Films for Breakfast

Spike Lee’s filmography is that of constant reinvention. But even for his standards, Highest 2 Lowest is a film that resists your expectations for it at nearly every turn. To simply call it a remake of Kurosawa’s High and Low would be reductive; it’s more like a repurposing of its skeleton filtered through Lee’s uncompromising worldview as a pioneer of filmmaking. What emerges is an endlessly surprising, tonally kaleidoscopic piece of work that veers from deadpan comedy to nail-biting tension to operatic melodrama, often within the same scene. It’s as though Spike has thrown every tool he has onscreen, and instead of trying to tidy it up into a neat and accessible package, he dares us to follow along with the chaos.

The first act feels like Spike in full mad man mode. One moment he’s sermonizing directly to the audience about the state of the world, about art, about race, about commerce. The next, he’s gleefully trolling the audience, dropping in scenes that feel designed to disorient or amuse. A prime example: a full two minutes of Yankees fans mercilessly heckling the Boston Red Sox, a digression that *may* have something deeper to say but mostly plays as a heavily amusing and disarming gag slapped right in the middle of the film’s most tense moment. Meanwhile, Howard Drossin’s swelling, melodramatic score almost dares you to take it all too seriously, before yanking the rug out with moments of bone-dry comedy. It’s messy, it’s indulgent, but it’s also unmistakably a Spike Lee Joint.

What keeps the whole thing grounded is the conviction behind it. Lee doesn’t approach Highest 2 Lowest as an opportunity to simply “update” Kurosawa’s thriller nor make a shot for shot remake. Instead, he uses the basic premise of the story of a  wealthy man entangled in a kidnapping plot as a jumping-off point for something more personal. The film becomes a meditation on legacy: what it means to create, to endure, to wrestle with an industry that alternately elevates and discards its artists. Spike threads in pointed commentary on the rise of AI in art, on the creeping replacement of human touch by algorithms and machinery, and on the broader question of when a creator should (or shouldn’t) step aside to let the next generation take over. These questions aren’t handled subtly, but what fun would that be?

At the same time, Lee doesn’t abandon the bones of Kurosawa’s original. The ransom plot is still there, giving the film a spine to hold onto even as it spirals into bizarre comedic tangents and experimental flourishes. This time around, our lead is David King (Denzel Washington), who is a titan of the music industry in this version. Through this, Denzel’s character serves as a perfect vessel to explore an aging character confronted with both his morality in dealing with this form of life or death scenario, while also grappling with his worth and the world around him. 

About halfway through, the film undergoes its own transformation, echoing the structural shift of Kurosawa’s original but twisting it in a way that feels unique to both this version of the story and also the current political and social landscape. Suddenly, the narrative tightens, the visual style sharpens, and from that point on, it feels like we’re watching some of the best filmmaking Spike has put to screen in years. There’s a rigor to the second half that doesn’t erase the wildness of the first, but rather reframes it as pivotal to how engaging the rest of the film really is.

And then there’s Denzel Washington. Working with Lee again feels like a homecoming, and Denzel reminds us why he remains one of the greatest living actors. He brings gravitas, vulnerability, and sly humor to a role that could have been played as pure archetype. Watching him navigate Spike’s tonal shifts is a thrill unto itself, as he grounds the film’s bigger swings while also committing fully to the tone Spike is going for. The partnership between Spike and Denzel, two titans of American cinema, become the emotional core of the film. It’s as though the movie itself is a living, breathing argument against the idea of older artists “hanging it up.” Their collaboration is the answer: so long as they have something to say, they should never stop.

As for the supporting cast, Jeffrey Wright soars as David’s right-hand man, Paul. He grounds the film with emotional weight while also delivering some of its biggest laughs, a balance that makes his performance both moving and memorable. Their chemistry with each other is a real highlight. But the real surprise here is A$AP Rocky. Without giving too much away, his range is nothing short of impressive. I’ve long admired his music and enjoyed his smaller film appearances, but here he truly commands the screen; even in scenes opposite Denzel. His final moments in particular are absolutely chilling, leaving an impact that lingers well after the credits roll.

On a technical level, the film is equally striking. Shot by the ever-inventive Matthew Libatique, it bursts with vibrancy and color in nearly every frame. What’s especially remarkable is how the cinematography evolves alongside the story: at the halfway mark, just as the narrative pivots, the visual style shifts too. It’s a bold move that could have felt jarring, but instead it locks perfectly into place, underscoring the film’s transformation and heightening its impact.

By the end, Highest 2 Lowest emerges as a film that is undeniably uneven, and also absolutely electric. It’s the kind of movie that feels impossible in today’s risk-averse landscape: sprawling with messy ideas, deeply personal, and audaciously sincere. You can feel Spike pouring himself into every frame; his frustrations, his humor, his fears, his joy, his defiance – everything he can possibly reflect on about this industry can be found here. It’s a film that will divide audiences, but that division is part of its power.

In an era when so much cinema feels engineered to be safe and accessible, Highest 2 Lowest stands out as a reminder of what movies can still be: confrontational, ambitious, and nonetheless entertaining. It’s not perfect and the balancing act of tones feels a bit odd at times, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about it. We should be grateful that we still have filmmakers like Spike Lee, willing and capable of taking these kinds of swings.