Film Review: Just Mercy (9/10)

Damien Johnson
Dec 23, 2025
6 min read

The Meticulous Labor of Truth and Human Dignity

In an industry often distracted by the hollow spectacle of commerce, Destin Daniel Cretton’s Just Mercy stands as a profound example of craft serving a higher purpose. Directed by Cretton and written alongside Andrew Lanham, the film is produced by a team including Gil Netter and Asher Goldstein, featuring a powerhouse cast led by Michael B. Jordan, Jamie Foxx, Brie Larson, Rob Morgan, and Tim Blake Nelson.

It is a film where the technical execution is intentionally quiet, designed to amplify the human labor of its subjects rather than the ego of its creators. This is a story about the legal and emotional architecture of justice, and every department on this production worked in lockstep to ensure the reality of Bryan Stevenson’s mission was never lost to cinematic artifice. The narrative follows Stevenson, a young defense attorney, as he moves to Alabama to defend those wrongly condemned, focusing specifically on the case of Walter McMillian.

STORY (2/2)

The story engineering of Just Mercy is a masterclass in adaptation. Taking Bryan Stevenson’s complex, multi-year legal battle to free Walter McMillian from death row and condensing it into a two-hour narrative requires immense screenwriting labor. The script avoids the "white savior" tropes that often plague the courtroom drama genre, focusing instead on the systemic executional constraints of the Alabama legal system. It is a rigorous exploration of how bureaucracy can be weaponized against the marginalized. By centering the narrative on the Equal Justice Initiative, the film highlights the unglamorous, grueling work of legal discovery and the persistent effort required to challenge a biased status quo. This approach ensures the story feels grounded in reality rather than Hollywood sensationalism.

What makes the story a perfect score is its commitment to the "slow grind" of justice. It honors the labor of research, the filing of motions, and the relentless knocking on doors. By prioritizing the procedural reality over manufactured courtroom theatrics, the narrative achieves a level of authenticity that feels both heavy and essential. The setting of Monroe County, Alabama, is not just a backdrop but a character in itself, dripping with the historical weight of the Deep South. It is a reminder that the most compelling stories are often found in the quiet persistence of people over product. The pacing mirrors the arduous nature of the legal process, allowing the audience to feel the passage of time and the mounting frustration of a system designed to stay stagnant.

VISUALS (2/2)

Cinematographer Brett Pawlak utilizes a visual language that is as disciplined as the film’s protagonist. The gaffer’s touch is particularly evident in the prison sequences, where the lighting is harsh, oppressive, and utilitarian. This choice isn't just aesthetic: it’s a technical reinforcement of the film’s themes. The camera often lingers on the textures of the prison: the peeling paint, the rusted bars, the cramped visiting rooms: emphasizing the physical labor of confinement. These visual choices strip away any romanticism from the setting, forcing the viewer to inhabit the claustrophobic reality of death row alongside McMillian and his fellow inmates.

The use of naturalistic lighting in the outdoor Alabama scenes provides a stark contrast to the cold, fluorescent reality of death row. This visual duality helps the audience feel the emotional distance between the "free world" and the system. The decision to keep the camera largely at eye level creates an intimacy that forces the viewer to confront the characters as peers. It is a visual strategy that prioritizes respect over reaction, refusing to use flashy cinematography to distract from the gravity of the subject matter. Notable scenes, such as the execution of Herbert Richardson, are handled with a devastating visual restraint that avoids exploitation while maximizing emotional impact. The color palette remains muted and earthy, grounding the entire production in a tangible, dusty reality.

SOUND (1/2)

While the visual and narrative elements of Just Mercy are nearly flawless, the audio landscape is where the film feels the most conventional. Joel P. West’s score is effective and emotionally resonant, providing a soulful backdrop to the film's most poignant moments. The technical execution of the sound mix is clear, ensuring that the critical dialogue: the lifeblood of any legal drama: is never lost. The balance between the music and the dialogue is professional, and the surround sound mix effectively places the viewer within the hushed intensity of the courtroom.

However, there is a lack of sonic ambition that prevents this section from achieving the same heights as the visual craft.

From a craft perspective, the audio design misses an opportunity for a more immersive or innovative approach. In a film so focused on the sensory experience of isolation and the "echo chamber" of the legal system, a more adventurous use of ambient sound or silence could have elevated the tension. The score, while beautiful, occasionally leans into traditional "prestige drama" swells that feel a bit predictable compared to the film’s otherwise rigorous realism. We hear the sounds of cell doors slamming and the hum of the prison, but these elements rarely transcend their literal function. It is professional labor, but it doesn't quite push the boundaries of the medium or use the audio space to challenge the audience's comfort.

CHARACTER (2/2)

The performances in Just Mercy are a triumph of empathetic labor. Michael B. Jordan portrays Bryan Stevenson with a controlled, simmering intensity that captures the weight of his responsibility. However, the true soul of the film lies in Jamie Foxx’s portrayal of Walter McMillian. Foxx’s performance is a lesson in stillness: he conveys decades of systemic exhaustion and flickering hope through micro-expressions that demand the audience’s total attention. He captures the essence of a man who has been stripped of his dignity but refuses to let his spirit be entirely extinguished.

This is where the craft of acting meets the reality of the human condition. The supporting cast, including Rob Morgan as Herbert Richardson and Tim Blake Nelson as Ralph Myers, adds layers of emotional depth that highlight the stakes of the legal battle. Morgan’s performance is particularly gut-wrenching, illustrating the collateral damage of a broken system. The labor of the actors here isn't about "big scenes," but about the lived-in reality of men facing the ultimate constraint. The chemistry between Jordan and Foxx serves as the film's structural foundation, turning a legal procedural into a deeply personal study of dignity under fire. Makeup and costume design further this realism, providing a weathered, authentic look that reinforces the characters' histories.

FACTOR X (2/2)

The "Factor X" of Just Mercy is its undeniable moral weight and its refusal to blink. In a market where commerce often demands a "happy ending" that absolves the audience, this film remains uncomfortably honest about the fact that while Walter McMillian was freed, the system that put him there remains largely intact. It is a film that honors the unsung heroes of the EJI and the countless individuals still caught in the machinery of the law. This refusal to offer easy catharsis is a bold creative choice that elevates the film from mere entertainment to a vital piece of social commentary.

This film is a vital piece of technical labor that serves as a tool for social change. Its impact lies in its dignity and its refusal to simplify the complex reality of the American south. By focusing on the craft of storytelling and the labor of justice, Just Mercy becomes more than just a movie: it becomes a testament to the power of persistence. It is a high-water mark for the modern social justice drama, proving that when the industry focuses on people over product, the results can be world-changing. It reminds us that filmmaking, at its best, is a form of advocacy that requires both technical precision and a profound sense of human empathy.

Just Mercy is a powerful testament to the labor of truth and the technical discipline required to tell a story of this magnitude. It sits comfortably alongside films like "To Kill a Mockingbird" or "Selma," yet it carves out its own space through its focus on the procedural grit of the legal system. For anyone interested in the intersection of craft and social justice, this is essential viewing. It is currently available for streaming on platforms like Amazon Prime Video and Max. The film serves as a rigorous reminder that the fight for dignity is a marathon, not a sprint. The final result is a deeply moving experience that honors the people below the line and the subjects behind the story.