TELLURIDE – There has been a lot of talk, much of it ridiculous, mind you, regarding the death of cinema since the stay-at-home pandemic began over four years ago. That notion has been challenged not only at the box office but by filmmakers themselves. There is a quietly growing cadre of artists, of directors from all corners of the globe who are challenging the status quo in a manner that deviates from their previous work. They play with form, function, and the rules we expect for even auteur-driven cinema. Some are entrenched (Luca Gadagnino’s “Challengers,” Jacques Audiard’s “Emilia Perez”) while others are tackling the medium for the first time (Joshua Oppenheimer’s “The End”). They are not always successful, but they represent a willingness to embrace a different means to tell a story during an era where a trusted formula is the easiest way to get your movie made in the first place. In that context, we consider RaMell Ross’ “Nickel Boys,” a feature film adaptation of Colson Whitehead‘s Pulitzer prize-winning novel that debuted this past weekend at the 2024 Telluride Film Festival.
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Ross is best known for his Oscar-nominated and Peabody Award-winning documentary “Hale County This Morning, This Evening.” As with the aforementioned Oppenheimer, this is his inaugural journey into narrative waters. But, unlike some doc filmmakers who have taken a conventional road their first time out, Ross has bigger aspirations.
Set primarily in 1967, “Nickel Boys” centers on Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), a promising 17-year-old student who gets a ride in the wrong car at the wrong time. Even with no prior record, he’s ordered to attend the Nickel Academy a state-run reformatory school in the wilds of Florida (Nickel is a pseudonym for the infamous Dozier School of Boys). While his grandmother Hattie (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), attempts to appeal the ruling, Elwood finds himself in a segregated prison where boys have mysteriously disappeared and others have been physically abused and beaten. With communication almost completely cut off from his Nana, he finds a kindred spirit in Turner (Brandon Wilson), who is enduring his second go-around at Nickel. As they bond over many months, Turner concocts a plan for their escape under the assumption the school’s authoritative leaders will refuse to let Elwood graduate or age out of custody. Turner can also sense that Elwood’s moral conscience won’t allow him to stay quiet for much longer. That’s simply too dangerous.
The film also flashes forward at times to the late ’80s and then early ’00s, where Elwood (now portrayed by Daveed Diggs) has resettled in New York City. He owns a moving company and is in a loving relationship but is still haunted by his time at Nickel. Especially with continuing news updates of a mass grave discovered on the property. Will he give testimony to the inhumanity he experienced, or, as Turner had hoped decades before, will he stay quiet?
This would be compelling source material for any director, but Ross has a unique perspective of how he wants to chronicle this tragedy. Shot in an almost square, 4:3 or 1:33:1 aspect ratio, the entire film is framed from a first-person perspective. There are no long shots of Elwood arriving at Nickel Academy or a medium shot of a young Elwood and his grandmother putting up Christmas decorations. Instead, the perspective is, at first, solely from Elwood’s eyes. So, during that aforementioned holiday moment, Elwood, lying on the ground, looks up through the tree branches and the tinsel and sees a beaming Hattie smiling back at him. Eventually, the perspective begins to switch back and forth between the teenage Elwood and Turner. This is a specific choice as the only way we truly get to see Elwood in the context of his story is through his friend’s eyes.
In many ways, Ross’ decision to choose this creative direction fashions moments of sheer visual brilliance. For the first 30 minutes or so the screen is peppered with often ingenious imagery. It harkens in some ways to the best of Terrence Malick while establishing a vision that is utterly his own. It also creates an intense intimacy that should foster a deep emotional connection to the characters. In a shot specifically repeated several times, Hattie invites Elwood and, eventually, Turner to hug her. As with anyone’s perspective experiencing an embrace, she envelopes the camera as the viewpoint of her grandson decidedly rests on her shoulder. It’s a shot anyone should be able to relate to.
As the film progresses, however, this perspective often diminishes the proceedings. From an artistic perspective, this feels contradictory. In theory, such an intimate framing should bring the viewer closer to the material and more invested in both Elwood and Turner’s stories. And yet, the opposite begins to occur. You still care about both characters. You want them to escape, to thrive. You want to know what happened to Turner while Elwood lives his life half a continent away. And yet, somehow, the form has overpowered the artist’s intent. There is a sense of a growing distance from this undertaking. And, perhaps most shocking, you are keenly aware of it as the film progresses.
To be fair Ross’ efforts may be hindered by the performances from Herisse and Wilson which are often not as captivating as they need to be. You might suggest this is because the form is dominating the proceedings, but even Ellis-Taylor can break through the artistic construct and still break your heart. Maybe that’s because she’s the great Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, and her co-stars are not. Or maybe it is because Ross’ inexperience with actors stifles his grander ambitions. Or maybe trying to stick to the novel’s plot points is holding his creation back.
Ross’ least inspired choice is to cut to black-and-white newsreel footage and archive television news coverage throughout the picture. It’s an instance where his instinct to infuse the real-life horrors of Dozier School for Boys pulls you out of the larger narrative. It should give Elwood’s story more historical gravitas but, instead, somehow feels superfluous.
Perhaps Ross needed to break the cinematic conventions even further. One could also argue that “Nickel Boys” needs a little more Malick inspiration to serve Ross’s vision. There is a significant amount of voiceover from the perspective of the viewer character. Perhaps even less dialogue would give the affairs an even more poetic composition. Perhaps a version of the film that is at times, dialogue-less, would keep the viewer from analyzing the form instead of fully embracing it. Regardless, it’s somewhat remarkable a new work exists that sparks such conversation in the first place. Even if it doesn’t completely succeed, that’s art. That’s dynamic. That deserves your attention. [B-/C+]
“Nickel Boys” opens in limited release on Oct. 25.
Catch up on The Playlist’s reviews from the 2024 Telluride Film Festival.
