Rebel Ridge

The preoccupation of Jeremy Saulnier's career so far has been the messiness of violence when undertaken by regular people who are in no way suited for it. It takes the form of righteous revenge in Blue Ruin, an author hunting murderous wolves in Hold the Dark, and a punk band struggling to survive Nazi skinheads in Green Room. In each instance, he deploys a distinct solemn and intense tone which seeps into every pore of the narrative, covering the proceedings in an oppressive atmosphere whose tension you could cut with a knife. His latest resists devolving into anything you could call "fun" (although that hasn't stopped people on Letterboxd from doing so), choosing instead to craft an incredibly taught thriller which will have your stomach in knots as the situation slowly but surely ramps up.

This time around, he adds an element of social commentary to the mix, going hard at the practice of civil asset forfeiture and the way police departments can abuse it to treat the citizens under their jurisdiction as a piggy bank, especially when those citizens are people of color. Inherent in that is the dispassion of the system, the way its fundamental construction is hostile to the idea of justice, and how even the avenues technically available to civilians are out of reach in practice. Maybe most importantly, woven throughout is the idea that it's the actions of people on behalf of that system that make it all work: all it takes is one person defecting to encourage others to do reluctantly do the same, which is what makes change possible. By no means do the actions of the few ensure the downfall of corrupt institutions, but the slowly building wave is the best chance those out of power have to disrupt those within it.

To get the ball rolling, first, there must be a push.

Which arrives in the form of Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre). In contrast to Saulnier's prior protagonists, he isn't particularly helpless or passive, demonstrating a an incredible ability to maintain poise and control under immense stress, coming in part from his time in the Marine Corps. He possesses a basic knowledge of his rights, a willingness to push back just enough to know what's possible, and a great instinct for when his probing is about to cause things to escalate out of his control. Not that it aids him when he's run off the road by some cops while biking to bail his cousin out of jail: if anything, his persistence is taken as an affront, which spurs Chief Sandy Burnne (Don Johnson) to begin messing with him when he visits the station the next day seeking to make a deal to recover the cash his officers seized during their "traffic stop".

Not that we expect any honesty from the cops. Despite what we saw with our own eyes, Officer Steve Lann (Emory Cohen) reports they followed Terry for two miles before he noticed the car and sped up, every detail a lie. But this town's small police force is clearly quite practiced in exercising their power, and have grown used to people cowering in fear of their livelihoods, allowing them to do whatever the hell they want. They are completely ruthless in wielding it, sure to make Terry feel like he has no escape from them as long as he's around. On the few occasions the situation escalates to a degree neither side feels comfortable with, leading Terry to walk away, the cops cannot contain their scorched earth tendencies, crossing a line which drags Terry back into the fight.

The deployment of Summer McBride (AnnaSophia Robb) is a wonderful stroke. Her position in the courthouse clerk's office gives her the long view and access to files to back it up. So when Terry shows up, and her sympathy leads her to offer help, she uncovers a strange pattern in these civil forfeiture cases. We eventually find out their traffic stops involve extreme tactics to ensure their victims don't raise a stink or try to reclaim the funds, funds they're so desperate for to plug the funding holes after being sanctioned in response to an illegal search resulting in a dead civilian a few years ago.

Saulnier doesn't take the easy route here and implicate the cops as purely power hungry and evil. Nor does he say shining a light on their injustices and abuses will immediately prove a solution to the problem. Rather, the department being held to account for a grievous miscarriage of justice and murder of a civilian is in fact part of the reason this messed up situation exists. Much how the presence of body cams has not deterred police abuses, and in fact has given them "proof" of their proper behavior even as they manipulate what's in frame (see Theo Anthony's excellent documentary All Light, Everywhere), the fictional police in this story have seized on their slashed budget as grounds for feeling righteous in their actions to keep their force together, even as they terrorize the people they're supposedly there to protect.

To be clear, he makes no claims this exonerates them, but it does muddy the waters. Even an apparent victory can be a blessing in disguise to the abusive force, as it diverts eyes from them as they adapt to their new reality. Saulnier offers no answers, choosing instead to wrap up his story in isolation. And with it makes a statement on what makes the situation so chilling, drawing parallels to what goes on in the department and the difficulties in getting answers from the courthouse clerk's office.

The particulars of the ending are quite interesting, and I've seen great distaste for it online. I'd like to offer my interpretation, but that will involve spoilers. I'll save them until after the break, so if you want to avoid knowing how the story resolves, don't scroll past the picture. Just know I highly recommend this film.

SPOILERS START BELOW

At the end, many people (well, commenters on Letterboxd) are left unsatisfied by Officer Jessica Sims (Zsané Jhé) taking out Chief Burnne's vehicle, which is deepened by the remaining officers proceeding to escort Terry's vehicle to the hospital. From a narrative perspective, I understand the audience response: a movie which has been so dour all of a sudden has a happy ending? And from an ideological perspective, I get it: it could be satisfying to see the cops pay for their crimes, or have the movie present some solution to the situation. But for them to be seemingly redeemed?

I interpret it differently, as offering a far more powerful and distressing message which nonetheless does see a path for action.

Chief Burnne shooting Officer Evan Marston (David Denman) is the clear turning point. Jess makes no attempt to stop Terry from running, and she's one of a couple officers who do not take part in the ensuing firefight, as they don't know who to shoot at. Which is in line with what we've seen so far: her prior skepticism of official department actions make it unsurprising that an extreme event would cause a change of heart. Of course, running your superior off the road in order to arrest him is a bigger step, but her pre-existing internal conflict definitely makes it reasonable.

Her boldness is what gives the other officers permission to escort Terry to safety. That's the key: they don't decide to do it on their own, and take no action to tip things in his favor. They simply wait for the outcome to be decided, then align with the "victor". They're spineless lemmings, following whoever is currently in the position of most power, which is not what you want in your police force. While we only see a couple officers actively propagating the abuses of the town, it takes silence on the part of everyone to enable it. They've made the calculation that security in their own lives and positions of power are more important than justice, spitting on the very badge they don each morning. This includes Jess: she may have enough of a conscience to eventually act, but until then, she's done nothing to stop the others. Their turn isn't redemption, it's just a cessation of causing harm, and only once it becomes the path of least resistance. Apart from Jess, there's no ounce of bravery on display, no desire for reconciliation.

Despite being released a few months before the election, this idea is incredibly relevant following it. The incoming administration has made clear their intent to act all on manner of culture war nonsense, starting with mass deportations (but certainly not ending there). In the face of such extreme and inhumane actions, the quest to retain our civil liberties will require stepping outside of our comfort zone. They're relying on the majority turning a blind eye as long as they can go about their lives comfortably. Activists have been and will continue to be at the forefront of the fight. For the rest of us, we can endeavor to be like Jess: know that despite any past failing, there's no better time to stop being part of the problem than now.