‘Am I Racist?’ movie was made for conservatives like me. Here’s why I hated it

I never get excited when I hear of a TV show or movie that’s designed for an audience of political conservatives like me. I’d like to think that most people feel the same way I do: they watch a TV show or go to see a movie because they want to be entertained, not enlightened or lectured — or have their own opinions repeated back to them.

Prioritize a political or social message above entertainment value, and you might as well slap a warning label right after the rating card before the show’s trailer that reads, “THIS SHOW IS TERRIBLE.”

That’s what I told my friend last week at the movie theater, after the conclusion of “Am I Racist?” written and produced by and starring Matt Walsh: “THAT WAS TERRIBLE.”

“I wanted to walk out after the first 10 minutes,” my friend replied.

“I had to tell myself to stop rolling my eyes so I wouldn’t get a migraine,” I shot back.

Matt Walsh is a commentator with The Daily Wire, a popular conservative media company. Walsh gave a speech in April 2023 at the University of Iowa. His appearance that evening drew a crowd that exceeded the Iowa Memorial Union’s capacity, plus a couple hundred protesters who were just as obnoxious as one would expect of a purple-haired college leftist who can’t deal with differing viewpoints. To sum up what I wrote after attending the event: It was a hell of an evening.

In “Am I Racist?” Walsh purports to confront initiatives that pervade in schools and workplaces alike and put an unhealthy focus on identity — in particular, race. According to the film’s description, “Walsh goes deep undercover in the world of diversity, equity, and inclusion.” Viewers will be “shocked by how far race hustlers will go and how much further Matt Walsh will go to expose the grift, uncovering absurdities that will leave you laughing.”

“Am I Racist?” is a mockumentary, or a satirical documentary filmed in a manner that parodies its subject. The highest-grossing mockumentary of all time is “Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan,” in which British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen plays Borat Sagdiyev, a happy-go-lucky imbecile of a journalist from the former Soviet republic of Kazakhstan who tours the United States to film what his real-life subjects believe is an authentic documentary on American culture.

The fictitious Borat is unfamiliar with American social taboos, and the film’s humor is derived from the character’s inappropriate antics and the uncomfortable (and sometimes downright angry) reactions of his real-life new American friends, who frequently — and unwittingly — play into Cohen’s social commentary about race, sex and religion in the United States.

In “Am I Racist?” Walsh attempts to adopt a style similar to that of “Borat.” Walsh, the film’s lead character, plays a fictional version of himself, later going “undercover” as a “certified DEI expert,” complete with a laminated certification card, a tweed jacket, wire-rimmed glasses and a man-bun hairstyle.

The film’s subjects all begin as unwitting participants in something they feel is genuine to their anti-racist cause. Ideally, Walsh would let the participants spin their own webs of absurdity. Early in the film, he sits down with Kate Slater, a (white) “anti-racist scholar-practitioner and facilitator” who laments her own daughter’s preference for “white” Disney princesses over “princesses of color” while praising Walsh’s 3-year-old daughter for favoring Moana, a Pacific Islander Disney character. Walsh explains that his daughter would like to dress up as Moana for Halloween and asks if that’s a good idea. “I (expletive) wouldn’t,” says Slater.

If I were to beg Slater to make it make sense, I’d probably start with her teaching designed for adult participants. On her website, Slater’s eight-page “ anti-racist road map” contends in part that “[l]iberation for Black and Brown communities requires a redistribution of White wealth and resources, which was accumulated through violence and oppression.” To that end, Slater’s road map includes recommendations that white people review their assets and donate a car or a house they stand to inherit, or even co-sign a loan for a Black or Brown family. (Your financial adviser might have an opinion about that.)

In a culture where ridicule is man’s most potent weapon, Walsh is floating on a river of self-perpetuating ridiculousness. It’s practically (if not literally) impossible for a critical thinker to take seriously the remarks of Breeshia Wade, a Buddhist chaplain who begins her anti-racism workshop by telling participants that it is “not safe” for her as a woman of color to be around white people. Not the least bit ironically, I’m sure, her circle of white participants gazes back at her with adoring pensiveness as she tells them how dangerous they are to her. Wade is there to teach the white people how to cope with the “grief” of their whiteness.

But instead of letting it flow uninhibited, Walsh, who hesitantly tells the group his name is “Stephen,” interjects with stupid comments designed to make the atmosphere especially awkward in order to amuse the viewer by trolling the libs. When Walsh returns from his timeout in the “cry room’ — yes, I’m serious, this workshop comes with a whole separate room for the white people to cry about their whiteness — he learns that the rest of the group discovered his true identity during the timeout.

Annoyed, and apparently terrified, the group confronts Walsh and tells him his presence makes them feel physically unsafe. They’ve even taken a pause from their stance on police abolition just long enough to involve local police and file a report. Walsh apologizes and admits that he doesn’t have 17 Black friends like he bragged about earlier (rather, he has 15) and then hits the road in search of a satirical Plan B.

The movie gets worse from there. In his disguise, Walsh poses as a server during a Race2Dinner experience, where, for the bargain price of $5,000 and a dinner that she has to host and serve, a liberal white woman can invite seven other liberal white women into her home to share a meal and be told by two anti-racist facilitators how bad white women are. (There are no men allowed.)

If ever there were a better time in the film to let the rhetoric of the bat crap-crazy flow unimpeded, it would surely have been when Saira Rao, half the Race2Dinner grifters’ duo, lectured the table of liberal white women about how they “cannot separate themselves from the bad white people.” (These women pay thousands of dollars for this.)

But instead of letting Rao pontificate uninterrupted about how “this country is not worth saving … this country is a piece of (expletive) … ” Walsh feigned the role of an inspired waiter-turned-DEI specialist, interrupting the discussion at every possible moment to fawningly concur with Rao as she sipped her wine behind an annoyed smile, having clearly figured out that whatever documentary the roomful of cameras purported to be filming was clearly a setup.

That’s how Walsh damages his own movie. During almost every interview with an anti-racist activist, he spikes the ball with antics that are too obvious and gives away his own game. The viewer sees it happen as they watch the anti-racist’s facial expression change upon realizing they’ve walked into a trap, and poof — the magic of the anti-racist ridiculousness has evaporated, replaced only with the fleeting feeling of satisfaction over the “gotcha.” That feeling’s not worth much.

Don’t worry — I haven’t spoiled the whole movie for any readers who desire to see it, though my advice is to see it on Value Tuesday so you only have to pay six bucks for a ticket.

I’m likely in a minority of viewers here, but I found “Am I Racist” to be a missed opportunity. Walsh and his team somehow managed to assemble an impressive cadre of people ready and willing to divulge the preposterousness of their own dogma, the grift behind it and the foolish people willing to pay for it. It could have been deep, smart, thoughtful humor.

Instead, they settled for one hour and 41 minutes of owning the libs with cheap, shallow giggles. And I can’t help but feel like this film is a metaphor for a whole lot more.

Comments: 319-398-8266; althea.cole@thegazette.com