The year is 1962. In Tallahassee, Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), a precocious Black teenager, seems destined for greatness. Encouraged by the militancy of the burgeoning Civil Rights Movement and his supportive yet cautious grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), Elwood is accepted into a free accelerated-study program at a nearby college. Just when all seems well, a stroke of bad luck has Elwood accidentally hitching a ride from a stolen car. This leads to him being sent to the notorious segregated reform school Nickel Academy.
So begins “Nickel Boys,” the latest work from documentary filmmaker and photographer RaMell Ross, and his first narrative feature. The film is based on the Colson Whitehead novel of the same name and straddling the line somewhere between historical drama and essay film. “Nickel Boys” follows (in so many words) Elwood and his friend Turner (Brandon Wilson)’s experiences at Nickel Academy. It jumps between past and present, most interestingly, all shot from a first-person perspective. Playing fast and loose with continuity, the film’s priorities lie in its exploration of trauma, milieu and, of course, subjectivity.
Form vs. Content
The first-person conceit does much of the heavy lifting, both for better and for worse. While the POV switches bring a lot of emotional resonance, at some point, one can’t help but feel dissonance between form and content. Despite being shot in such a subjective manner, Ross often opts for big and bold thematic declarations that break the naturalism and subtlety his formal choices demand. Fortunately, “Nickel Boys” does have its moments where this tension is exploited to great effect. But after all is said and done, it’s the moments of ambiguity that end up the most memorable.
Take, for instance, the scene more than halfway through the 140-minute runtime, where a now-grown Elwood encounters another Nickel Academy survivor at a New York bar. The awkward conversation that follows, though subtle, is almost unbearable. The pain and trauma carried by these two men is explored brilliantly through simple staging, body language and camera placement.
High highs, middling lows
Another great sequence is the film’s opening 15-minute assault, a barrage of emotions and pure experience that doesn’t pause to let the audience get a handle on the form. It’s montages like these (which return with unfortunately diminishing results) where Ross’s strengths really shine. History and personal subjectivity collide in all their ambiguity. The tilt of a camera communicates more than any line of dialogue.
Unfortunately, this is the most interiority any character is given. While it may be easy to critique the filmmaker for developing a film around Black male friendship and then neglecting to give said friendship serious depth, clearly Ross has other cinematic priorities, if the constant Stanley Kramer references weren’t enough of a clue. While a little messy, visual formalists in the audience should find plenty to look at. The Civil Rights movement-era historical textures are rich enough for anyone to chew on. Cinematic missteps aside, RaMell Ross has an extremely promising career ahead of him.
