The black squares weren’t the first sign of anxiety, but they were the most obvious. What started as a symbol of solidarity from artists and music industry executives quickly turned into a more unwieldy movement. In the days following #BlackOutTuesday, these boxes appeared on pages all over Instagram.

The restrictive conditions of the COVID-19 pandemic had made it harder to ignore manifestations of state violence – from inept pandemic plans to police brutality. The Americans were eager to act. What exactly that entailed was tricky. For those not yet connected to community networks or unable to attend protests in person, social media has become the most accessible way to support causes. But these online gestures have become, for many, an easy form of political engagement instead of a gateway to a solid organization.

Mo McRae satirizes this kind of internet activism in a lot of nothing. Premiering at SXSW, the shredded first film follows Vanessa (Cleopatra Coleman) and James (Y’lan Noel), an upper-middle-class black couple who feel compelled to “do something” after hearing about another fatal police shooting on evening news . The unsurprising report – unarmed child, ruthless cop, death – snaps them out of their complacency and reminds them of America’s routine violence. Using the conventions of recent social thrillers (get out, the next Master) and satirical elements (a la Boots Riley’s sorry to disturb you), a lot of nothing probes Vanessa and James’ reaction to the incident, their motivation to act, and the steps they are taking to make a difference.

Perhaps that last statement is too strong for this ascendant mobile couple settled in their wealth. Vanessa and James, who both work in corporate offices (a vague mix of finance and law), own Teslas and recently renovated their lavish home, seem more determined to prove the depth of their outrage and take back the control of their life. It’s Vanessa, a biracial woman, who decides that she and James have to do something when they realize the accused cop, Brian (It’s us‘ Justin Hartley), is their neighbor. James, a darker-skinned man whom Vanessa insinuates is used to violence, suggests they write a heavily worded Facebook post.

James and Vanessa never post their screed. Instead, the conversation about what to post — to write “hate ass, n***er hate cop” or opt for an MLK quote — annoys the couple. They decide to think big: what if they go next door and talk to the cop? And then even bigger: What if James brings his gun and “goes gangster” on Brian? Fantasizing about this confrontation changes the mood. Vanessa is visibly turned on by James rehearsing his speech to Brian. The couple have passionate sex.

It’s a spicy start, a sign of McRae’s audacity as a director. But McRae, who co-wrote a lot of nothing with Sarah Kelly Kaplan, seems to come up against the question of where to go next. The film struggles to maintain the verve of that opening sequence (which nails a specific liberal middle-class black anxiety), eventually becoming a series of sets – some more energetic than others – looking of a thesis.

When James and Vanessa wake up to a blaring alarm, it’s clear the previous night’s glow has faded. The reality of their existence – the cracks in their marriage, their depressed attitude to work – sets in. The tonal dissonance of a brief interaction between the two, in which Vanessa asks James what she should do for “his brother and his baby mama,” is shocking. While Noel is perfectly fine as an ambitious black man in denial of the social limits of wealth, Coleman’s performance is harder to pin down.Is her overly infantile tone the film’s attempt at satire, or are we meant to see Vanessa as untrustworthy and more sinister?

What a lot of nothing clearly indicates the cost of Vanessa and James’ upward mobility. Their days at work are filled with microaggressions. There’s a brief moment where the film moves away from the cliched elements of these interactions — inappropriate gestures of intimacy by white people, intimations that they don’t look like “other” black people — to probe something deeper. At a corporate meeting, James interrupts the only non-white woman at the table to steer the conversation in a direction that undermines and favors him. Vanessa receives similar treatment at her desk, and this subtle moment hints at the knotty intersections of race, class, and gender.

The film shifts from racial study to outright thriller when an interaction between Vanessa and police officer Brian leads the former to kidnap the latter at gunpoint. She insists she just wants to have a conversation about why he killed an unarmed child. a lot of nothingThe horror aspirations of, signaled by its disturbing cinematography and score, become more evident at this point.

Still, the audacious turn of events makes one wonder why Vanessa, with her white mother and her anxieties around race, isn’t the main focus of the film. Her dismissive attitude towards James’s brother Jamal (Shamier Anderson) and his fiancée Candy (Lex Scott Davis), her desperation to act, and her disapproval of her husband provide a solid foundation through which McRae could have consolidated and deepened his ideas on race, class and gender.

I focused on Vanessa when Jamal and Candy arrive for dinner and find a hostage scene instead. It was his face that I studied during a confrontation with Candy about their differences. Is Vanessa’s act of kidnapping an attempt at agency in her failed marriage? What does she want to prove – to Brian, to James, to herself?

These questions remain as a lot of nothing careens towards a shock value end that is more disturbing than exciting. The points the film aims to make – about activism, police brutality and the function of race in society – end up, and sadly, getting lost in the twists and turns of James and Vanessa’s mind-blowing story.