Get Out: A Protest Disguised as a Thriller

Around fifty years after the efforts of the Civil Rights Movement, and the signing of the Civil Rights Act, the country of America handles another revolution, this time not led by political speakers and social activists, but rather by artists, specifically filmmakers, with the intention of carrying out the change that America has refused to enforce for ages. In America, the issue of systematic racism has been covered by blankets of rules and regulations that supposedly make us believe that change is being made, when the actions of leaders and citizens remain the same. In the 2010s, though, artists that create the entertainment industry, like film and music, strive to point out the issues that have yet to be resolved, following in the footsteps of artists like Spike Lee, Marvin Gaye, and Elizabeth Catlett, using their artistry and their platforms to open the eyes of citizens and politicians to the constant struggle that people of color face in the United States of America.

At the helm of some of the most creative, gripping, and honorable pieces of work that drove this movement is Jordan Peele, a filmmaker that created some of the most iconic comedy skits in his show, Key and Peele, which also persistently spoke out about inequality in America. However, in 2017, Peele’s debut feature-length film, Get Out, shatters any previous knowledge of comedy, and makes leaps in the artistic civil rights movement using one of the most divisive and concentrated films of the century to allegorically display the inequality that people of color are facing in America. 

Get Out doesn’t try to face the problem directly; it isn’t a biography about an activist, it isn’t a case study of someone who has encountered the hardships, and it isn’t actively shouting out the people behind the issues. Rather, this film covers the issues within America through a grand metaphor that utilizes a psychologically thrilling concept as a motor for this loud protest. The film covers a black man, Chris Washington, on his voyage of meeting his white girlfriend’s parents. On paper, that sounds almost like a romantic comedy concept, but it’s not through that plot that this film begins to make its statement, it’s through the behaviors and tendencies of all of the characters involved that the true purpose behind the concept begins to unravel. 

The opening scene sets the tone very vividly: a dark street in a presumably white neighborhood, where a black man is suddenly kidnapped violently while minding his own business. As strings begin to play, and the orchestra immerses us into a ritual-sounding song, we are transported into a car driving past a forest of many tall, bare trees. The information that this first sequence violently shoves in our face is confusing at first, appearing almost unrelated to the general plot of the film, until its significance is later revealed further downstream of the story.

At first, it's confusing and unordinary, but the excellence of this sequence doesn’t come from it having to make any sense, but instead from it not making any sense. It leaves questions wildly unanswered, it allows for the audience to theorize, and it sets the tone with its cinematically exquisite decision making. The first scene builds a horror-esque setting, with a wide open space surrounded by darkness and a character navigating that space alone, with framing and coloring that forces the audience to grip onto the idea that something can and will go wrong. It’s dark, it’s quiet, it’s tense, and the man only takes up a small portion of the screen, so when the car begins to enter the frame, all ideas of what could happen fly away, and chaos ensues, now inviting questions, theories, and that constant hunch that something can go wrong at any moment for the rest of the film. Subsequently, the eerie music combined with the unnerving forest creates even more questions, tension, and uncertainty of what this movie is actually about, using the bland colors and spiritual drums as a tool to dim down any positivity left in the hearts of the watcher.

There is no better song to thrust you into deeper confusion in this situation than Childish Gambino’s “Redbone,” whose soulful melody blares over a happy compilation of  Chris and Rose operating in their normal spaces. As the couple shares their first scene together, they are accompanied by warm lighting, happy music, and a comfy apartment, which generates a romantic and peaceful setting. The dialogue between the two about their future endeavors to Rose’s parents’ house is delicate, natural, and unforced. This simple interaction characterizes the relationship between the two perfectly, but not perfect in the sense that they are characterized as who they truly are, but rather in the sense that one of the two is characterized so imperfectly that it’s entirely believable that this is who she truly is. The inviting setting, carefully dissected dialogue, and diverse acting intentionally tricks the audience into believing that Rose is a gentle, hopeful, and compassionate girlfriend towards Chris, and will protect him through whatever happens on their quest.

After this brief and delicate introduction to their dynamic, we are quickly thrust into the fast-paced story that we signed up for, and the masterful integration of foreshadowing and metaphors quickly begins. After their trip starts off on the wrong foot when the two hit a deer driving, the Artimage family’s plans are unknowingly put at jeopardy when the cops show up. The careful writing by Peele during Rose’s interaction with the cop truly encapsulates the attention to detail that he had in order to protect Rose’s secrets from Chris and the audience, while still making her seem like a genuine girlfriend. On first watch, we are under the assumption that Rose is protecting Chris from any stereotyping or false accusations by the cop, which puts her on the good side of the audience, but upon rewatch, it’s evident that her intention was to make sure there was no trace of Chris on the route to the Armitage house. This subtle detail is one of many disguised foreshadowing techniques that Peele effortlessly puts in the first two acts of the film. 

Upon arrival to the Armitage household, some of the most elite characterization in film comes when introducing Rose’s parents, brother, and houseworkers. When it comes to Rose’s family, all three teeter on a line of believability and extremism that makes you take note, creating a secondary thought that something might be up. Whether it’s Dean’s commentary on his father losing his race to a black man, saying “he never got over it,” or his reference to the “black mold” in their basement, or Jeremy’s unsettling discussion of martial arts, these three characters all say plenty of things that are monumentally foreshadowing the outcome of this weekend. Yet, to the blind eye of the audience, these characters are all very set on their own tendencies, beliefs, and distinguishable characteristics that make them a hyper-stereotyped interpretation of a white family welcoming a black boyfriend into their home. Peele, using his writing and the tense situation, does a balancing act throughout this section of the film, swaying you towards the idea that something is going on with the Armitage family, then instantly pulling you back when they either act normal, or when Rose tells us that they are normal, using the credibility she gained in her first few scenes to convince us that this is all supposedly typical.

Obviously, the behavior of Georgina and Walter is beyond unsettling when they are first introduced, but again, they never go to extreme lengths that go out of their way to say that they are being victimized or acting in a completely different plane of realism. The storytelling in the first interactions between all of these characters together is woven by meticulous writing, unsettling framing, and a lack of noise, tying together the slowly building uncertainty and tension that looms in Chris’s mind, and further allows for the audience to make assumptions, ask questions, and latch onto certain characters.

The second act begins the psychological torture of this story, making characters act in way that clearly make Chris feel uncomfortable, but also work in a way to make us as an audience feel uneasy when watching. If you were to just read the script for the second act, you still would be under the impression that this isn’t the psychological thriller that you thought it was, as the interactions between all of these characters are just simple dialogue and unusual actions that will surely tip you off your scale of believability, but don’t strike you as horrific or gruesome. Instead, this act thrives in the framing and score that strikes you when you least expect it, in order to baptize you in the uncertainty that Chris is feeling, and the tension that is brewing between these characters. As more and more characters begin to say degrading and offensive things to Chris, the camera begins to focus on his reactions, making him a large part of the screen, with hardly anything relevant in the background.

The heavy focus on Chris drowns you in this frenzy of uneasiness that he is going through, using him as the center of a universe that seems to be stacked against him, even if he’s done nothing wrong. This, paired with quick cuts and dramatic scoring, creates an environment that on the surface wouldn’t seem thrilling, but is established as an area where anything can go wrong at any instance. The editing showcases this sensation with its appreciation for empty space, displaying that the areas they are in have plenty of room for inhabitants, but don’t, then abruptly cuts to that space being filled. This dramatic style of editing, when combined with an orchestra that harps on the vulnerability of the audience, makes it evident that we are no longer experiencing a drama, but we are in a thriller. 

As unsettling dialogue and actions continue to pile onto Chris’s consciousness within the closing moments of the second act, we are slowly pulled away from any lingering thoughts that everything here is normal. Every interaction is now blaring with intense silence that deafens any idea that the Armitages are good people, with Chris now being the focal point of what seems like a coordinated attack on his sense of belonging. Furthermore, his departure into the “Sunken Place” shines through as an example of his vulnerability to the tactics of the Armitages, using expertly crafted visual effects to depict how Chris feels like he is just an observer of the events happening, and is no longer in control of the outcome. Mrs. Armitage preys on Chris’s deepest inadequacies and feelings of guilt in order to pry into his psyche, utilizing her abilities to characterize the family as predators that sharpen the minds of those with which they want to tear apart, in order to benefit themselves in the end.

It is a gruelingly honest depiction of current events and the problems that American society has refused to solve, showcasing how people in power brutally mistreat people of color in the United States, and chew on their biggest insecurities and fears to benefit themselves, creating rules and laws that make them appear as if they are trying to help, only to not directly address the issues, simply because it makes them feel in power. The way that Jordan Peele addresses this cycle is subtle; it’s through the alluring visual effects, particularized cinematography, and carefully written characters that chip away at the egos of those that are apart of the problem, while still allowing for self reflection by the audience, comparing the problems we see everyday to the helpless circumstances that Chris is required to withstand. 

The final act of Get Out is freakishly poetic, sucking away any glimmers of hope you had for Chris and violently vacuuming any belief that the Rose or the Armitages aren’t going to hurt him. The sequence of events is fast moving, multiplying in stress by the second as time appears to be running down on Chris’s life, with a petrifying setting, and a team of hauntingly emotionless people who have yet to lose a battle against those they continue to prey upon. The basement is one of the most eerie settings I’ve seen in film; it’s disturbingly symmetrical, with bland colors, simplistic designs, fun games, an old television set, and a hallway leading to the rooms where the Armitages destroy the lives of their victims.

The depiction of the way Chris occupies this space still maintains the standards they set in the first two acts, with a focus on his reactions, making him the focal point of the screen, while still room for the audience to explore the surrounding area that seems pretty open, reliving that sensation of not being sure who or what can arrive on the screen at any given moment. The secret brutality of this film lies in how suspenseful it truly is, with miniscule events stacking up minute by minute with no scene left unimportant or irrelevant, all while portraying how the seemingly small hurtful actions that take place in America continue to pile up, with uncertainty of how the brutality may end. In Get Out, it ends with an all-out massacre, with the victimizers ending up feeling the effects of whom they least expected to be hurt by. This is Jordan Peele’s warning, not by implying that he, or anyone, intends to wage a war, but that there are serious repercussions to the continuous acts of violence that are seen in America, and that if the hatred and inequality towards people of color continue, there very well could be a messy and consequential eruption of hatred and separation within society and the political landscape that hasn’t been matched in velocity in centuries. 

The mastery in third act is only thanks to the tension that is slowly but surely built within the first two acts, learning about the core characteristics and beliefs of the main characters while inventing a landscape of abnormality and uncertainty in the setting, dialogue, and cinematography, all of which foreshadowing the violent and impossible conclusion. The first two acts pitch, and the final act hits a home run, using the trust, or lack thereof, that we latch onto from the characters, and bending your mind at the possibilities of how they can use that trust and mistrust to absolutely tear apart your remaining sense of hope. Peele, throughout the entirety of the film, uses basic principles of filmmaking to hammer away at the recurring themes and issues in this film and the bigger picture of what he’s making commentary on. The dialogue doesn’t shy away from realism, using basic interactions to characterize everyone involved, and using such characterization to form lines that don’t seem out of the realm of possibility for someone to say in this situation. The cinematography stays consistently amazing, which doesn’t try to do too much, using simplistic framing and usage of the setting to portray the proximity of the spaces they find themselves in, while making characters the focal points of each shot in order to implicitly imply emotions and reactions. The colors and special effects expressed through these visuals don’t get too far fetched, still operating in a world of realism despite the hyper-unrealistic overarching goal, furthermore demonstrating the deeper allegory that this film serves as.

All of these facets are obvious in the third act, staying simple and fundamental in the essentials of filmmaking to capture the intensity in this situation and to grasp the dire and dramatic emotions within our main character as he is trapped in the Sunken Place or trapped in the Armitage family’s basement. This excellence demonstrates that Chris is merely just an observer of his own issues, unable to truly make the change that is needed when trapped in the Sunken Place, until he is finally able to outwit the predators and avoid sinking in the first place. This is Jordan Peele describing how people of color sometimes seem as if they are without the power to facilitate change due to the uneven scale of power and justice within America, making them simply observers to the problems that they continue to encounter daily. However, Peele uses Chris’s craftiness to show the value that people of color do truly hold in the United States, that they have the intelligence and wisdom to facilitate the change that is necessary to put out the fires that have started in America’s social climate.

This film is more than just a thriller or three acts of cinema. It’s a battle cry, a sign of hope, a warning, and a loud reminder of the continuous injustice that people of color face continuously. Using an innovative storyline, Jordan Peele and company make a statement through more than just words and actions, but through tension, chaos, and suspense. All facets of this film work together to propel itself past the sum of its parts, now forming a profound allegory that makes audiences think inwards about what they experience and how they too can attempt to make change. Peele doesn’t loudly boast about the issues he sees, but rather makes you think deeply about the hidden meaning and layers within every piece of dialogue, every setting, and every shot that formulates one of the most creatively intense protests towards injustice in America. Highlighted by its tight cinematography, fastidious writing, faint foreshadowing, tender score, comprehensive set design, and marvelous characterization, Get Out is not only an outright incredible psychological thriller, but it’s an exemplary commentary on the social and political atmosphere that America finds itself in cyclically without any proper change being made, with Peele using his brilliance to make a depiction that loudly screams at leaders and citizens to wake up and escape the restraints that they continuously find themselves in. It tells us that we all have the power to start the change necessary, but we need to stop acting as observers and actually work towards it, and that we need to stop letting the smoke screens of new laws and regulations fool us into believing true change is being made. The power lies in us, as innovators, as creators, as voices, as speakers, and as artists to open the eyes of one another to the continuous inequality that we have the power to stop by simply using our own creativity as our guide, and Peele’s instant-classic demonstrates that exact creativity as his guide towards a brighter future.