth, anti-SJW detractor to label this as amateurish liberal-spewing propaganda, and how it's offering a narrow-minded perspective of black struggle, and how it's forgoing genuine torment to produce a mindless heroism narrative and how it's victimizing and exploiting black people, while claiming to ally with them, and how...I dunno, Algee Smith's too dreamy of a murder victim, I guess.
Well, to those people, you know how "THUG LIFE" is an acronym for "The Hate You Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody." Well, in this case, I'll claim it to be an acronym for "The Hate You Give Liberals Increasingly Fuels Entertainment."
Yeah, that sounds about right.
RATING: Four out of four stars!
It seems that in these socially woke, BLM times, Hollywood wanted to give her the title of "rising star," but without the actual sustainable power, which led to middling parts in films such as Everything, Everything, Where Hands Touch, and seemingly the most egregious, The Darkest Minds, all of which ironically enough involve Stenberg, a pro-black advocate, portraying characters that fall in love with white people, and two of those examples being based off books. However, when you can't earn that Fault in Our Stars money, nor can you earn that Hunger Games money, you always have the socially conscious outlet to strike a chord.
Enter The Hate You Give!
The film's star is Amandla Stenberg as Starr, a high-school student surviving with two identities: the non-confrontational, proper Starr at her predominately white prep school and the trap music-loving, slang-spouting Starr in her predominately African-American hometown of Garden Heights. She finds these two cultures being forcibly meshed after a late-night party. Her childhood friend, Khalil, drives her home, but is stopped by police. During the encounter, he is shot and killed in front of Starr. Because Starr was the sole witness, she receives outside pressure to testify against Officer #115 and has to face the unintentional ignorance from her school. Meanwhile, Khalil used to sell drugs for King, who threatens and stalks Starr's family out of fear that Starr's testimonial will only bring attention to King and his illicit business.
There is one thing the film is manage to provoke: thought. This film raises thematic points that are cogent, stimulating, genuine, and even at certain points, fair. Consider the scene that sets the plot in motion of the officer killing Khalil. The situation itself (a white cop murdering a black teenager) is inherently prejudiced and unfairly biased and it's easy to quickly label it as such, solely on a surface level, especially given how the officer pointlessly questions Khalil about selling narcotics and how he treats Starr, barring her from recording on her phone and handcuffing her, despite her not committing any wrongdoing.
However, when the officer discovers that the "weapon" he was suspicious and paranoid of is a hairbrush, the officer soon becomes even more skittish and regretful, almost expressing a contrite apology. This aspect must mean that the officer isn't a racist, but is merely a victim of circumstance and of hasty, overly-impulsive decision making. He is afraid. However, what is he actually afraid for? Is he afraid because of the terror and senselessness of his personal transgression or because of the soiling of his personal security and image? It's ingeniously never made clear, which (a) brings even more angst and horror to the situation, (b) brings a brief flash of humanity to the officer and (c) further illustrates the argument that the true villain is the crude, capitalist, corporate-fucking judicial system, which forces commoners to suffer and let the higher-ups in position get away because of money, power, and potatoes.
Another enrapturing facet of the film is its portrayal of cultural identity, not particularly through the eyes of Starr, but from her nurse mother and her kingpin-turned-grocer father. Starr's mother is the reason for Starr attending a prep school, due to her not wanting Starr to be beat up, hooked on drugs, or pregnant, and she is hell-bent on moving out of Garden Heights. However, Starr's father admires the spirited, tight-knit community, in spite of the squalor and drug-infested landscapes. Both present legitimate perspectives, which lead to the question of how much of yourself should you sacrifice in order to thrive? Do you stay closer or move farther away from your roots? Does either/or detract from yourself?
The film also makes incisive commentary on white fragility and faux-liberal ignorance. In one scene, the students at Starr's prep school stage a walkout in response to the death of Khalil. However, with the exception of one #BlackLivesMatter sign, none of the students truly accept the gravitas of this horrific situation, neither do they even discuss the event in anything but offhand terms. "It's in response to the horrible thing that happened to that person," Hailey, Starr's prep school friend, perfunctorily explains, "as well as being an excuse to cut class." This escalates throughout the film, bit by bit, with Hailey delivering insensitive and myopic statements in front of Starr, all the while being offended by the mere idea of her being called a "racist." This all erupts in one of the most explosive, powerful moments involving Starr, Hailey, and a hairbrush.
As you may notice, I don't seem to discuss Starr herself very much, but actually, that's part of the brilliance of the film. For a solid portion of the film, the plot revolves around Starr, but doesn't draw a direct lineage with Starr. While Starr is the main character, the majority of the film is everyone else reacting to the circumstances involving Starr, as well as the sheer environment, which portrays a ugly, derelict town with such color, vision, and warm insight. Starr re-focuses and hijacks the plot to put her as the center of attention when the character herself gains her aplomb, self-assured voice, and her true, primal expressions on inequality and systematic apathy.
And what a character she is! While her story arc isn't intrinsically groundbreaking, it is narratively beguiling. She masks her disgust and any sort of incendiary propensities behind a guilt-ridden form of passiveness and a doe-eyed, dolorous gaze until the blazing fire ignited by injustice and blindness can't be concealed any longer, with every now and then donning one of the most sincere, adorable winning smiles ever to be shown on film. And that smile belongs to Stenberg, giving the fundamental performance in the film and of her career. She has the heaviest burden with this role, but she courageously and fiercely pushes through her role, portraying every scene so tragically, so authentically, and so lovably. It would make my entirety of 2019 if she could pick up an Oscar nomination.
However, the rest of the cast pull off incredible work, as well. Russell Hornsby adds an incredible layer of compassion and intrigue to his role as Maverick, Starr's father. Here is a man who grapples with his past, yet is the most persuasive, level-headed, intelligent, commanding voice and presence in the whole movie. Regina Hall gives her most avuncular, enticing performance as the sweet-natured, yet no-nonsense mother of Starr. Algee Smith, for his ten minutes of screen time, portrays Khalil with a sympathetic sneer and a hypnotic, star-making smile.
Anthony Mackie shows off his menacing, despicable side as King, the drug lord and Common, a.k.a. Mr. Makes My Day Brighter Every Time I See Him Onscreen, almost seems to be marginally subversive of himself as Uncle Carlos. His character is particularly interesting, because who Common is portraying is someone that isn't making proper strides to advance and empower his own community. He loves his family, but when he is confronted about the underbelly of his job, he always concocts up an excuse. One precise moment is when Carlos discusses the frenzied mindset of confronting a black suspect, but when Starr asks about a white suspect, Carlos admits his own implicit bias, but refuses to mend or reverse it, saying to a teary-eyed Starr, "It's a complicated world." It's odd to see Common play such an antithesis of himself, but in a human way. We know these people. We've seen permissive black people like this and it's transfixing how Common both seem to bemoan and excuse his own appalling bias.
Admittedly, however, there is a time or two where the film seems to dangerously veer into the melodramatic side. There's one bit of dialogue said by Starr near the end during a confrontation between her family and King that I felt was over-indulgent and detracted what could've been an effectively, quietly plaintive moment. Some might argue that the final monologue is too cheery and rapidly forcing a resolution, but in my eyes, I think it works. The movie is based on a novel by Angie Thomas, which was targeted to young adults. That ending monologue is attempting to speak to young girls, moreso black girls, but you could argue all young girls; to empower them, to present yourself as one singular person unabashedly, to know your limits, but know that change might mean pushing them.
Honestly, I might've accused it of being too sentimental and pandering to teenagers, as if they are toddlers that need simplification, but not when it's through the mouth of Starr. Like Moana in 2016, Starr is a character that young girls, once again, mostly black girls, can look up to. I can imagine a lot of black girls rocking braids and donning a hoodie like Starr. She has the voice and The Hate U Give has the message. When critics were dubbing Blindspotting as the next Do the Right Thing, I actually think they were referring to this film.
Think about it. Both films include a disillusioned protagonist that ultimately tries to avoid explosive confrontations, but their own outrage towards injustice leads them to being the primer for chaos. Sure, it may be filtered for teenagers, but the power, fury, and intensity that Spike Lee laid forth back in 1989 can certainly be found from director George Tillman Jr. and late screenwriter Audrey Morris almost thirty years later. The Hate U Give gets all of my love!
And I'm ready for Armond White and any other loud-mouth, anti-SJW detractor to label this as amateurish liberal-spewing propaganda, and how it's offering a narrow-minded perspective of black struggle, and how it's forgoing genuine torment to produce a mindless heroism narrative and how it's victimizing and exploiting black people, while claiming to ally with them, and how...I dunno, Algee Smith's too dreamy of a murder victim, I guess.
Well, to those people, you know how "THUG LIFE" is an acronym for "The Hate You Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody." Well, in this case, I'll claim it to be an acronym for "The Hate You Give Liberals Increasingly Fuels Entertainment."
Yeah, that sounds about right.
RATING: Four out of four stars!
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