From left, Octavia Spencer, Kelvin Harrison Jr., and Naomi Watts in Luce (Jon Pack/Neon + topic)

 Thirty years after Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing (1989) comes an addictive sociological think piece and deep character study that is sure to provoke more questions than answers.

Luce Edgar (played brilliantly with chilling intensity by Kelvin Harrison Jr.) is an all-star African American student who has won the heart of his whole high school in Arlington, Virginia, with his charisma, intelligence, and talent as a debater. Adopted as a boy from war-torn Eritrea, he has been brought up with the best comforts his wealthy white suburban parents can give him. Amy, his loving but naive mother (Naomi Watts), goes so far as to model him as her idealized version of what a son should be, an optimistic All-American poster boy athlete/leader, much to the chagrin of her more pragmatic husband, Peter (Tim Roth).

Meanwhile, Luce’s suspicious and notoriously judgmental history teacher, Harriet Wilson (Octavia Spencer in a powerful role), makes a shocking discovery while grading a paper written by him, where he assumes the voice of the Marxist French West Indian writer Frantz Fanon and seemingly advocates violence as a means for racial equality. She opens a can of worms that will lead the audience to find out what Luce really wants and discover a growing internal conflict that affects anyone who comes into contact with him. It’s important to know that Wilson is also black and leads a very fraught domestic life with her estranged sister, who has a mental illness.

Based on his play, J.C. Lee’s screenplay, co-written by director Julius Onah, is a packed, well-oiled vicious circle that speaks volumes. The film requires more than one viewing to grasp all it wants to say, and it tricks filmgoers into thinking they’re going to be watching a good versus evil story. At the end, it doesn’t take any prisoners. The name Luce means light in Italian and Luz in Spanish and may very well be interpreted as a metaphor, not only for the brightness of the student but for what the ideas he shines a light upon.

While ambiguously playing with viewers’ emotions, Luce flirts with many topics, from bad parenting and white guilt, why a book should never be judged by its cover, and the controversial distinctions, public perceptions, and competition among people of color from different socio-economic backgrounds. At its heart, it’s a much needed statement on the overlooked causes of frequent school tragedies. The question of whether white guilt should be a sufficient justification to adopt a child, strip him off his identity, and give him a better life materially—no matter how well intentioned—is brought to an alarming eye-opening dimension. Also at play is the American education system and its eagerness to overlook what’s at stake. Luce is a product of this environment.

Even if the film suffers from the occasional over-the top performance and foreboding atmosphere, it’s a very welcome raw and inspired drama.