Highest 2 Lowest – first-look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

High­est 2 Low­est – first-look review

20 May 2025

Words by Mark Asch

Three men riding on a train carriage, one wearing a baseball cap and jacket.
Three men riding on a train carriage, one wearing a baseball cap and jacket.
Den­zel Wash­ing­ton stars in Spike Lee’s updat­ed ver­sion of Aki­ra Kuro­sawa’s High and Low, about a music mogul who is tar­get­ed by a venge­ful kidnapper.

You come at the king, you bet­ter not miss – but unfor­tu­nate­ly, Yung Felon (A$AP Rocky), an aspir­ing rap­per and first-time kid­nap­per, who meant to abduct the son and heir of hip-hop mogul David King (Den­zel Wash­ing­ton), acci­den­tal­ly grabbed the chauffeur’s boy instead. No mat­ter, he still wants 17.5 mil­lion Swiss francs – cash, unmarked, in a black Jor­dan brand back­pack – or the wrong kid dies. The set­up of Aki­ra Kurosawa’s High and Low, adapt­ed from Ed McBain’s nov­el King’s Ran­som’, has been updat­ed for Spike Lee’s High­est 2 Low­est, set in up-to-the-sec­ond New York City: his son, aged up to a teenag­er, is a bud­ding influ­encer whose best friend gets nabbed while buy­ing a chopped cheese a bode­ga dur­ing LIU bas­ket­ball camp. The chauf­feur is Jef­frey Wright, as a five-per­center with a durag and crim­i­nal record; he and King go all the way back to the hood togeth­er, and share an easy rap­port in old-head slang. This gives the boot­strap­ping, cash-strapped CEO more to think about as he weighs his oblig­a­tion to anoth­er man’s child against his family’s well-being, the demands of his busi­ness, and the court of pub­lic opin­ion, all while strug­gling to do the right thing. King’s been on the cov­er of Time and Rolling Stone, per the framed pho­tos behind his desk, but despite own­ing mul­ti­ple Basquiats and he doesn’t have £15 mil­lion liq­uid – it’s all tied up in a scheme to buy back a con­trol­ling inter­est in his record label from a soul­less conglomerate.

In King’s Ran­som and High and Low, Dou­glas King and Kingo Gon­do (Toshi­ro Mifu­ne) were shoe-com­pa­ny CEOs unwill­ing to com­pro­mise on qual­i­ty; here, King David, as he’s called, is the founder of a Roc-A-Fel­la – like music com­pa­ny, who once boast­ed the best ears in the busi­ness,” swim­ming upstream to reclaim his sense of artistry. 40 Acres and a Mule Film­works founder Lee is like­wise an auteur who became a brand, and judg­ing from this movie, he’s as hun­gry as King is to prove that he’s still got it. He puts him­self in the com­pa­ny of the best of Black Amer­i­can cul­ture with ref­er­ences to James Brown and Aretha Franklin, Sula by Toni Mor­ri­son and Investi­ture of Bish­op Harold as the Duke of Fran­co­nia by Oba­ma pres­i­den­tial por­trait artist Kehinde Wiley, while fill­ing out the cast with young stars like Ice Spice and Princess Nokia; he deliv­ers a sprawl­ing NYC panora­ma in the vin­tage Lee style, filled with a pun­gent pan-eth­nic sup­port­ing cast, gra­tu­itous shoutouts to the Knicks, and Rosie Perez emcee­ing a Puer­to Rican Day sal­sa concert.

In High and Low, Kuro­sawa lit­er­al­ized the gap­ing class divide in Japan­ese soci­ety by plac­ing Kingo’s man­sion on a hill above the slum where the kid­nap­per lives; here, the scheme is both spa­tial and geo­graph­ic. Yung Felon looks up to King on the ter­race of his apart­ment in one of the new high-rise lux­u­ry tow­ers in Dum­bo near the Brook­lyn Bridge, high above Fort Greene Park where Lee shot his much scrap­pi­er first fea­ture, and lit­er­al and metaphor­i­cal miles from his digs in the South Bronx. Both McBain’s nov­el and Kurosawa’s film are stud­ies of the law-of-the-jun­gle cap­i­tal­ism of the post­war eco­nom­ic boom, which Lee updates for a more entre­pre­neur­ial age with the con­stant pat­ter of grind­set hom­i­lies – though we don’t know much about King’s rise out of the ghet­to, we can imag­ine it. High­est to Low­est fol­lows High and Low in chang­ing the nov­el, hav­ing King even­tu­al­ly agree to pay the ran­som after many min­utes of every-man-for-him­self denial and wrench­ing self-jus­ti­fi­ca­tions. Alan Fox’s script fil­ters this moral quandary through mod­ern media tropes, as King and his advi­sors weigh a fear of can­cel cul­ture against the real­i­ties of celebri­ty wor­ship in the social-media atten­tion econ­o­my, but the film doesn’t devel­op many orig­i­nal thoughts about the nature of mod­ern star­dom, our alter­nate admi­ra­tion and sus­pi­cion of wealth and priv­i­lege, and social atti­tudes to crime. The mor­al­iz­ing Japan­ese news­pa­pers whose pro-busi­ness, police-friend­ly edi­to­ri­als were the back­ground noise of High and Low are here replaced by a mea­gre hand­ful of notably uncon­vinc­ing fac­sim­i­les of memes that char­ac­ters pull up on their phones and show each other.

The home­bound first act of High and Low is large­ly expo­si­tion, with the police lis­ten­ing in on phone calls as Kingo struts and frets like a caged tiger and wres­tles with his dilem­ma. This is fun­da­men­tal­ly sta­t­ic mate­r­i­al, a lim­i­ta­tion which Kuro­sawa tran­scend­ed with the great­est widescreen block­ing of all time. Lee’s stag­ing is com­par­a­tive­ly rushed, flat and antsy (in com­par­i­son, what stag­ing wouldn’t be? But even still)… but he does dynam­ic work when the action leaves King’s apart­ment and moves onto a Bronx-bound 4 train. He’s always been a film­mak­er who feeds on the ener­gy of the city and its peo­ple and does great, cacoph­o­nous work on the film’s equiv­a­lent of the film’s MTA update of Kurosawa’s bul­let-train ran­som drop, fill­ing the car with scream­ing Yan­kee fans on the way to a game and con­triv­ing a kid­nap­ping scheme involv­ing a brake ban­dit and elec­tric moped chase. After Washington’s King claims a movie star’s priv­i­lege not afford­ed to Mifu­ne and over­takes the cops with his own inves­ti­ga­tion into the kid­nap­ping, Lee returns to the 4 for a sub­way-surf­ing fight scene. This is, sim­ply, one of the great New York City sub­way films – up there with The French Con­nec­tion, which it ref­er­ences – though there’s also a very unin­ten­tion­al­ly fun­ny moment in which A$AP Rocky jumps a turn­stile, quick­ly fol­lowed by Den­zel Washington’s stunt double.

Wash­ing­ton is too old for this part, but also per­fect for it. In tai­lored suits and blingy ear­rings, he’s an alpha dog who’ll intim­i­date his own son when chal­lenged but also flash his veneers when glad han­dling the investor class. He’s pre­sum­ably dined with pres­i­dents, but code-switch­es when he gets on the phone with the kid­nap­per, drop­ping into a pea­cock­ing street-cor­ner patois. A$AP Rocky has a mumble-rapper’s stand­off­ish apa­thy and he draws out notes of musi­cal­i­ty and Shake­speare­an urgency from a very moti­vat­ed Wash­ing­ton in the first of two con­fronta­tions that echo High and Lows immor­tal clos­ing scene, with Kingo and the kid­nap­per star­ing each oth­er down from oppo­site sides of a prison’s bul­let­proof win­dow. Here, King and Yung Felon meet for the first time while sep­a­rat­ed by the sound­proof glass of a record­ing stu­dio, and pro­duc­er and artist face off with freestyles and oppos­ing ideas about hus­tle cul­ture and indi­vid­u­al­ism, black father­hood, and gen­er­a­tional val­ues. It’s far more effec­tive than the sec­ond such scene, a mere echo of High and Low that’s fol­lowed by a cringey coda cel­e­brat­ing Black Excel­lence. But you take the good with the bad, the high with the low, all includ­ed in the price of admis­sion for a show­case of Spike Lee’s undi­min­ished vitality.

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