Movie Review: "Us" Proves Jordan Peele Has No Equal

Accept no imitations.

When sketch comedy star Jordan Peele unveiled Get Out, his first film as a writer-director, we were ill-prepared. We had ample warning for his second, Us, and I was still shaken. By God, he’s done it again.

Get Out was released a month after President Trump’s inauguration (timely!), becoming a cultural touchstone, a box office behemoth and an Oscar winner for Best Original Screenplay. (Most prestigiously, Get Out was crowned Film of the Year by Student Edge. Ever heard of it?) Centering on a black man who gets ensnared by his white girlfriend’s liberal-seeming yet secretly racist family, it conjured the image of a "sunken place", and viewers blindsided by the rise of Trump had a name for this uneasy new state of mind. It also called out white viewers for their culpability as bystanders. Now, we were all in the "sunken place" together.

In many ways, his follow-up Us plays all the hits of Get Out, from the similarly spooky cold open, to its title credits that roll over Michael Abels’ chilling tribal score. And once again, it’s a social satire masquerading as a horror-thriller, with plenty of parallels to draw with Trump’s America (or Brexit-era Britain, or 'Stop the Boats' Australia). There’s even a 'sunken' something here too. No spoilers, I promise.

The difference is that Us goes so much harder. It’s more sinister, for longer stretches; it’s more violent, and relishing the opportunity; and it’s darker, with zero compromises, right up to its end. Get Out is an instant-classic; a perfect, watertight flick that will echo for ages. Us is muddier and messier, and interrogating its mythology only unearths plot holes. I didn't mind a bit, because it’s so thoughtful, and so fun—to both watch and chew on—plus the craft on display is peerless.

Clearly, no one is better equipped to document this period of 21st century queasiness than Jordan Peele, and no one is making films as enjoyable either.

You probably didn’t need me or anyone to tell you that, yeah, Us is bloody great, given Get Out. I’ll at least give you a taste of this newie's plot. Lupita Nyong’o stars as Adelaide, a woman with anxiety issues who reluctantly visits her late mother’s cottage in Santa Cruz, having been dragged along by her goofball husband Gabe (Winston Duke), daughter Zora (Shahadi Wright Joseph) and son Jason (Evan Alex). What they don’t know is that, decades earlier, when she was a child herself, Adelaide was traumatised after encountering what she believed to be a doppelganger at a beachside house of mirrors. She tells Gabe this 'shadow' has loomed over her ever since, and Adelaide’s convinced the shadow is finally about to strike. Instantly, the power to the cottage goes out, and a strange family of doubles—each played by their corresponding actor—appears in their driveway. That includes Adelaide’s hoarse-throated other, 'Red', who sics her bizarro versions of husband, daughter and son on their counterparts. (In one of Peele’s many pointed, unspoken jokes, Adelaide phones 911, and the police just never come.)

This is when Peele starts toying with the audience, deploying the spine-straightening jump scares you crave. But to call Us simply a gory family v. family royal rumble would be inaccurate. All I’ve shared with you is what occurs in the first act. Where Us winds up, and how strange it gets, is a secret worth keeping. I’ll skirt around those revelations, and touch on what makes the weirdness actually work.

There’s Peele’s uncanny screenplay, which unfolds at a compelling pace, without over-explaining what the hell’s going on. It takes initial inspiration from 'home invasion' tales, before expanding outward, to the realm of B-cinema, sometimes comically, then tragically, without veering into parody. The script is matched by his talents as a director, from his knack for disquieting composition (aided by cinematographer Mike Gioulakis) to his balance of tone. Abels’ score—especially the spooky, finger-plucked orchestral rendition of Luniz’s "I Got 5 On It"—helps a whole lot.

And then there’s the cast (including Elisabeth Moss and Tim Heidecker in hilarious supporting roles). Unsurprisingly, Us is elevated further by Nyong’o, who anchors the movie as the everywoman, and then unmoors it as its oddball, bug-eyed, howling villain. A second viewing would likely reveal the depths of nuance in how she’s approached both roles. She’s discombobulating in the best way.

The beauty of Us is that Peele has layered its curious antagonists with triggering imagery and dialogue to set imaginations spinning. (The biggest clue comes when Gabe asks who Red is. She dryly replies, "We are Americans.") Adelaide and her family can barely believe these people who look like them could be so different; the worst versions of themselves. Or are they? Recurring references to the Raegan-era "Hands Across America"—a literal 'wall'—and the others’ red jumpsuits invite comparisons with 'Red State' Republicans, again tying back to the election of President Trump. (Also, see what happens when you spell the title in all caps.) However, Peele doesn’t leave the introspection there, and neither should you. You may see a meaning that’s a little more intimate, and that cuts closer to home.

Of course, striking iconography and political nudges are nice, but at the end of the day, you’ve gotta make a movie (meaning: an involving story crafted with care, and characters who make organic choices, rather than moving at the whims of an unseen 'script god'). And Peele does. Here’s where I happily forgive him for not giving us clean and easy analogues for each of his metaphors. His second picture is just far too beautiful and powerful and electrifying, with the added benefit of letting us imprint on it as we please. As Adelaide’s family sourly discovers, it’s a pleasure to wrestle with Us.

5/5

In Australian cinemas now. Rated MA15+ for strong themes and violence.