QUEEN AND SLIM (2020) FILM REVIEW

****

15, 131 Mins

Daniel Kaluuya and Jodie Turner-Smith sizzle in this unclassifiable tale of lovers on the run.

Mid-way through 'Queen and Slim' (2020) a character refers to the titular love-lorn duo as "a black Bonnie and Clyde". On the surface, that statement tells you exactly where we are, but Melina Metsoukas's film is so much more than that. It's a #BlackLivesMatter comment, a thriller, a comedy and a romance playing out under a pulpy, popcorny pretence with a frighteningly fraught attitude towards men in uniform and anchored by a sizzling couple for the Twitter generation.

We begin in a 'Pulp Fiction'-roasted diner where criminal defence lawyer Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) is having dinner with her Tinder date Slim (Daniel Kaluuya). From here, it's on and off the road with the couple pulled over by a cop on suspicion of DUI. From chunks of his brutish interactions with Kaluuya's Slim - tapered with ridiculous requests to open up a car bonnet stuffed with spare shoes - it's clear this is a man with an unconditional bias against those who do not share his white skin. Naturally proceedings spirall momentously out of control as the officer pulls a gun on the couple leading to a violent altercation that results in a bullet to his head. 

Queen and Slim swiftly go on the run across the plains of the American deep south; growing closer by the day and encountering a varied abundance of unbiased faces. Whether it be Benito Martinez's kindly Sheriff, a "power to the people" preaching father and son or Queen's uncle who comes out with the infamous "well if it isn't a black 'Bonnie and Clyde'" zinger, Queen and Slim's road movie antics become a slogan for black lives mattering against systemic oppression.

What I love most about this movie is quite how unclassifiable it is on a genre level. The build-up to the "cop killing" scene - featuring an explosion of police brutality and institutional racism - is genuine edge-of the-seat stuff; pistol-blasting in its gruelling procedural detail while rageful and incendiary in its realisation of the retrograde standpoints of a select few men with a badge. Made me want to throw my hands up in horror!

And yet 'Queen and Slim' isn't scared of disguising its potent and worthy racial commentary behind an outrageous veneer of blackly comic populism. "Is that a glock?" a googly-eyed gas station attendant mumbles in reference to the stolen cop handgun Slim has strapped to his belt. "I'll give you your gas for free if you let me hold it" he continues. What follows is unbearably tense as the young man aims his toy-like pistol towards our central antihero; pulsing with school shooter vibes and leaving viewers clawing at their cuticles over whether or not this uncomfortably relaxed worker recognizes the individual who just gunned down a copper. Thank goodness for the Tarantino-esque quippery of the aforementioned dialogue dolloping a satirical interjection of light and shade to this renegade encounter.

I laughed more here than in the majority of comedies, but 'Queen and Slim's most humane strokes are its romantic chutzpah. Building on the OSCAR-nominated appeal of 'Get Out' (2017), Daniel Kaluuya continues to flutter his big, broad eyelids with double-sworded gusto; smoothing out his often comedic aysemmetricality with streaks of sweat-dripping anger. He's lovingly complimented by newcomer Jodie Turner-Smith who provides the pathos to his tragicomic fury with breathtaking chemistry that makes Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone's heart-melting interactions seem the stuff of bubbly pups.

It's no perfect film. I certainly could've done with less sentimentality in the final minutes where the political picking aparts cloud over the more crowdpleasing aspects of the electric romance. However - for 75% of its running time -  'Queen and Slim' needs to be applauded for its lack of afraidness when it comes to wrong-footing audiences as it goes on a runner. If it weren't for the on-the-nose conclusion, this would be dead-cert 5 star fare. An impassioned and edgy debut for Melina Metsoukas.
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