Directed by Destin Daniel Cretton
Written by Andrew Lanham and Destin Daniel Cretton (book by Bryan Stevenson)
Starring Michael B. Jordan, Jamie Foxx, Brie Larson, O’Shea Jackson, Jr., and Rafe Spall
Running time 2 hours 16 minutes
MPAA rating PG-13

by Jaime Davis, The Fixer

“Capital punishment means ‘them without the capital get the punishment.’” These striking words greet the reader in the opening pages of Bryan Stevenson’s disarming memoir Just Mercy, in which the author shares one of the first things he learned at the Southern Prisoners Defense Committee (now called the Southern Center for Human Rights) where he interned and later worked after graduating from Harvard Law. I know this is supposed to be a film review, and I promise to get to the movie stuff, but first I want to talk more about the United States, specifically the pervasive racism and prejudice so deeply rooted in this country.

It is no secret that innocent people of color in the United States are routinely hunted by law enforcement: in their neighborhoods, in their cars, and even their own homes (see the recent murders of Atatiana Jefferson and Botham Jean). In direct correlation, the US prison population has increased from 300,000 people in the early 1970’s to over 2.3 million (at the time of Just Mercy’s publication, 2014). Countless people, hundreds of thousands, have been arrested for nonviolent offenses and sentenced to decades behind bars. Most are poor, a majority are people of color. State and federal governments spend over $80 billion a year on jails and prisons (up from $6.9 billion in 1980). This kind of spending has forced many governments to redistribute funding to their prison systems and away from public services like health, food assistance, and education. And “rehabilitation” for prisoners is a thing of the past - rarely are jails and prisons providing educational assistance and services like they were inclined to do in the past. In many instances, laws are created to marginalize and disenfranchise the already marginalized and disenfranchised, keeping them locked up for years or even life. Some are falsely accused and convicted. Some are sentenced to death. Hundreds on death row have been killed, thousands wait their turn. It’s systematic, institutionalized racism and prejudice meant to tear lives and families apart, meant to keep people of color and poor whites demeaned, diminished, invisible. It’s slavery evolved. To anyone in the US who says we no longer have a race problem, you’re in serious, shameful denial.

If you’ve read Stevenson’s book or watched Ava DuVernay’s eye-opening documentary 13th on Netflix, the above information is not new to you. If you’ve watched the news recently or blindly stumbled on Twitter for a few minutes or accidentally caught an episode of Orange is the New Black before searching for the latest ep of the Great British Baking Show or merely glanced at a physical newspaper (if you can find one) or an online news site then none of this should come as a surprise to you. We are, and have been, living in dark times. In October of last year I reviewed The Hate U Give, another film decrying the egregious abuse of people of color, specifically black families just trying to live. I felt so strongly that THUG should be required viewing in this country, and I feel exactly the same about the film adaptation of Just Mercy.

Before we get to more about the film (I promise to get to it!), Iet’s take a step back. Bryan Stevenson grew up in Milton, Delaware, a part of the eastern shore of Delaware known as the Delmarva Peninsula. His community was routinely excluded from the greater surrounding society. Many of the older people he grew up with worked in factories or at poultry plants because of a lack of educational opportunities in the 50’s and 60s. You might think, well Delaware is a northern state - it shouldn’t be all that bad. In reality, yes. In practice, no. I know the Delmarva Peninsula quite well. During my high school years my family and I lived about 25 miles away from Stevenson’s hometown, in Laurel, Delaware, an equally small, racially segregated town. In lower Delaware (affectionately known as “slower lower Delaware”, many of the mainstays are not shy about their southern allegiances. I don’t know much about what it’s like now, but back then boys unabashedly displayed Confederate flags on their trucks. Black people were typically confined to living on the outskirts of towns in segregated sections of shack-style housing, or in sanctioned projects. In school, most people of color kept to their own friend groups, with a few exceptions. Older whites talked openly about black people in disgusting, derogatory ways; I heard the N word spoken out loud and often. Having grown up in bustling suburbs of Chicago, New Jersey, and New York City, our move to slower lower was a shock. The divide between white and everyone else was jarringly felt on a daily basis. While formal segregation ended when Stevenson was young, informal segregation ruled the area. Milton wasn’t necessarily a kind place to Stevenson’s family, who constantly worked hard, but never seemed to get ahead, because they weren’t allowed to. It was this background that led Stevenson to help those silenced by poverty, racism, or both.

After undergraduate, Stevenson attended Harvard Law on a full scholarship, eventually earning his JD along with a degree in public policy from the John F. Kennedy School of Government. Upon graduation, he returned to the Southern Center for Human Rights in Atlanta before setting up the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI) in Alabama in 1989. While he was still in Atlanta, he was the victim of racial profiling and almost arrested outside of his own home, accused of burglarizing the neighborhood. This experience, for lack of articulation, scared the shit out of him. If an educated attorney, who understood the laws and rights afforded to him could be stopped, his car and person illegally searched, what about all the people out there who didn’t understand their rights, didn’t know how to navigate interactions with law enforcement? It motivated him to do talks at churches, schools, and other organizations about how black people could prepare themselves for such violations. After one such talk, a former civil rights activist passionately told him, “You’ve got to beat the drum for justice.” It was a crucial moment for Stevenson.

This is around the time where Destin Daniel Cretton’s emotionally raw adaptation of Just Mercy begins. Stevenson (quietly, strongly portrayed by Michael B. Jordan) is interning at the Southern Center for Human Rights, and makes his first visit to a death row inmate named Henry. It’s an emotional scene - Stevenson, nervous at his first encounter with Henry, expects to meet someone much older, but finds himself face to face with a man his own age, from a similar background - they’d both been involved musically in their local churches, and shared some of the same experiences growing up. Stevenson’s task is to break the news that they don’t have an attorney assigned to his case yet, but to assure him he will not be executed within the year. Henry’s response to hearing the news is utter joy and relief - he had kept his family from visiting for fear his execution date would be shortly set. At the end of the encounter, as Henry is roughly forced back to his cell by a gruff prison guard, Henry sings an old hymn that Stevenson recognizes from his own church growing up. It’s a beautiful moment in Just Mercy the book, but in the film it’s weightier, more of an emotional gut punch, and effectively sets the tone for the remainder of the movie.

Just Mercy, the film, is stark, its performances relatively subdued. The script focuses on Stevenson’s work with the EJI to help free death row inmate Walter McMillian where he served time for six years. McMillian, sensitively portrayed by Jamie Foxx, was a black man wrongly accused of murdering a white woman in Monroe County, Alabama. The state’s case against McMillian refused to accept his alibi, ignoring dozens of (black) residents who attested to his whereabouts during the time of the murder. Other exculpatory evidence that would have kept a case against McMillian from building was also pushed aside. The county had already decided he was guilty - he was the man they wanted to punish, innocent or not. You see, McMillian committed two offenses considered so egregious by the elite white society surrounding him: First, he owned his own tree-pulping business that, while not making him wealthy, afforded him a certain amount of independence many of his black peers didn’t have. Secondly, and more outrageous, he had the audacity to have an affair with a white woman, considered, still to this day, an unconscionable act by southern whites. The Sheriff placed him on death row before his trial had even started (unprecedented and I believe illegal); McMillian didn’t stand a chance.

The bulk of Cretton’s Just Mercy focuses on EJI’s struggle to secure release or a new trial for McMillian. Through this, we get to know another Alabama death row inmate, Herbert Richardson, a Vietnam veteran suffering from severe PTSD and mental illness. Unlike McMillian, Richardson did indeed commit a crime that resulted in the death of an innocent woman. But lack of medical care and a sound legal defense left Richardson extremely vulnerable. Rob Morgan (Jimmie’s father in The Last Black Man in San Francisco) infuses Richardson with so much fragility - his scenes are poignant and heart-breaking to say the least.

I’ve been a fan of Destin Daniel Cretton since the release of Short Term 12, which has some of the most authentic, human performances from LaKeith Stanfield, Brie Larson, Kaitlyn Dever, and more - seriously, the cast and acting are amazing. Just Mercy is a perfect story for Cretton’s directing skills - he tells it like it is. There is no flamboyance here. No Hollywood pomp and circumstance. It’s not a flashy film; there are no Oscar-baiting courtroom monologues from Jordan, no impassioned speeches from Foxx, no distracting Hans Zimmer-esque score to drive your emotions from one beat to the next. I’ve talked to a few people who’ve seen Just Mercy and all of them said the same thing: “It’s a good film, not great.” And this is owed, in my opinion, to its lack of “pizzazz.” To which I argue: it doesn’t fucking need it. Just Mercy is a quiet, swift, much-needed kick in the stomach, and for good reason. This is no Green Book. It makes no apologies. There is no white savior here. There is in fact, no savior at all. We might argue that Stevenson is our hero, but one can only do so much. It’s up to the rest of us to sit up, pay attention, and demand change. We’ve all got to beat the drum for justice.

For more information or to get involved, visit:

Southern Center for Human Rights
Equal Justice Initiative
JustLeadershipUSA
Black Lives Matter
Showing Up For Racial Justice
White People 4 Black Lives