Fearless. Firebreathing. Rattler of many cages. Jordan Peele’s launchpad into horror’s inner sanctum is supported not only by his artistic process, but also his drive to generate content for those who’ve endured representative deletion en masse. Get Out and Us mark a pivot within the horror genre toward undervalued representation while alarming – and entertaining – audiences through two precision-crafted American nightmares. No one in mainstream Hollywood is crafting personalized genre content on a more incendiary, thought-provoking level right now. Horror needs Jordan Peele, whose voice has shaped and continues to shape from lifelong experience; his delivery rife with irrevocable signatures already synonymous with his name.
“Master” and “G.O.A.T.” are already being tossed around via internet chatter, but why invite trolls to distract from what Peele is doing by arguing for Alfred Hitchcock’s or Wes Craven’s names? Let time judge this distinction. Instead, here and now, why not use appropriately descriptive words like “daredevil,” “essential,” and “shatterer of barriers?”
In short? Thank you, godspeed, and we’re lucky to have you, sir.
The Rebel
Jordan Peele on the set of ‘Us’ (Courtesy: Universal Pictures)
What Jordan Peele has accomplished with just two feature films profoundly marches progress forward in terms of not only Black American storytelling through horror’s ethnically repetitive landscape but moviegoing at large. In the year 2019, Peele’s committal to focusing on black stories is unprecedented enough where mainstream box office reporters still write headlines expressing surprise regarding success for ensembles of color. Peele’s statement-making decision to reverse racial erasures is thriving on a national stage – Get Out opened with $33 million ($176 domestic lifetime) and Us shattered that premiere weekend ceiling with $71 million. Should this be a screeching-halt headline? Yes or no, I assure you, it is.
To be fair, black representation in cinema hinted at improvement before Peele bashed genre doors down. When you watch Shudder’s Black Noire: A History Of Black Horror and hear stories from forefront chargers like Blacula director William Crain or anecdotes about Jada Pinkett Smith’s final girl in 1995’s Demon Knight, strides are noted. I could point towards 2016’s Sennia Nanua in The Girl With All The Gifts and 2018’s The First Purge as tides slowly changing, but there’s the keyword: “slowly.” Do any more immediate illustrations come to mind in the last few years, Peele’s excluded? Only two readily-available examples out of how many horror movies released every year? How many years have passed since George A. Romero’s Night Of The Living Dead cast Duane Jones as its star in a bold decision in 1968? Why is Rachel True *still* being ignored as one of The Craft’s main actresses to this day? For as receptive, equal-opportunity, and inclusive we want to believe Hollywood has become, reality tells a different story.
Enter Jordan Peele, who’s dismantling tokenism and cares not about mincing words. “I don’t see myself casting a white dude as the lead,” he told a UCB Theater crowd recently. “Not that I don’t like white dudes,” he continued, “But I’ve seen that movie.” Honestly? As a member of the “white dude” collective? I’ve seen that movie, too. Frequently. And I’m eager for other horror stories that aren’t centered on my experience.
Peele’s ability to stoke conversation while operating with barbed and sharpened genre tools screams global resonance. Get Out is a rude awakening, and Us a doppelgänger warning. Capturing trauma from a previously hushed perspective not only drives creative invigoration but works to decimate stereotypes of the past. Countless filmmakers push this narrative uprising – an indie grassroots opposition – but Peele maximizes his platform by paying it forward. Kumail Nanjiani, for example, steps in as a Pakistani lead for “The Comedian,” one of many tales in Peele’s The Twilight Zone reboot. Nia DaCosta, the up-and-coming writer/director of Little Woods, will helm Monkeypaw’s Candyman revival. Horror cinema has been notching small milestones in terms of racial (and gender) equality industrywide, but as Peele notes in Black Noire, only now does there feel to be a full momentum swing that he’s triumphantly spearheading: “It really is one of the best, greatest pieces of this story, feeling like we are in this time — a renaissance has happened and proved the myths about representation in the industry are false.”
The Director And Auteur
Some creators operate on a level that’s almost otherworldly when it comes to depth, command of tone, and symbolic reference. A horror movie doesn’t have to shout existential frustrations into an eternal void with the hope someone will listen. Ghost stories can be just that, and slashers gory practical fun, but Peele’s first two films have established depth in thematic layering with a jolt like jumper cables have been attached to our brains – Peele in the driver’s seat, Meegan’s smirk beaming, as he revs the engine. To say Get Out and Us are meticulously plotted would be an enormous understatement as evidenced by the endless avalanche of well-versed reactionary entertainment journalism that’s followed.
Take Get Out. On the basest level – because page-long explainers already exist – Peele’s slavery subtext, motifs of resistance, and in-your-face antagonism are silently sensational. Action unfolds with a paralyzing level of paranoia that numbs your immediate processing of why Chris uses a deer head to skewer Dean (laid out to perfection by Anya Stanley). We gasp as Chris picks cotton from an armchair used to muffle sounds of hypnosis to escape. We cringe while Rose refuses to mixed colored Fruit Loops with her pure white milk. Get Out’s overall messages aren’t advanced-level race relations horror, but it’s the richness with which Peele layers each scene with visual table settings you’ll continue to notice after multiple watches. What appears to be drastic survival choices are purposefully placed callbacks planted by Peele.
Us exists as a dare to overanalyzers and a testament to getting lost inside thorny hedge mazes of the mind. Conspiracy theories have spun out of control since opening weekend, as Reddit threads to New York Times op-eds try to dissect Peele’s theatrical barn burner down to the slightest line of passing dialogue. Hands Across America, abandoned tunnel systems, secret clone operations – wait, isn’t this a home invasion movie? Tethered consciousness, Tim Heidecker’s squawk, N.W.A. lyrics. These aren’t random additives, but once again, Peele is able to incorporate very significant telltales into a cohesive story while remaining faithful to fluid happenings on screen. There is no more dangerous threat against humanity than ourselves, which is why Peele’s brand of horror has not required supernatural influence. Just a house of mirrors, metallic scissors, and segregated suburbs. I mean, Peele explained Us (U.S., eh?) in the carefully-crafted marketing material before the movie even hit theaters: in the poster (look who’s crying), trailer (find the beat), and tagline (“Watch Yourself”) – yet we still never see it coming as the film unfolds.
It’s not about Peele’s themes, but how they’re contextualized. The way they snap into scripted molds. How undercurrents of remarkable symbolism build and roll into this metatextual snowball that smashes down on audiences at ramming speed – only after building up the dread like a burner that’s steadily increasing flame. Filmmakers have been layering political, social – any and all – commentaries into cinema since day one, but few have drawn proverbial blood on as large a stage as Peele. Frustration, condemnation, and reclamation: building blocks that do not squander mass-marketable fears found in Peele’s depictions of unfiltered humanity.
The Horror Lover
Jordan Peele in an early “Key & Peele” sketch.
Yes, Jordan Peele’s roots wrap around all things comedy. Mad TV. Key & Peele. Keanu. No, this shouldn’t taint your mind with beliefs that Peele isn’t a horror appreciator, as illustrated by our list of Key & Peele sketches lambasting the horror genre (with love), including some direct seeds that blossomed in Us. “Gremlins 2 Brainstorm” could only come from someone so in love with genre cinema he’d spoof writers room ridiculousness for a film most haven’t even seen. When asked about the single glove his red-jumpsuited attackers wear in Us, Peele quips, “There’s Freddy Krueger, Michael Jackson, and O.J. Simpson.” When presenting Lupita Nyong’o with pre-Us reference titles, he listed – among Hitchcock and Kubrick classics – Dead Again, A Tale Of Two Sisters, Martyrs, Funny Games, and Let The Right One In.
You can adore horror and make a bad horror movie, don’t get me twisted, but Peele’s so obviously a student first, master (in the making) second. He adapts Hitchcock’s psychological domination in Get Out as Chris struggles with social isolation and body swapped hopelessness – physically drowning in his sunken place – while including those Raimi-esque shots of a deer skeleton. You can tell when filmmakers fall in love with someone else’s scene or set piece and pay homage through recreation. Peele’s passionate respect for those who came before morphs their influence into a blended concoction all his own, from the fierceness of Pluto scampering on all fours down the Wilsons’ hallway in Us to Bradley Whitford as Dean Armitage delivering his now-famous, “I would have voted for Obama a third time if I could!”
As James Wan bends shadows to his will, Peele steeps his characters in the thickest, blackest nightshades, whether a groundskeeper sprinting toward camera into view or the evil Wilson clones breaking from formation under a driveway streetlight. Precise framing – a frozen Chris, tears streaming down his face, centralized in shot – with cinematic attention paid to artistry. Adelaide and Red trading depth of focus as one Lupita Nyongo’o pleads with the other, whose back is turned. I mean, the performances he’s provoked? Peele has proven himself an agile puppeteer pulling strings, so profound as to project the filmmaker’s shared fears unto theater seats where he once sat, devouring the titles of his time while dreaming of a future role-reversal where his was the eye behind the lens.
As a final note? He dressed as Jack Torrance for the Us’ press junket. They say make what you love, and Peele is doing just that.
The Full Package
Jordan Peele on the set of ‘Get Out’ (Courtesy: Universal Pictures)
Jordan Peele has slammed a reckoning down on horror culture. Norms shattered, box office myths proven wrong, and wavelengths synergized. My perspective is from a place of privilege and cinematic appreciation since I’ve seen mirrored likenesses of myself on screen as far back as lil’ Donato could flip a television power switch. To truly understand Peele’s long-overdue impact on all audiences, read Tananarive Due’s emotive response at witnessing a monumental turn for “Black Horror.” Peep Ashley Blackwell’s rejoicing over “another one of the very few Black female heroes in the genre.” As part of a white audience who’s never had a lack of opportunity connecting with heroes, protagonists, and developed characters in movies/TV, I can’t begin to understand how therapeutic it feels for writers of the above pieces – and many more in their position – to celebrate victories, breathe some relief, and champion a cause far too many years in the making. These are stories that need to be told, and emphatic testimonials are as crucial as each film’s mounting box office return.
Jordan Peele might be the most influential filmmaker in Hollywood at this moment. Best case scenario: Jordan Peele’s career goes the way of James Wan where he’s able to offer prospective talents deserving opportunities under Monkeypaw’s banner while he keeps hammering on bigger-picture studio projects. Responsibility is something felt, but not always honored. Peele seems to be a rare breed willing to trade his own goodwill for newer creators, ideas, and movements he believes in, which can only benefit greater cinema. This from the same man who once convinced Comedy Central to air a sketch titled “If Names Were Farts.”
Little did we know the true thunder that rumbled inside Jordan Peele waiting to be unleashed.
