Spike Lee's Highest 2 Lowest drags down a Kurosawa classic

Why Spike Lee made Highest 2 Lowest is decidedly unclear.

Sure, there's the fact that he's a celebrated writer and director with no signs of slowing down — when presented with the opportunity, why not make a crime-thriller starring hitters as heavy as Denzel Washington and Jeffrey Wright?

And the allure is all the more appetizing for an auteur, considering the source material. This Lee joint is a remake of Akira Kurosawa's 1963 film High and Low, a mistaken-identity kidnapping drama centred around a business magnate faced with an impossible moral choice.

But more than that, there's the actual carrot perpetually dangling from Lee's stick: the chance for the iconoclastic commentator behind projects like Malcolm X and Do the Right Thing to make a statement.

But Highest 2 Lowest doesn't really seem to have a cohesive message. The most forgiving take for why that is would be that Lee simply never bothered to gather his disparate themes into one. The less charitable take would be that the interpretation of class and worth Lee does eventually land on is as shallow as it is head-scratching.

What you can't say, though, is that there's no message at all; both this update and the original are so completely concerned with the concept (or figment) of upward mobility that they allude to it right in their titles. And both start from that higher position: as in Kurosawa's version, our protagonist is an upwardly mobile and aptly-named businessman.

While in the '63 film that was shoe tycoon Kingo Gondo, Highest 2 Lowest introduces us to music exec David King (Washington). Similar to the original, he's locked in a battle for the soul of his company, Stackin' Hits Records — on the verge of a sale that would see it pivot to AI music. To regain control, King puts up nearly everything he owns. As long as the deal goes through, he can pay back his creditors with interest and position himself as the label's new tastemaker.

There's just one problem. Soon after he lets a coworker know about his strategy, a mysterious caller informs King he's kidnapped his son and he'll never see him again unless he pays a ransom so high he can't afford to go through with the deal.

It's simple calculus: his son is worth more than money. But just as King readies the dough, the Kurosawa twist kicks in: the kidnapper accidentally grabbed the son of King's chauffeur and lifelong friend, Paul Christopher (Wright). The question then becomes significantly trickier: should King sacrifice his wealth for someone else's child?

While not the first change to the original film's plot, this is where the most egregious of tweaks comes into play.

Kurosawa's story boiled down to a question of utilitarianism: the philosophical belief that you should always act to create the most happiness for the most people. Since Gondo is embarrassingly wealthy, doesn't he have a duty to humanity to save a kidnapped child — regardless of whether it's his? The fact that Gondo's chauffeur is just an employee is the point. On the surface, Gondo owes him nothing. At the same time, he owes him everything.

It's that complexity and nuance that gives Kurosawa's film its gravity. High and Low doesn't so much criticize capitalism as expose how class disparity can poison people's outlook and pit them against one another.

Things are decidedly murkier in Lee's reimagining. King and Christopher's lifelong friendship dilutes the dilemma. King isn't asked whether he can really own capital at the expense of a human life. He's just asked whether he should sacrifice his wealth for someone he loves.

Outside of that, there are some positives. Washington's acting elevates any project he's in by sheer dramatic force — including an apparently improvised rap battle that, frankly, goes hard. And a chase scene midway through at least reminds us of how exciting Lee made Inside Man.

In a triumphant filmic return to his hometown, Lee shows off his knack for framing New York City in a more lively way than any of his contemporaries. Once we make our way out of King's palatial penthouse, the sweaty city streets make for an interesting setting and contrast for the plot to play out.

And if you don't look too closely, the class element Lee continually returns to could be a tool to directly comment on race: where King is affluent and therefore listened to by investigators, Christopher, who's both poor and an ex-con, is mocked or met with hostility.

The value of wealth to a Black family man, you could argue from Lee's plotting, is to actually receive the benefits of a society that should be on offer to everyone.

While Kurosawa's second act focuses almost entirely on the tireless and altruistic police investigation, Lee is more critical. Police here are either lampooned or removed from the narrative.

But what they're replaced by is as confusing as it is eyebrow-raising. By drastically changing Kurosawa's third act and ending, Lee seems to be arguing that wealthy people are inherently worthy of their powerful positions in society.

It's evident as King steam-rolls over the less fortunate and takes a far more hands-on approach to the crime, guided by his incredible inner resolve and willpower, which Lee treats with cool exaltation. In this film, those who blame disparity on systemic issues are portrayed as both bitter and wrong.

It's evident in the public's superficial support for the kidnapper that draws eerie parallels with Luigi Mangione, the alleged killer of the UnitedHealthcare CEO, and is presented as an egregiously unexamined criticism of social media and public avarice. It's even evident in an absurd wealth-worshipping music video featuring none other than A$AP Rocky.

And it's evident in a tacked-on ending that supersedes what is perhaps High and Low's most famous and influential scene. Iinstead of closing on Gondo visiting the kidnapper in prison for a conversation that questions the actual divide between the haves and have-nots — and, more importantly, the happy and unhappy have-nots — Highest 2 Lowest closes on a song.

The title track is a ballad, seemingly sung straight to King, the undisputed good guy. "Listen to me, I'm a fighter," singer Aiyana-Lee declares. "'Cause I've always found the light in the dark."

It's an exclamation point on the film's supposed meritocratic moral, reinforcing the idea that King's place atop the pedestal is due to his tenacity and inherent worth. That's assuming there actually is a moral. If there isn't, Highest 2 Lowest is merely a jumbled approximation of a classic. But if that is the theme, Lee's outing doesn't just miss the point, it turns it on its head.