A haunting past echoes across Shaka King’s gripping historical drama, pitting brother against brother as greed, equality, love, and inhumanity stir an already full pot.

It seems that no matter how history plays out, we always find a way to retell it. Sharing these stories with younger and fresher generations continues its legacy, hoping that the cautionary tale can somehow benefit the future. But what about all the dramatization, the countless people who have been chalked up to an amalgamated character or, even worse, something they never were? Even if a documentary tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but, how many stories are left out of those precious two hours? Judas and the Black Messiah is a human experience, one which shows the past instead of regaling it, yet I still wonder where its focus lies.

It is 1968 and America is asserting its naïve dominance as the global capital of freedom whilst its own streets are riddled with poverty, power-asserting police, and a government that convinces itself that it is all part of their greater good. Somewhere in the middle of all that, young Bill O’Neil (LaKeith Stanfield) is impersonating an FBI agent and using the fake badge to steal real cars. After being caught, FBI agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons) offers to drop all charges if Bill agrees to infiltrate the Illinois Black Panther Party and spy on their charismatic leader Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya).

Here in lies what makes Judas and the Black Messiah unique and aggravating: the plight of an informant. O’Neil is young and foolish, although he is clearly backed into an ironic corner of his own making, he doesn’t waste time betraying the party. He feeds information through Mitchell (who is a shifty ally at best) and becomes entangled in the bureaucratic mess. He is somewhat likeable due to Stanfield’s balance between gullible and guile but the ever-looming presence of Judas amidst a righteous cause detracts more than it intrigues (which it certainly does do as director Shaka King bounces back and forth between the party’s best interests and O’Neil’s).

Whenever King shows the secretive FBI war-room, a lecture hall where FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover (Martin Sheen) struts around dictatorially, there is an element of staleness. The rows of white, doughy men sit there silently, nodding along as each plot their own deceptive plans; a room filled with emotionless avarice. It is only when Hampton stands behind his lectern, hammering his fist with each word do we feel power; a congregation of impassioned desperation.

How long can you lie to yourself before it becomes true… LaKeith Stanfield. Photo: Warner Bros. Pictures.

The spotlight on O’Neil as he hides amongst his brothers and sisters in arms is riveting, watching him as he lies to himself in order to act so naturally amongst them, only to no longer be able to tell belief from fiction. But it isn’t Judas who creates the tension, it is Kaluuya’s startling speeches that breath life into the film. He is poetic and informed, he is ready to take risks for the sake of his party, he even faces his own moral struggles between his personal responsibilities and those of his beloved movement. After witnessing the beauty of his rhythmic sermons, it is hard to look at O’Neil, hard to care about his foolish choices.

The juxtaposition between the two leads is an excellent game of cat and mouse, especially as agent Mitchell knows the definition of guilt but doesn’t feel it enough to actually do anything about it. Unfortunately, the split between all the various moving pieces often replaces the awe-inspiring Hampton with the teetering O’Neil.

But that is the reality. There are many atrocious but needed truths, stories that reflect our present more than we care to admit. Judas and the Black Messiah tries to show multiple perspectives, an effect that sets it apart from its kin (Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7, a messier alternative) but also limits it (Spike Lee’s BlacKkKlansman is stronger and more succinct). Regardless, there is a murky depth here brought forth by commanding shots, a sinister and 60’s soundtrack, and safe but strong casting. Yet, unlike Hampton’s intoxicating eulogies, there is a lack of weight to its punch; unjustified for a life already filled with so much injustice.