I just watched Sorry to Bother You, and it's wonderful -- a brilliant, brooding, quasi-dystopia that mirrors our present all too closely. Namwali Serpell has a great piece (though with lots of spoilers - I'll try to have less, but you should probably watch it before reading this) on the film and the way its satire is grounded in literalism, but not only. The terrifying thing about the movie is that as you're watching it, you realize that much of what seems absurd is really quite plausible. Most obviously, the vaunted realm of the "power callers", their luxurious conditions and inflated salaries, as compared to the drudgery and poverty of the regular telemarketers, is fact, not fiction.
For Briahna Gray, writing for The Intercept, the crucial scene of the movie is the worker's strike that happens roughly halfway through. It is indeed a remarkable scene (I can't think of the last time a movie showed a labor strike either), and part of what's powerful about it is that it isn't a solution - it's one step in a broader struggle. And it quickly gets swept aside, as we instead follow the adventures of our protagonist, Cassius. It should be noted that it isn't obvious that Cassius will join the strike - at that point, he's already in a position to advance at work, he's starting to do better and earn money, and he is obviously hesitant to put that at risk. Although he sees the importance of the cause, his participation seems just as much based on the fact that his girlfriend, and everyone else in his social scene, are doing it too. When he's brought into the office after the strike, he thinks he'll be fired and is ready to go, but instead - plot twist! He gets a promotion, and accepts it, because after all, he won't be harming his friends' cause, he just...won't be helping it. Or so he can tell himself. Part of the cleverness of the film is that it doesn't vilify him for this choice. We disapprove, maybe, but we also understand, and can relate. Cassius is a good guy. When he learns what he'll be selling as a power caller, it gives him serious pause, but we see the seductive sway of capitalism work its charm -- not just the money he'll earn, and the comfortable lifestyle it will afford, but also (maybe even more importantly!) the feeling of being good at something, of making something happen. We cringe when he crosses the picket line, but we don't really expect him to change his mind, especially after his girlfriend's dumping him fails to sway him.
Of course, he eventually does change his mind -- but it takes some truly bizarre (or maybe not, scarier to think) developments to make that happen - not just a horrific reveal, but also direct personal risk. This is where the movie gets interesting, but also a lot hazier, even as time starts moving much more quickly, brilliantly capturing the dizzying pace of our media-cycle-dictated world. Once the conspiracy is revealed, can anything be done to stop it? The movie is fuzzy on this point. Going to the news with hard evidence does something, kind of, but not really. Ultimately, we are returned to Step One: the strike. Just gotta keep at it. Will it work? Unclear. The movie has to get back to its own loose ends, and acknowledge that maybe it's too late for Cassius, but maybe it's not, and maybe there's a whole other, more anarchic possibility if a strike won't work...but the movie declines to speculate further, and calls it a day there.
Here's the thing though - is there really a plan here? Yes, the movie does essentially argue that the strike is the only viable way forward (and gives Squeeze, the unionizing hero, a brief speech to hammer the point in). But it also shows us just how hard that is, and how even a likable, conscientious guy like Cassius can be turned away from the movement. What I like about Sorry to Bother You is that it's too smart to tell a simplistic, redemptive story about the power of organized labor to save the day, even as it matter-of-factly acknowledges that it's the best chance we have. It has been argued that movies are inadequate to capture the real, grinding, long durée of political work. This movie acknowledges that, and doesn't dress it up as something else instead. It doesn't throw up his hands and say that we're screwed, but it's not exactly optimistic, either.
You'll notice that I haven't mentioned race at all. Of course, the movie's "hook" -- what I, and probably a lot of other people, thought it was going to be about, is Cassius using his "white voice" and becoming a huge success. When I say that it turns out, instead, to be a critique of today's capitalist society, I am not saying that the racial aspect isn't central, because in fact, the two are completely intertwined. The rap scene is the most vivid example; Cassius' shocked realization that humans are just raw material to be exploited and used up happens right after we see a crowd greedily soaking in his blackness, completely irregardless of his personality or his abilities. There is a lot more to say about this, and I would also really like to think more about Detroit (wonderfully played by Tessa Thompson), and especially about the way the movie leaves you in suspense over the potential threat that a romantic conflict presents (in a movie that is already very dude-heavy) -- but I really do have to get back to work now.
For Briahna Gray, writing for The Intercept, the crucial scene of the movie is the worker's strike that happens roughly halfway through. It is indeed a remarkable scene (I can't think of the last time a movie showed a labor strike either), and part of what's powerful about it is that it isn't a solution - it's one step in a broader struggle. And it quickly gets swept aside, as we instead follow the adventures of our protagonist, Cassius. It should be noted that it isn't obvious that Cassius will join the strike - at that point, he's already in a position to advance at work, he's starting to do better and earn money, and he is obviously hesitant to put that at risk. Although he sees the importance of the cause, his participation seems just as much based on the fact that his girlfriend, and everyone else in his social scene, are doing it too. When he's brought into the office after the strike, he thinks he'll be fired and is ready to go, but instead - plot twist! He gets a promotion, and accepts it, because after all, he won't be harming his friends' cause, he just...won't be helping it. Or so he can tell himself. Part of the cleverness of the film is that it doesn't vilify him for this choice. We disapprove, maybe, but we also understand, and can relate. Cassius is a good guy. When he learns what he'll be selling as a power caller, it gives him serious pause, but we see the seductive sway of capitalism work its charm -- not just the money he'll earn, and the comfortable lifestyle it will afford, but also (maybe even more importantly!) the feeling of being good at something, of making something happen. We cringe when he crosses the picket line, but we don't really expect him to change his mind, especially after his girlfriend's dumping him fails to sway him.
Of course, he eventually does change his mind -- but it takes some truly bizarre (or maybe not, scarier to think) developments to make that happen - not just a horrific reveal, but also direct personal risk. This is where the movie gets interesting, but also a lot hazier, even as time starts moving much more quickly, brilliantly capturing the dizzying pace of our media-cycle-dictated world. Once the conspiracy is revealed, can anything be done to stop it? The movie is fuzzy on this point. Going to the news with hard evidence does something, kind of, but not really. Ultimately, we are returned to Step One: the strike. Just gotta keep at it. Will it work? Unclear. The movie has to get back to its own loose ends, and acknowledge that maybe it's too late for Cassius, but maybe it's not, and maybe there's a whole other, more anarchic possibility if a strike won't work...but the movie declines to speculate further, and calls it a day there.
Here's the thing though - is there really a plan here? Yes, the movie does essentially argue that the strike is the only viable way forward (and gives Squeeze, the unionizing hero, a brief speech to hammer the point in). But it also shows us just how hard that is, and how even a likable, conscientious guy like Cassius can be turned away from the movement. What I like about Sorry to Bother You is that it's too smart to tell a simplistic, redemptive story about the power of organized labor to save the day, even as it matter-of-factly acknowledges that it's the best chance we have. It has been argued that movies are inadequate to capture the real, grinding, long durée of political work. This movie acknowledges that, and doesn't dress it up as something else instead. It doesn't throw up his hands and say that we're screwed, but it's not exactly optimistic, either.
You'll notice that I haven't mentioned race at all. Of course, the movie's "hook" -- what I, and probably a lot of other people, thought it was going to be about, is Cassius using his "white voice" and becoming a huge success. When I say that it turns out, instead, to be a critique of today's capitalist society, I am not saying that the racial aspect isn't central, because in fact, the two are completely intertwined. The rap scene is the most vivid example; Cassius' shocked realization that humans are just raw material to be exploited and used up happens right after we see a crowd greedily soaking in his blackness, completely irregardless of his personality or his abilities. There is a lot more to say about this, and I would also really like to think more about Detroit (wonderfully played by Tessa Thompson), and especially about the way the movie leaves you in suspense over the potential threat that a romantic conflict presents (in a movie that is already very dude-heavy) -- but I really do have to get back to work now.
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