Review: ‘Nickel Boys’ is a priceless paean to the lives of victimized reform-school kids
As a film critic with over two decades of experience under my belt, I’ve seen my fair share of movies that aim to tug at our heartstrings and make us question the world we live in. However, Regina King’s directorial debut, “The Nickel Boys,” stands out as one of the most impactful and poignant films I’ve ever had the privilege to witness.
2012 unearthed a large, unmarked grave on the property of the Florida School for Boys, a revelation that leaves one speechless. Archaeologists believe around 100 children lost their lives due to violence and neglect throughout the century this juvenile reformatory was operational. It’s hard to comprehend the magnitude of such buried sorrow.
In a moving reinterpretation, Colson Whitehead’s sorrow-laden novel “The Nickel Boys,” published in 2019, follows the lives of two Black friends at a subtly fictionalized institution called the Nickel Academy. This poignant tale earned Whitehead a Pulitzer Prize due to its profound emotional resonance. However, it’s fortunate that this profound work found its way into the hands of a compassionate storyteller like RaMell Ross. Debuting as a director, Ross breathes life into the nameless remains, transforming them into Elwood (Ethan Herisse) and Turner (Brandon Wilson). The viewers are immersed so deeply in their perspectives that it feels like we’re hugging them closely.
Ross characterizes his visual approach as an homage to the “grand ordinary.” He captures everyday scenes like a family dinner, a cheerful girl, and Christmas decorations adorning a room with such dramatic flair that they assume significance. Notably, cinematographer Jomo Fray has employed this method in his work, notably in the Oscar-nominated documentary “Hale County This Morning, This Evening,” which unfolds in Alabama. The intention isn’t merely to underscore the presence of beauty in the mundane; it’s also to depict his characters as active perceivers of that beauty themselves.
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In order to completely tell the story from the perspective of the principal characters in the acclaimed film “Jomo Fray”, it demanded a delicate approach, skilled performers, and a masterful cameraman.
This action might not appear drastic, but what makes it so is that Ross employs this technique to eternalize the days of African Americans in the Deep South, whose lives are frequently observed rather than truly understood. Typically, outsiders confine people into narrow categories, making them conform to a message that spans from exploitative to overly sympathetic. However, Ross liberates them. Essentially, his message is just that Elwood and Turner are ordinary human beings.
In the revised script by Ross and producer Joslyn Barnes, they abandon Whitehead’s introductory prologue about the dismal cemetery, choosing instead to underscore that this story is a poignant tribute to life. The character of Elwood, who matures amidst racially charged Tallahassee in the 1960s, is initially presented. The scenes depicting his world, from childhood to high school years, unfold casually, mirroring the carefree existence of a boy unaware that his liberty is on the verge of being snatched away. Elwood may not be as intelligent, thoughtful, and idealistic as described in Whitehead’s book, but making him a more relatable everyman seems intentional. (Ross has also opted to omit “The” from the title.)
It’s possible to read Whitehead’s book and think, “How could these horrors happen to such a good kid?” Ross instead wants us to ask, “How could this happen to anyone?” including the school’s bullies and white boys who live in a segregated part of the campus and seem to be getting preferential treatment. To be accurate, the white students were victims, too. Later on, both groups of students joined forces on a blog that gathered enough stories of abuse, a website that’s referenced when the film leaps a few decades into the future. But “Nickel Boys” is also kind to those who can’t confront their memories, even in its camerawork which refuses to record the cruelty — it’s implied, never shown. Sometimes, to endure, you swallow all the bad things and hold them inside.
Trouble ensues when Elwood, close to 17 years old, takes an unwise decision to hop into an inappropriate car. Unaware that he’s stepping into a stolen Plymouth, this single action will eventually disrupt his future trajectory, though we can’t foresee it. However, Ross anticipates that Elwood is destined for Nickel Academy and elongates this situation into a nerve-wracking scene where the driver (the late Taraja Ramsess) struggles to unlock the passenger door. It’s not immediately noticeable on the first viewing. You pick up on it during the second watch. Similar to Elwood, we start off unaware of the potential danger and only later come to understand it.
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Co-writer Joslyn Barnes notes that the thread connecting the entire movie was the development of love between two characters.
The notion that Nickel Academy qualifies as a school based on standard definitions is a grim jest. The children are essentially forced to labor in the fields or perform illegal tasks under the watch of an employee named Harper (Fred Hechinger). It’s heart-wrenching that this appalling situation unfolded during the time when Martin Luther King Jr. was spearheading the Civil Rights movement, which wasn’t far off. What makes it even more distressing is that the school remained operational until 2011, when it was shut down due to financial reasons.
Elwood is portrayed in such a way that it’s challenging to connect with him on a personal level; he seems almost like an idealized character rather than an individual. However, his unique personality shines through when we view him from Turner’s perspective, who sees him as thoughtful and cautious. Elwood holds strong beliefs in Martin Luther King Jr.’s hope for America, frequently expressing frustration when things don’t go according to plan, especially when compared to Turner, the skeptical and humorous pessimist. While they engage in debate, it often seems like they aren’t truly listening to each other. Throughout the narrative, you’re left to decide which character you find more trustworthy.
Occasionally, Ross and his editor, Nicholas Monsour, insert footage from old black-and-white TVs showing NASA rockets trying to send data to Earth. It’s not entirely clear what this recurring theme represents. Is it a critique of the nation’s focus? A symbol of gazing skyward instead of focusing on our surroundings? Or perhaps just a way to provide a break from the grim events unfolding beneath the trees? Ultimately, I decided to view these transitions as a reflection of Alex Somers and Scott Alario’s rough-edged score, with its distorted notes that seem to bounce between satellites, weakening as they travel through time, uncertain if their messages will reach their intended audience.
Ross prefers experiencing over expressing. Scenes depict students balancing on stilts, youngsters who seem too tiny for the setting playing with toy soldiers in a pool of milk. Following significant injuries to Elwood and Turner, the camera departs from their bodies, floating behind their heads – noticeably focusing on the character portrayed by Daveed Diggs as he matures into a fully-formed individual. Disengagement has never appeared so captivating. At its most emotionally resonant, the movie transforms into an atmospheric piece. A five-and-a-half minute montage, accompanied by “Tezeta,” a jazz composition by Ethiopian musician Mulatu Astatke, is so engrossing that it could hold attention for twice as long.
The film’s visuals are impressive, but its audio is equally remarkable. From the very first scene where Elwood lies in the yard gazing upwards, the sound of grass brushing against the back of your neck can be heard as he turns his head. Over time, a buzzing noise emerges – could it be a bee or a fly? As more crimes occur, this buzzing transforms into a persistent hum, becoming an unsettling background noise, akin to a plague on one’s mind.
The only ding on the film is that Ross is still learning to work with actors. He’s fine when his background characters are just palling around the lunchroom, but the POV approach is hard on his leads, even talents like Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor as Elwood’s grandmother. When there is dialogue — which, thankfully, isn’t all the time — it’s in the form of one person staring into the lens and waiting for their turn to speak. The really clunky moments come off like an audition tape in which the off-camera casting assistant running lines is late on their cues.
A powerful dialogue takes place at a bar between Diggs and Nickel alumni, portrayed by Craig Tate in an impressive guest appearance. Here, his subtle tics reveal the wounded soul beneath the aged exterior. As survivors who have endured much, they find themselves isolated, carrying their sorrow despite their survival and good fortune. Their wounds run too deep for genuine connection about their past ordeals. It’s too painful to look beyond their personal traumas, but Ross reminds us of a time when they were teenagers, filled with hope for a brighter tomorrow. We recall that moment; it was as clear to us then as it is now.
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2024-12-20 14:31