Film Critique: Get Out and Social Horror

Get Out (2017) takes an outing to a girlfriend’s family and reframes it as a battle for possession of the person and the person’s body. The movie, directed by Jordan Peele, depicts the black photographer, Chris, who is receiving a warm welcome from his white girlfriend Rose’s family, which turns more and more ominous as the story progresses.¹ Its horror is rooted in the link between the discomfort of everyday racism and organized violence. Through the garden party, the Sunken Place, and Rose’s betrayal, the film argues that admiration and apparent friendship can preserve racist power when they deny Black people the right to define themselves.

The garden party sets the stage for the possibility of racial admiration to become a form of possession. Instead of interest, white guests make assumptions about black athleticism and sexuality.² Their attention is like praise, but their queries strip him of desirable attributes. The encounter is uncomfortable as Chris has to conduct the conversation, and Daniel Kaluuya’s measured responses make it awkward. The later auction is literal because his body is something that others think they can buy. Instead, blackness is used as a tool for white characters to better their lives, while disregarding Black personhood.³ The guests’ sophistication adds fuel to the satire; having been educated and cultured themselves, they demand a greater amount of education and cultural appreciation from Chris, and they do not seem to be getting it when it is freely given. The auction therefore develops the party’s logic rather than introducing an unrelated evil. Peele makes the shift believable by letting normal social interactions create the atmosphere of physical exploitation.

The Sunken Place is a visual and physical representation of this loss of control. The continuous sound of a spoon hitting a teacup is a reminder to Chris that he is now paralyzed, and that he is being guided into darkness during his hypnosis session with Missy.⁴ His being aware and responding while being helpless is more disturbing than being unconscious. He is still there, but his presence gives him no control over what occurs to him. The teacup is also an instrument of domination, since it transforms an object of hospitality into a tool of control. Missy’s quiet demeanor adds to the danger, as the violence comes in a non-threatening manner rather than an openly threatening one. Sound, framing, and performance thus work together to make polite authority frightening. The scene further objectifies Chris: He can be seen, measured, and controlled, but his point of view is not considered.

Moreover, Rose’s betrayal reinforces the idea that superficial sympathy does not equate with safety. As she is looking for the keys to the car, her initial reaction is to think that she is as alarmed as Chris is when he tries to leave her. This promises him that it will be okay, and she refuses to give him any more of it, further revealing her tactics of keeping him within the house.⁵ Her expression is especially effective because it changes the meaning of her previous warmth. Her job is to defend and to arrange exploitation, the trusted girlfriend being the most important link in the family’s racial control.⁶ The film then invites the viewer to assess the concept of solidarity by means of acts and effects. Chris cannot be sufficiently close to Rose to be protected from her choices when she has the power to say whether he has to leave.

Racial expectations are also a factor in the suspense in the ending. The prospect of police intervention is initially threatening, not reassuring, when flashing lights are present during Chris’ confrontation with Rose. That becomes a respite when his friend Rod arrives.⁷ The narrative flashes us a glimpse of what a white woman, who is injured, and a black man, who is bleeding, might be read as before we come to a better understanding. The suspense relies upon the viewers’ recognizing the risk of an incorrect accusation. That promise extends the film’s thesis beyond the family: breaking out of the family does not automatically remove Chris from the scrutiny of racial assumptions. The friendship becomes realistically meaningful in this case because Rod takes Chris’ threat seriously and acts. The need for someone who sees him as a believer, making the movie’s difference between concern and help complete, is essential for his survival.

The film, however, focuses on Chris, and other people’s experiences are not sustained. With its discussion of racism, Black women are relatively marginalized, undermining its explanation of the relationship between racial power and gender and race.⁸ The audience learns little about Georgina beyond captivity as she carries on a strained smile and tears as if she is suffering from imposed behavior.⁹ Her suffering helps Chris recognize danger without developing a detailed perspective of her own. This limitation is important because the film condemns those who prize Black bodies while ignoring lives. It is a persuasive narrative that brings Chris back into focus, although not necessarily Georgina. Recognizing that imbalance qualifies the film’s achievement without dismissing its effective exposure of racial possession.

In conclusion, Get Out succeeds as social horror because its frightening situations develop from recognizable relationships of inspection, reassurance, and control. The surgical conspiracy strengthens those relationships until their violence cannot be denied. The cast, the sound, and the reversals make the film’s central argument convincing: respect involves recognizing another’s right to his own body and life, and other people’s right to respect themselves.