40 Acres [Review]
The title of this film references the “40 Acres and a Mule” promise—a pledge to enslaved African Americans that, in exchange for fighting for the Union Army, they would receive economic compensation and the chance to rebuild their lives after the brutality of chattel slavery. Of course, this promise was broken. Instead, white former slave owners were reimbursed for their lost "property," while Black people were condemned to 200 more years of systemic racism, oppression, and poverty. Understanding this history is key to grasping the stakes at the heart of the film: a story about Hailey Freeman (played by Danielle Deadwyler), a Black mother fighting desperately to protect her family farm—and her family—from cannibals during a global famine.
Films in this genre often follow a predictable arc—a struggle for resources, culminating in one group securing victory. But this film subverts that expectation, posing a deeper question: If you have enough resources to share, what’s the point of hoarding them? Western media frequently glorifies rugged individualism—the lone survivor who thrives in a collapsed society. We’re conditioned to root for the strong, self-reliant hero: pumping water, tilling fields, fortifying fences, and shooting to kill. This template defines films like The Road and 28 Days Later, as well as shows like The Walking Dead and The Last of Us (at least in its first season). Rarely, however, do we see post-apocalyptic stories centered on community and empathy rather than individualism.
Octavia E. Butler’s Parable of the Sower offers a striking parallel. Its protagonist, Lauren, guides a group through a collapsed America, leading with empathy—a trait so profound it functions as her superpower. Her hyperempathy, though at times debilitating, fosters deep understanding among her allies. Similarly, Hailey is hyperempathetic, feeling the world’s pain so acutely that she turns to alcohol to numb herself. Yet the more she isolates, the more vulnerable she becomes. The film scrutinizes this trait—often celebrated in Western narratives—exposing the truth: Individualism has never saved us, and only makes you weak. If we have the opportunity to rebuild a new society, why make it in the shape of the old world?
Danielle Deadwyler delivers a phenomenal performance as a woman teetering on the edge, strained by the weight of holding everything together. She captures the silent struggle of Black women who wear a mask of strength to uphold their families, channeling their exhaustion and resilience with heartbreaking precision. Deadwyler’s physicality here is a stark departure from her 2022 role in Till. Though both characters are mothers thrust into strength by tragedy, she completely transforms into an Army veteran who refuses to show weakness so that others can feel safe.
Kataem O’Connor, as Hailey’s son Emanuel Freeman, is equally compelling. He portrays a young man who has never known life beyond the farm, yearning to break free from his mother’s suffocating control. The chemistry between O’Connor and Deadwyler is so authentic that they could pass as real family, and the tension in their relationship feels visceral. You empathize with both characters as O’Connor’s internal conflict reaches its climax.
Many will compare this to The Walking Dead or other post-apocalyptic tales featuring strong Black women in protector roles—but such comparisons only highlight how society has historically rendered Black women’s struggles invisible, minimized, or flattened them into stereotypes of labor and suffering. This is a stunning debut from writer-director R. T. Thorne, whose unique voice shines through. I can’t wait to see what he does next.
5/5 Cannibals
Releases July 2, 2025
