Am I Racist?
Am I Racist?
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From the white guys who brought you "What Is A Woman?" comes their next great question, and America's next great movie, "Am I Racist?" Matt Walsh goes undercover in the world of DEI, hilariously skewering the absurdity of race hustlers. Prepare to be shocked by how far the grifters will go and how much further Matt Walsh will go to expose them.
CrossCutCritic reviewedApril 30, 2025
White Guilt, Weaponized Identity, and the Gospel According to Awkward Silence
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If Whoopi Goldberg, Jordan Peterson, and the ghost of George Orwell had a three-way custody battle over a screenplay, it might look something like Am I a Racist?
This is not a movie.
It’s a minefield wrapped in a TED Talk disguised as a dinner party that devolves into interpretive dance.
And somehow… it works.
Mostly.
If you like your satire with the subtlety of a marching band playing Nina Simone, this one’s for you.
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The cast is a murderers' row of fragile egos and simmering agendas:
A white progressive professor who speaks fluent academic shame but hasn't spoken to a Black person off-campus since the Obama years.
A conservative podcaster whose idea of nuance is "I'm not racist, but..." followed by actual racism.
A TikTok activist so chronically online she makes Greta Thunberg look like a Luddite.
And somewhere in the middle of it all:
a barista.
Who might be the only person in the entire film who has actually met a person of color without drafting a thesis about it.
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Every scene is a blood sport.
Every line of dialogue sounds like it was written during a panic attack in a Whole Foods parking lot.
And yet, beneath the razor-edged one-liners and beautifully timed meltdowns, there’s something… honest.
Not tender.
Not yet.
But aching for it.
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Because here’s the truth no one in the movie is allowed to say:
Everyone is terrified.
Not of being wrong —
but of being irreparably stained.
Because once the “racist” label sticks, there’s no confessional booth.
No baptism.
No “Go, and sin no more.”
Just cancellation.
Exile.
Silence.
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Which brings me, against all better judgment and possibly social suicide, to…
the cross.
Yes, that cross.
The one we were supposed to have moved on from in our enlightenment, but which stubbornly keeps showing up in places like this —
right when we need it most.
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Because Am I a Racist? isn’t asking for clarity.
It’s crying out for absolution.
And not the kind you get from reposting an infographic.
The real kind.
The messy kind.
The kind that says:
> Yes, you’ve failed. Spectacularly.
But failure isn’t the end of you.
There is a mercy deeper than your hashtags.
A love wider than your mistakes.
A grace strong enough to carry your shame without demanding your self-erasure.
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None of the characters find that grace.
They’re too busy performing.
But you, dear viewer?
You just might.
If you can stop laughing long enough.
Or cringing.
Or rewording your next social media post in your head.
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Am I a Racist? is not a masterpiece.
It’s a mirror.
And it’s cracked.
But maybe that’s the only kind of mirror that shows us who we really are.
And if there’s still a God watching this mess with any interest,
I suspect He’s not keeping score.
I suspect He’s waiting for us to stop performing…
and start repenting.
With joy.
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