First-person storytelling puts us inside a character’s mind to experience the world around them as they do, to see every little thing they see. RaMell Ross’ bold historical drama Nickel Boys pushes that to its furthest logical extreme, being mostly shot through the two central protagonists’ field of vision. Adapted from Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the same name, the story tackles disturbingly real horrors in America’s dark past, so never straying away from the victims’ shared viewpoints proves crucial. Nickel Boys is not the first work relying on similar POV filmmaking techniques (Hardcore Henry and Enter the Void come to mind as well), yet Ross utilizes them with striking distinction, adding intimate weight to harrowing atrocities that are now all but forgotten. As disorienting as Nickel Boys often feels to watch, both due to Ross’ stylistic flourishes and nonlinear story structure, it ultimately becomes nothing less than outright devastating.
Nickel Boys thrusts us into the life of its first main protagonist, Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), by way of a vivid opening montage alluding to his childhood, seen only through his own eyes. We soon understand he’s an adolescent African-American boy in 1960s Tallahassee, Florida. Despite persistent racial segregation laws, Elwood’s life under the roof of his affectionate grandmother, Hattie (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), is stable, even as he participates in civil rights movements he knows could have harsh repercussions. His entire life is forever altered one fateful day when he’s unjustifiably arrested and sentenced to a brutal reform school known as Nickel Academy, which seems to treat all its students—especially those of color—with unusual severity.
Elwood’s only companionship at Nickel Academy lies in his newfound friend Turner (Brandon Wilson), who soon becomes the sole source of comfort for this innocent inmate. Unlike Elwood, this young Black man has been in and out of Nickel many times before, to the point of just accepting the grim path his own life has also taken. As the film’s visual perspective progressively broadens from Elwood’s to Turner’s, their bond takes a far more tragic and cruel turn. Once the true extent of that cruelty becomes clear, directly evoking the actual Dozier School for Boys (which state authorities didn’t shut down until 2011), it’s enough to leave a deep pit in one’s stomach.
Nickel Boys’ way of communicating its central narrative is far less simple than one may think, eschewing straightforward storytelling in a manner that refuses to hold the audience’s hand whatsoever. Many scenes seem to drop us into the middle of action without context, leaving us uncertain at first of what exactly we’re witnessing. In fact, it’s sometimes difficult to tell if we’re watching a dream or flashback, memory or present-day revelation, Elwood’s viewpoint or Turner’s — and that’s not even mentioning the vast array of archival footage inserted into transitionary sequences. Ross’ experimental approach may frustrate some viewers, but it gradually fits each fragmented puzzle piece together into such a powerful whole. Nickel Boys rewards patient audiences when the story’s full portrait comes into focus to an absolute gut-wrenching degree. Although what the camera captures never verges on feeling exploitative, the difficult subject matter is no less painful to stomach. Ross handles these heavy themes with tasteful respect while still creating an emotionally shattering experience through and through.
For a debut fictional feature (preceded by his 2018 documentary Hale County This Morning, This Evening), Ross’ craftsmanship exudes a surprising level of sheer confidence. His lifelong experience as a fine art photographer enables him to capture the smallest of details: a ripe orange waiting to be plucked, a pair of fingers fiddling with a dead leaf, young Elwood’s reflection faintly caught amidst several television screens broadcasting MLK’s face. The camera repeatedly turns away not by moving sideways but by dropping its gaze towards the floor, mimicking Elwood or Turner’s instinctive avoidances of any potential confrontation. Even the small aspect ratio perfectly reflects the cramped, claustrophobic nature of where Elwood and Curtis are both trapped, especially as the environment’s corruption rises to the very forefront. Alex Somers’ & Scott Alario’s outstanding score further adds to this oppressive atmosphere whenever necessary, shifting between melodic and dissonant rhythms through each sharp tonal shift. Every performance is absolutely phenomenal, with Herisse and Wilson both expressing so much clear spirit even when their faces aren’t visible. They’re nearly equaled by Ellis-Taylor, whose loving warmth is the only real levity to be found in such a bleak story.
At the 97th Oscars, Nickel Boys was nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay & Best Picture but respectively lost both to Edward Berger’s Conclave & Sean Baker’s Anora. That on its own is a real shame (even if Anora’s accolades were in no way undeserved), but what comes as an even greater disappointment is all the film’s superb technical achievements being flat-out ignored. How Nickel Boys received no Academy recognition whatsoever for cinematography, music, editing, and sound design is baffling, especially for a work that harnesses those cinematic elements to their absolute fullest potential. To probe such a sickening stain on America’s history at all takes real courage, but Ross pulling it off with this assured level of artful grace is truly astonishing.
