Review: "The Hate U Give" is a Vital Conversation Starter

Scene from The Hate U Give

The world of America in 2018 is an unfortunately hostile place. With a sweltering sense of injustice in the world, it's hard to make sense of what the value of a human life can be. For director George Tillman Jr.'s The Hate U Give, he not only tackles one of the most upsetting conflicts of the modern age - police shooting innocent victims - but manages to dive further into the social ramifications as to why that is. It's a story whose imagery is already hot-wired into our subconscious, leaving us to ask ourselves the moral questions as Tillman presents these uncomfortable scenes with a purpose and vigor. It's a drama that goes beyond understanding racial profiling and gets to the heart of how hard change is, though it can still be achieved. The film doesn't have an easy answer on the search for empathy, but it's the type of rallying cry that is needed in this day and age, and helps to elevate this teen drama into something more powerful and timeless.

The film's title comes from a quote by rapper 2Pac when explaining the acronym T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E.: "The hate you give little infants f**ks everyone." It's a phrase that feels crucial to every scene, in part because of the acronym's nasty connotation. Nobody likes "thugs." They're violent people, often seen as subhuman, that corrupt what's good about a community and maybe even an entire race. To subvert it with a deeper proverb gives sense to how the film works. Who is the one giving out hate in the story, and how does it impact everyone else? It's not a comment specifically about one race, but about society writ large. As an artist often misinterpreted as embracing corrupt behavior, the symbolism in 2Pac's status as a person becomes even stronger. Those in the film see his comments not as negative stereotypes, but holding deeper meaning, a deeper truth that is repeated throughout the film. By the end, that acronym has far more profundity than the plot's central scene where Khalil (Algee Smith) gets murdered by a police officer in a moment that feels ripped from the headlines.

To work backwards, that moment impacts the entire film in part because only the audience knows that Khalil was innocent. His choice to act foolish during a routine police stop only made him seem more suspicious. For passenger and protagonist Starr (Amandla Stenberg), it's a moment that haunts her. She wants justice for Khalil, even teaming with leaders from a Black Lives Matters-esque group called Just Us for Justice. The imagery pops off the screen into reality, even taking moments to recall the deaths of such figures as Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, and Emmett Till. This is a film that knows its value on taking the issues seriously. It knows that it's going to be a thorny road to the closing credits. However, the writing should be given credit for not taking an easy answer. As much injustice is felt in Khalil's death in that moment, it's only the start of a bigger exploration of social division.

Starr is, as Dear White People would say, a black face in a white place. Her parents send her to a Catholic school, predominantly white, and far from the ghetto schools she lives near. In fact, ghetto is a pejorative. She can't be "hood." She has to be Starr, version 2: a positive representation of the community. Her white friends can use any slang they want, but Starr is repressed for fear of negative reputations. From the get go, there's already divisions in society formed, even innocent ones, where her boyfriend (K.J. Apa) is allowed to make D.J. Khaled-esque beats and dance like a fool. He isn't being "racist" for enjoying black culture, though it's a concept that takes on heavier meaning in the second act. Still, there is a sense of cultural identity crisis at play as Starr deals with the school life, and the reality of living with a father and uncle who are former drug dealers. They have moved on to productive members of society, but their reputation within that gang lingers on, as the gang becomes a threatening force over anyone who exposes them to the media.

The depth of the screenplay is so ingenious that there's even small tics and moments that feel authentic. In one scene where Starr and Khalil attend a house party, there's prodding from her "ghetto" friends - who already think she's lame for hanging out with white people - to harass someone. There's division in community, and the subtle approach the film has to establishing it makes the build to the triumphant third act all the more powerful. This is a real community and these are real characters. The themes manage to avoid after school special-level of cornball earnestness by not going for easy answers. This isn't the police's fault, nor is it Khalil's fault. It's the titular hate, given by a community that is in some ways against itself, where the corrupt put the good in the way of danger and make it hard to judge who the criminal really is. As Starr father discusses, he has regret about his past, but he's still making a difference in the moment to break that reputation. The hate needs to stop the cycle. However, the idea of revenge is too sweet for some to make that an easy compromise.

It helps that Stenberg's performance is at times an incredible breakthrough for the young actress. Having gotten her start in The Hunger Games, she has developed into a performer to watch as she portrays a teenage girl that isn't unlike many who experience this story in reality. She captures that frustration with needing to be two people in order to maintain peace. The insecurity in the typical coming of age drama is still here, but it's given a more important context and purpose. She must determine whether to give into the hate, or find a way out of it. When she needs to cry, she has an energy that elevates the film. As she discusses the hard topics with her police officer relative (Common), she feels in some ways adult and mature without seeming false. She captures a lot of emotional ground in one of the year's most charismatic young performances. It helps that the writing and the supporting cast are equally as compelling, but hopefully this is the type of performance that isn't ignored. Hopefully it leads to great opportunities that expand upon what makes her scene in which she stands on a police car and shouts "Khalil lived!" so simple yet so powerful. She is the perfect fit for this role, and one of the central reasons why the film is a must see.

In a time of political turmoil, it makes sense for studios to bank on civil rights dramas. However, there's always something soft about films like Selma that have the distance of time to make its story accessible. Even if what it says resonates, it's still 1960's and not the Ferguson Riots of 2014 that it parallels to. There are contemporary events in American history that are maybe too complicated to fully unpack on film, but at least the conversation will be more honest. It's why The Hate U Give is valuable as a film. Not only does it pull from contemporary crime history, but it explores it in such an immediate and provocative way that it becomes something greater. This isn't a simple "police brutality is bad" narrative. If it was, the film wouldn't muster more than cheap praise. Because it has a lot more on its mind that paints a society at odds with itself, it becomes something so of the moment that it almost feels crucial viewing. It's not often that these stories feel real down to trivial details like teenage vernacular or Starr's The Fresh Prince of Bel Air poster. They're usually rooted in something from decades ago, which in time disconnects them from the moment of release. The Hate U Give will ALWAYS be a film of the 2010's for better or worse, which isn't a bad thing.

The Hate U Give is a film not about how society can solve police brutality, but how they can start a conversation towards empathy. With staggering images that recall recent history, it's a vital film that immediately connects the viewer to a moment and time that is thankfully captured in a way that feels like a time capsule. There will be a time when the 2010's civil rights movements will be as removed as Selma was to the Ferguson Riots, and we shall be thankful to have a studio drama like this that gives a glimpse into the time. It will prove that the conversation was worth having in 2018, and that it meant something. Maybe there will be more contemporary films to come, or maybe The Hate U Give will fall under scrutiny for sentimentality, but there's no denying that it at least tried to make a difference and did so with more passion and heart than the majority of studio dramas have tried to do. That alone makes it have a deeper, more invaluable connection to the modern era.