All Eyez on Me

The first time I saw Demetrius Shipp Jr. in the trailer for All Eyez on Me, I actually got a little bit of a chill. It wasn’t just the bandana or the nose ring; it was the way he carried his jaw, that specific, defiant tilt that defined Tupac Shakur’s public persona. I remember thinking, if he can act half as well as he looks, we’re in for a classic.

I finally sat down to watch it on a rainy Tuesday while eating a slightly-too-salty bag of microwave popcorn that left my fingers permanently greased, and that eerie resemblance is ultimately what kept me glued to the screen for 140 minutes. But as the credits rolled, I realized that looking like a legend and capturing the lightning-in-a-bottle soul of one are two very different tasks.

A Ghost in the Room

There is an undeniable weight to any film trying to chronicle the life of 2Pac. He wasn't just a rapper; he was a revolutionary’s son, a Shakespearean actor, a poet, and eventually, a tragic figure caught in a corporate whirlwind. For the most part, Demetrius Shipp Jr. handles the impossible task with grace. He’s especially good in the quiet moments, reflecting the sensitivity that Pac often hid behind his "thug life" exterior.

But the real MVP here is Danai Gurira (who I’d follow into battle after seeing her in Black Panther). As Afeni Shakur, she provides the film’s emotional spine. When she’s on screen, All Eyez on Me feels like a high-stakes drama about the heavy cost of activism and the trauma passed down through generations. She brings a grit that the rest of the production often lacks. I found myself wishing the movie had spent more time in the living room with her than in the glass-walled offices of Death Row Records.

The Wikipedia Trap

In the current era of the "prestige biopic"—where films like Straight Outta Compton showed how to turn hip-hop history into an epic—All Eyez on Me feels strangely dated. It suffers from what I call "Wikipedia Syndrome." It tries to cover everything from his childhood in East Harlem to the Baltimore School for the Arts, the Digital Underground days, the trial, the prison stint, and the final days in Vegas.

Because it’s trying to hit every bullet point, it never stays in one place long enough to breathe. Scenes start and end with a jarring "and then this happened" energy. One minute he’s reciting Hamlet with Kat Graham (playing a young Jada Pinkett), and the next he’s in a studio session. It’s basically a $40 million Wikipedia page with a great soundtrack. By trying to be a definitive history, it forgets to be a cohesive story.

The direction by Benny Boom, known for his iconic music videos, leans too heavily into that aesthetic. Some sequences look like high-definition reenactments rather than lived-in cinema. I wanted more of the mess, the sweat, and the internal contradictions of a man who could write "Dear Mama" and "Hit 'Em Up" in the same breath. Instead, the film feels a bit sanitized, even when it’s trying to be edgy.

Behind the Scenes and Social Static

What’s fascinating about this film isn't just what's on screen, but the storm it kicked up on social media when it dropped in 2017. I remember the Twitter thread from Jada Pinkett Smith herself, calling out the film for fabricating scenes—specifically a poem Pac supposedly read to her that she didn't even know existed until she saw the movie. In our current climate of instant fact-checking and creator accountability, those kinds of creative liberties can sink a film’s credibility instantly.

It’s a shame, because there are flashes of brilliance. Seeing Jamal Woolard reprise his role as Biggie Smalls (after playing him in 2009's Notorious) was a fun bit of "cinematic universe" world-building before that became a cliché. And Dominic L. Santana captures the looming, predatory energy of Suge Knight with terrifying accuracy. The casting across the board is actually quite stellar; it’s the script that fails to give them a foundation.

Lost in the Shuffle

Why has this movie fallen into the "forgotten" pile so quickly? I think it’s because it didn’t offer a new perspective. In an era where we want to deconstruct our idols, All Eyez on Me feels like a tribute act. It’s a movie made for fans who already know the story, but it doesn't challenge the narrative or offer the "why" behind the "what."

I watched this film alongside a friend who didn’t grow up on 90s hip-hop, and they spent half the movie asking me who people were because the film assumes you’ve already done the homework. For me, the highlights were the music cues—hearing "Ambitionz Az a Ridah" over a big sound system will always work—but a movie can’t just be a glorified playlist.

If you’re a die-hard Tupac disciple, you’ve probably already seen this. If you haven't, it’s worth a watch just for the performances of Demetrius Shipp Jr. and Danai Gurira. Just don’t expect the deep, soul-searching exploration that a figure as complex as Shakur deserves. It’s a snapshot of a legend that, while visually striking, remains slightly out of focus.

Ultimately, All Eyez on Me is a noble effort that gets tripped up by its own ambition. It captures the look of an era perfectly, but misses the heartbeat. It’s a fascinating curiosity of the 2010s biopic boom, standing as a reminder that a great subject doesn't always guarantee a great film. I’m still waiting for the Tupac movie that feels as dangerous and poetic as the man himself.