Shot entirely from the point-of-view of two central characters, RaMell Ross’ NICKEL BOYS subjects its audience to the ruthless, power-hungry glares of an insidious white American culture unlike anything comparable in recent memory. At a time when the term ‘Oscar bait’ seems to be invoked more than ever during the Academy Awards build-up, this inventive and painful tale of systemic and all-too-close racism redefines a genre rife with such flimsy criticism – an apt reminder that cinema isn’t solely defined by what it’s about, but also by how it’s made.
Ross’ film follows Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), a Tallahassee-born teenager wrongly pinned for car theft. After being sent to the Nickel Reform School in Florida, a torturous institution that embodies the dehumanising horrors of an MLK-era Jim Crow state, he meets Jack Turner (Brandon Harris). As years pass within Nickel, the two find solace in one another while navigating a world hellbent on extinguishing their connection.
Opening with a fuzzy montage of Elwood’s childhood memories, NICKEL BOYS settles into its stride as both characters are introduced. A brief conversation over lunch in Nickel’s cafeteria could hardly be lent such power without the jaw-dropping weight of Ross’ central device – a striking change from the POV (point-of-view) we’ve been accustomed to and a seamless transition into another gaze. Their meeting is granted dual focus, first through Elwood’s POV, then Turner’s, rendering smaller details from this fateful encounter glaringly amplified. The facial expressions of a terrified teenager whose eyes we’d never quite met to this point are drawn into long, agonising focus. Where we once relied solely on the tone of Elwood’s voice or the perceived actions of others to assume his feelings, now he is seen. Or, more aptly, through Turner’s eyes, Elwood is seen, and vice-versa. It’s within this constant state of flux between alternating POVs that the profound heartbreak of a movie occupied with uncovering the inner lives of two African American teenagers undergoing such cruel suppression is informed.
To focus solely on the cinematographic approach would minimise the film’s overall achievements, but the power of Jomo Fray’s camera cannot be understated.
To focus solely on the cinematographic approach would minimise the film’s overall achievements, but the power of Jomo Fray’s camera cannot be understated. NICKEL BOYS could not function without an approach so bold – the gradual transition from point-of-view to a shoulder-blade-supported rig that displays the back of an older Elwood’s head, but never his face, builds to an effect so devastating that a traditional camera could scarcely pull off such visually emotive language.
Throughout its 140-minute runtime, Ross tampers with narrative linearity to an alienating degree, contrasting white America’s milestones with the torment suffered by those inside of Nickel; never quite giving us an accurate sense of location or time through these brief, illusory segues. And it’s within this overwhelming dislocation that a confrontation is forced, and a horrifying possibility looms – that a form of racism so systemic and sadistic may indeed be timeless, or, at the very least, its barbaric after-effects.
The film’s high-point occurs when an older Elwood has a chance encounter with an ex-Nickel prisoner he once knew – Chickie Pete, played by the remarkable Craig Tate in what could be considered the most engaging single-scene performance from a supporting cast member across the 2020s. The effect is as gripping as it is haunting, a moment so cruel in its implications and equally spectacular in its execution. If your eyes beg to be averted, Tate’s frantic gaze cannot be escaped – his performance here is as fundamental to the final act of NICKEL BOYS as the conclusions to Elwood and Turner’s stories are, dragging the unseen brutalities of Nickel’s atrocious regime to its mud-sodden surface.
NICKEL BOYS is a towering achievement from a filmmaker long preoccupied with the documentary artform, a film chock full of crushing performances, irresistible style and the bloodiest beating heart of any 2025 UK release thus far. And this may just be Ross’ truest-to-life work yet – an aching film that replaces its spectator’s eyes with those of another. Seeing is believing, but a force so throbbing is necessary when such beliefs appear too painful to comprehend.