Lakeith Stanfield's protagonist Cassius Green ('cash is green’) is presented as capitalism’s tragic hero. His heart's in the right place, but when the opportunity to earn money beyond his wildest dreams arises, the moral ambiguities do little to stop him from taking it. His character arc draws on a wider tension concerning how one navigates the capitalist system, making enough money to survive in it without being seduced by it. The most insightful aspect, however, is what finally snaps him out of his rise to power. Content with making money at the expense of others, Green only starts to question things when he has to make money at the expense of himself. He only realises (or accepts) he is being corrupted when the consequences of it threaten his own welfare. Green’s opportunistic actions are juxtaposed against his activist girlfriend and co-workers, who - having not been rewarded by the system - stay true to their principles.
Sorry to Bother You's primary use of surrealism comes in the form of the 'white voice’. It's an amusing and ingenious way of satirising the extra barriers of discrimination faced by African-Americans. Green and his black co-workers are unable to achieve success as telemarketers unless they deny their own identity and conform to the expectations of the white population. Once Green makes it into the upper echelons of the company, he is forced to constantly maintain his white voice, except for when the white CEOs want to exploit his blackness (or rather their stereotyped perception of it) for their own amusement. However, it's not until the third act that the surrealism reaches its peak, as Green uncovers the grotesque manifestations of capitalist greed and oppression. The whole atmosphere of this section, in fact, is claustrophobic and uncomfortable; Green’s upper-class life isolates him from the rest of society and traps him in an environment of horrific absurdity.
All of this works because, despite Sorry to Bother You being his first film, Riley constructs it so well. Every single detail is vital; what may seem like a minor background gag turns out to be essential to the narrative. Riley also composes every scene with striking inventiveness, most notably when Green and his desk crash into the rooms of the people he’s cold-calling. It’s a brilliant idea that perfectly conveys both Green’s initial discomfort and later success, as the awkwardness and rapport are equally emphasised by his physical proximity to the person on the other side of the phone. The film is driven by a constant, vibrant energy created through its use of colour and an eclectic, genre-blending soundtrack provided by The Coup and art-pop project tUnE-yArDs. Sorry to Bother You’s ambitious narrative risks appearing scattershot and directionless, but fortunately Riley’s surprisingly assured filmmaking brings it all together.
The most fascinating thing about Sorry to Bother You is how its exploration of functioning within capitalism serves almost as a meta-commentary on the film itself. Riley is a communist and those beliefs are an integral part of the film’s messages, but in order for anyone to hear those messages, Riley must, to some extent, comply with the capitalist system. Like Green, Riley’s film has to be able to survive within capitalism without becoming a part of it. Sorry to Bother You does this, ultimately, by being completely, unashamedly bonkers. Riley doesn’t sacrifice any of the film’s bizarre aesthetic or rebellious message in order to reach a wider audience. Instead, despite having to rely on capitalism for its distribution, Sorry to Bother You is a ruthlessly comprehensive condemnation of the system and the most provocative, outlandish and extraordinary film of the year.
9.2/10
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