Eighth Grade, BlackKlansman - Performance & Identity

*Spoilers ahead for Eighth Grade and BlackKlansman*

Before I get into today’s discussion— a pretty good one, if I say so myself— I’d like to briefly present my top ten films of the year so far. Why? Because I feel like it, and this blog is the one place where I can pretend my opinion matters. So here is a look at the unequivocal best films of the year so far:

1. BlackKklansman (dir. Spike Lee)

2. Hereditary (dir. Ari Aster)

3. American Animals (dir. Bart Layton)

4. Eighth Grade (dir. Bo Burnham)

5. Isle of Dogs (dir. Wes Anderson)

6. Leave No Trace (dir. Debra Granik)

7. Game Night (dir. John Francis Daley & Jonathan Goldstein)

8. Black Panther (dir. Ryan Coogler)

9. Mission: Impossible - Fallout (dir. Christopher McQuarrie)

10. Upgrade (dir. Leigh Whannell)

If you haven’t seen any of these films, I strongly urge you to do so. Each of these films manages to touch on complex topics, while also aiding in the continued transformation of their respective genres. I’ve paid tribute to a few of these films through my writing, but this particular post will focus on the first and fourth films on that list.

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Eighth Grade director Bo Burnham has made a career out of performing, both on YouTube and onstage. It is interesting then that Burnham’s first work in which he does not perform at all manages to say so much about the sort of performing we do in our everyday lives. Burnham’s directorial debut may focus on thirteen-year-old Kayla (Elsie Fisher), but the film speaks to the ways in which an evolving world has forced us all to perform, even when we may not believe we are doing so.

Like Burnham, Kayla posts videos to YouTube. Kayla’s videos are of the self-help variety, offering advice on how to develop confidence and overcome anxiety. This confident persona online contrasts with the loneliness and anxiety Kayla experiences in the real world. Kayla does a decent job of not letting these issues overwhelm her entirely; she tries to build relationships with the popular kids at school, and even sings karaoke at a birthday party where she is otherwise completely out of her element.

The goal of Eighth Grade is not to describe certain behaviors as performative and others as genuine. Rather, the film is interested in how social dynamics, particularly those empowered by this age of social media, force us to live less, and navigate more.

We understand Kayla’s struggle because it is the one that the film chooses to focus on, but that doesn’t mean the other characters in the film aren’t similarly struggling to navigate their own lives. Kennedy is the so-called popular girl at Kayla’s school; her closely managed Instagram account and thickly layered makeup may suggest that she has everything together, but our own experiences, in addition to Burnham’s skillful script, make clear that this is no more than a facade. The great big lie of adolescence— and quite honestly, adulthood as well— is that strength lies in our ability to put up a hard exterior, that we are strong only when we present ourselves as confident and content. Social media has perpetuated this myth, saddling us with an obligation to create an image of ourselves that is constantly thriving, and therefore strong. Social media isn’t all bad; there’s a certain power in allowing people to express themselves through various channels. After all, Kayla does seem to find agency in posting her videos to YouTube. But when the parameters of self-expression become narrower and narrower, social media stops affording us the opportunity to express, and instead forces us to conform. And as we express less and less of what we are really experiencing and really feeling, we are not demonstrating the strength that we think we are.

Of course, we all perform regardless of our relationship to social media. Even Kayla’s father (Josh Hamilton) spends much of the film trying to fill his role appropriately. It’s not that he’s ever a bad father throughout the film, but he is certainly at his best in his final scene, sitting with his daughter by a fire made up of relics from her past. Here, we see Mark and Kayla present the most authentic version of themselves. Kayla, who spends much of the film angry at her father and his attempts at emotional support, finally embraces him and welcomes his love. Mark, who experiments with different ways of connecting with his daughter throughout Eighth Grade, finds that telling Kayla just how much he loves and cares for her proves to be the most fruitful.

Both of these characters are expressing true vulnerability in this moment, and therefore true strength. What we all crave is the opportunity to stop acting, and instead be who we really are. We perceive gestures of confidence as true strength, but such performances are actually easy. It is difficult to reveal the complexity of your emotions, and to admit when you are struggling. We again see Kayla present the most authentic version of herself at the end of the film, when she is goofing off with her new friend Gabe, eating McDonald’s chicken nuggets and imitating Rick and Morty characters. The truth is that humans are weird, and pretending to be Rick and Morty characters is much more real than the pretending we do everywhere else.

I’m not saying we are all fake all the time, of course, but our anxieties and concerns certainly manifest themselves as performative gestures at various times throughout our lives, and the pressure cooker that is middle school is undoubtedly one of those times.

For some, however, performance is more dire. I find it fascinating that two of the year’s biggest films to tackle race focus specifically on the ways in which performance and passing relate to the black experience in America. Sorry to Bother You sees a struggling black man find sudden success in the wake of tapping into his “white voice.” Similarly, BlackKklansman sees a detective infiltrate a Colorado Springs chapter of the Ku Klux Klan by pretending to be a fellow white supremacist.

Ron Stallworth (John David Washington) pretends to be “Ron Stallworth” over the phone, while Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver) plays this fictional Ron in-person. What makes BlackKlansman so effective is its ability to move beyond basic rhetoric regarding race. Spike Lee has proven time and time again that he simply gets it. His newest film is a strong takedown of the KKK and hateful rhetoric altogether, but it also acknowledges the nuances, rifts, and struggles that affect the black community.

A major theme of BlackKlansman is group identity, and how we can try to adapt our behavior so as to fit in with these groups. Ron must maintain his composure and his “blackness” if he wants to succeed within the police force, establishing him as a performer of sorts early on in the film. Still, he is very much for the expansion and evolution of civil rights in the United States. He bonds with Patrice, a local college student and activist, over this passion. Patrice derides Ron, however, for his contribution to the systems and institutions that suppress people of color. Ron argues that he is effecting change from within, while Patrice believes change can only come from the external rejection and exposure of these institutions. Lee highlights two perspectives on racial inequality, and in doing so, asks that we accept both, using them in tandem rather than allowing them to create a divide within a community. When the color of your skin can endanger you at any given moment— an experience I could sympathize but never empathize with— you are faced with a choice. Patrice decides to embrace her black identity wholeheartedly, forgoing performance for the sake of maintaining an authentic voice. Ron chooses to perform, first as a cop and then even more literally as a member of the KKK. This decision may warp Ron’s identity to a certain extent, but it is not a choice made lightly in a world where an inability to pass could prove threatening in more ways than one.

The film moves beyond just race, however, exploring the other identities we may associate with, and how they relate to the hatred stemming from groups such as the KKK, or as we may call it today, the White House. Flip Zimmerman is Jewish, although he doesn’t put too much stock into his Jewish heritage. A few members of the KKK have a sneaking suspicion that he is Jewish, however, and threaten him accordingly. Facing such hatred forces Flip to reconsider his relationship to Judaism, and to better appreciate Ron’s experiences as well. It’s not that Flip had spent his life pretending not to be Jewish, but when he is finally tasked with doing so, he comes to understand just how difficult it must be to maintain such a performance all the time.

I have discussed my relationship to Judaism in a previous post, and so I can relate to Flip’s perspective. I found his realization to be one of the more moving moments in the film. As white men, Flip and I can pass, avoiding discrimination over that which makes us different. People of color are afforded no such luxury. It is therefore important that we do not take this luxury for granted, but instead weaponize it in the fight against injustice and oppression. Flip and I do not have to become devout Jews, but it is important that we identify with such a small minority, and allow that identification to help build a bridge towards increased unity and understanding.

We all perform, and we all do it for different reasons. Although vastly different films, both Eighth Grade and BlackKlansman explore this idea of performance and how it relates to the formation of identity. Perhaps the most overarching lesson I can think to pull from these films is to simply listen. Rather than question, reject, and challenge the behavior of others, perhaps we should first try to understand it, as there are almost always internal pressures and external forces at work.

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If you made it through my longest piece yet, thank you! I hope you enjoyed. With the semester about to start back up, I may be writing less frequently. But I still plan on commenting and reflecting on the craziness that is the world of film and entertainment, so stay tuned!

Until next time,

Cory Reid