I am probably the last person in the country to see “Get Out,” except for the 50 or so other people in the theater with me last night.

My lame excuse: I’m scared of horror movies.

But there are so many notable things about this film that I’m compelled to point them out, even though I’m late. The movie sticks with me, and is going to stick in the culture, too.

Consider this: A thriller that makes us think about race because it places the viewer at the center of a racial conspiracy. That’s new.

“Get Out” grabs us with the shock of truth, cloaked in the thriller genre. The audience recognizes the danger for our hero, Chris, before he feels it himself, and roots for him to, well, get woke.

Early in his weekend visit to the wealthy parents of his white girlfriend, we know there’s something terribly wrong about the black folks that work for them. Chris’ (Daniel Kaluuya) wide eyes are wary from experience, but we want to warn him — “It’s way worse than you think!”

The Dad (Bradley Whitford) can be pegged as a racist right off, and the menacing son Jeremy (Caleb Landry Jones) might have stepped out of the plantation dinner scene of Tarantino’s “Django Unchained.” But girlfriend Rose (Allison Williams) and the open-minded Mom (Catherine Keener) reveal themselves more slowly.

The movie grabs us with the shock of the new. I can’t recall a movie told from the point of view of a young African-American man as he navigates a white-dominated world. That’s really different.

In doing so, writer-director Jordan Peele makes us feel what he — as an African-America man — has felt. All while entertaining us with the sinister beats of a classic thriller.

That’s what Peele is saying, I think: This is what it feels like to be me. In the age of Black Lives Matter, in the age of Trayvon Martin, in the wake of a two-term black president, Peele has created a vehicle that allows us to empathize fully with that experience — the constant measuring of oneself against expectations of others, the dull daily impact of small insults, little indignities, the wearing down of a person’s internal barometer of self-worth.