SXSW 2019 Review: US: Jordan Peele’s Sophomore Is A Best Case Scenario

In terms of setting bars, Jordan Peele’s debut, Get Out, did not do any favors for its prospective successors. By this time in 2017, it had already hit the jackpot, achieving a rare trifecta by being at once a critical darling, a box office miracle, and a massive cultural influence whose presence remains fresh in the zeitgeist today. How can you follow that? How can you write another script featuring terms as relevant and applicable as “the Sunken Place”? In Us, Peele gives the only answer there is; you don’t. In fact, you don’t even try. This is why it is the best possible scenario for his sophomore feature.

When you strike gold with a debut like Get Out, the worst thing you could do is to try and recreate its elements for your follow-up. The lightning has already been caught. It is safe in the bottle. Instead, a second film must always be an opportunity for exploration and experimentation; a transition from the euphoria of a first feature into the steady grind and craft of a, hopefully long, career. This is exactly what Peele delivers.

Tethered

With the exception of its masterful genre-bending and quintessential humor, Us shares little to nothing with Get Out. Its narrative steers completely clear of race, at least overtly. It utilizes much more orthodox horror elements, while still constantly subverting them. It even opts for a radically different setting, replacing the stuffy, nondescript suburb of what is presumably the Northeast, with the open spaces and shining sun of Santa Cruz. Most importantly, however, it takes risks in its commentary by applying far more metaphor and subtlety to its motifs. The result is a triumph that refuses to stand in the shadow of its predecessor.

Us centers on Adelaide Wilson (Lupita Nyong’o in a new high from a career that is almost nothing but highs) who with her husband, Gabe (Winston Duke) and two children (Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex) embarks on a tranquil summer vacation in her childhood beach house.

Long ago, on the Santa Cruz waterfront, Adelaide strayed from her parents for a mere fifteen minutes and suffered an unknown trauma of which she still can’t speak. Whatever it is, it lingers heavily on her marriage, and in her relationship with her kids. The Wilsons are anything but dysfunctional, but Nyong’o and Duke make quick work of Peele’s layered script, leaning into their undeniable chemistry when needed, other times pulling away to give the feeling that chaos is just on the horizon, even before the Tethered show up. And, boy, do they make an entrance.

It’s a crime to spoil a film like Us, so I’ll stay thin on the plot details. Safe to say, the movie “monster” is the Wilsons’ doppelgangers, a family that has on them, at all times, a very loud set of shears, a red jumpsuit, and a creepy grin. Their motives, at first, are unclear, their tactics, random. The ultimate revelation, while somewhat hard to follow, remains one of the most visceral twists of recent memory. Since his timeless work as one half of Key & Peele, Peele has long proven that he is a much a cultural critic as he is an actor, director, and screenwriter; he simply opts for the screen instead of the page.

Who is Us?

In the Trump age, there is no shortage of politically-minded media/filmmaking (from the dead horse that has become the SNL cold open, to the majestic absurdity of Sorry to Bother You) but Peele has been poking fun at, and warning of, our culture for years now. As his toolkit grows, so does his ambition.

Us is not as overt in its commentary as Get Out, and that is a very good thing. The latter needed its bluntness, thrived off of it even, but the former leans more into frantic ambiguity. In Get Out, there is no question as to who the monster is, nor is there a question of their monstrosity (again, that was nothing if not necessary), but in Us, Peele seeks to disorient the viewer, to use the language of horror to have us confront ourselves in a truly terrifying manner.

The most unsettling aspect of the experience has nothing to do with any murder or chase scene, although they get very stressful, very quickly, but everything to do with the film’s implication for an America that wants to lay the blame at any and everyone’s feet, except its own. The one aspect where Us is not subtle in the slightest (again, this is not a bad thing) is in its core conceptual question: what if you, or at least a version of you, was trying to kill you? What if the greatest threat to your life, to your family, had your exact face?

Though the script hits some rocky waters when it tries to explain the Tethered, leading to a somewhat hazy integration of the motifs used throughout the film, it never overwhelms the emotional core of the characters’ journeys, who strike a critical balance between their specificity and accessibility. The key is a healthy combination of great writing and greater acting, but also humor.

Beyond Horror, Beyond Comedy

As problematic as the Golden Globes’ decision to classify Get Out as a comedy was, it struck an important nerve within the genre debate that still rages around the film. Get Out, and now Us, are by no means comedies, but they’re also anything but traditional horror. Furthermore, it’s very difficult to simply label them as horror-comedy, even though they extensively use elements of both genres.

When one thinks of the great horror-comedies of the last few decades (take Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead, or Taika Waititi’s What We Do in the Shadows) they are, at their core, comedies with a horror coating. Even though the stakes could not be higher for Shaun and his loved ones, the viewer is never pushed to experience the kind of visceral fear that animates a straightforward horror film. This is precisely what makes Shaun of the Dead such an excellent comedy; you do fear for the characters, but Wright’s razor-sharp focus remains on the gags.

But Peele’s work so far with genre film is completely different. For starters Get Out and Us are, for all intents and purposes, horror films to their cores. They are creepy and disturbing, they leave the viewer with a potent sense of terror. But they’re also absolutely hilarious. As with Get Out, Peele works magic with the comedy in Us. It’s ever present, yet never distracting. It alleviates tension, but never evaporates it. But perhaps its strongest effect is to root us firmly in the characters’ psyches and dynamics.

Peele always seems to hold back right before the jokes threaten to make the situation seem less serious, and the cast, particularly Duke, are excellent at channeling this restraint. Before the horror kicks in, it serves to bring us closer to the characters, to help us identify the quirks and mannerisms of each one. But afterwards, it serves as a surprisingly realistic coping mechanism. If your doppelganger was trying to kill you and your whole family, wouldn’t you be making snide remarks?

Us: Conclusion

Two films in, it’s abundantly clear that Peele is developing a new genre altogether, one that is fundamentally horror, and yet is also unafraid of being thoroughly comedic. Though the background of the Tethered could have used more polish, the sheer ambition of Us renders any missteps minor in the face of its bold risk-taking.

Peele is setting himself up for a hell of a career and I just hope that he’ll always have a cast as talented and passionate as Nyong’o and Duke at his side.

Does it matter what genre a movie falls under?

Us premiered at the 2019 South by Southwest Film Festival. It will be released in the US on March 22nd.