Mr. Willmott, in recalling the moment in an interview, said he held back from making a soothing comment to release the man from the tension of that moment. He wanted him to continue reflecting.
It should be noted that nobody in the screening room called the man a "deplorable" or any other epithet commonly slapped onto Trump voters.
That doesn't mean he gets a pass. And America can't take one either right now.
Under Mr. Trump's presidency we are losing our moral compass, our respect for democracy and each other in a number of extremely harmful ways. The problem is bigger than President Trump. We didn't land in this place of hyper-division, of caustic political discourse, of nonchalance toward racial hatred, in one election cycle.
But Mr. Trump's election was nonetheless a national tragedy, with culpability enough to go around. There was the news media that basked in the ratings that Mr. Trump brought them. There were the social media platforms that hastened the spread of hate, conspiracy and calumny. And there were career government officials, particularly in the FBI, who failed to uphold ethical standards of impartiality.
The Hillary Clinton presidential campaign must own some blame too. The presidency was hers to throw away, and she did.
Now, as Special Counsel Robert Mueller investigates the Russian conspiracy to subvert the 2016 election and the American right wing enters the 11th stage of denial, is a perfect time for the nation to have its conscience pricked about the issue that arguably lays at the heart of our national dysfunction: race. And if 135 minutes in a darkened theater can wake a few people up to the dangers of this moment in American life, "BlacKkKlansman" is the perfect vehicle.
BlacKkKlansman is a period film, but only to a point.
It chronicles the true story of Ron Stallworth. In the 1970s, as a young police detective in Colorado Springs, Colo., he infiltrated the Klan — all the more impressive because Stallworth is black. John David Washington (Denzel Washington's son) plays him in the film. Another officer, played by Adam Driver, poses as the white police officer who, as "Stallworth," met with the Klan.
Stallworth was investigating the Klan's activities when he discovered efforts to recruit members in the U.S. military — a problem that is still with us decades later. He also developed an interesting relationship with David Duke, the Klan grand wizard, who at the time was running for a seat in the Louisiana legislature. Duke (played in the film by Topher Grace) sadly is not just a relic of a bygone age, having gained a new lease on life in the age of the so-called alt-right.
Speaking of the alt-right, "BlacKkKlansman" opened in theaters Aug. 10, the eve of the anniversary of the white supramacist "Unite the Right" rally in Charlottesville, Va., that ended in violence that killed a counterdemonstrator.
Charlottesville shocked many Americans because we had been asleep to the revival and rise of white supremacism. The throngs of white-power devotees carrying torches in the Nazi tradition wore no hoods. Their faces were bared for the cameras. Proud even.
That's hatred confident that it has been normalized. White supremacy has changed since the 1970s. It has a new generation of apologists and fellow travelers in the media, on college campuses and in government. It has a slick PR apparatus. It talks of its own victimhood, of its desire just for its own rights. It hides its violent intentions and even, when tactically necessary, pretends it's not serious.
But it is serious, and it needs confronting. Art is a powerful tool to dissolve people's protective coatings of denial, the things that keep them from seeing that a klansman is a klansman is a klansman, no matter the attire or style.
Theater-goers at Cannes erupted into a ten-minute standing ovation as BlacKkKlansman finished. The film won the festival's Grand Prix award.