An aging Elwood Curtis (Daveed Diggs) jumps between browser tabs in his New York apartment, pouring over news articles about Nickel Academy, a reform school he attended: Human remains, those of Black students, have been unearthed on the premises.
Images of unmarked graves and weathered trinkets accompany each publication’s coverage, accentuating the revelation’s horrific nature. What they lack, though, are anecdotes — the kind that could bring Nickel’s history of physical, emotional and sexual abuse to the fore.
The kind that Elwood has but is reluctant to give up.
By placing audiences directly into its young protagonists’ heads with striking, point-of-view cinematography, an awe-inspiring reconfiguration of normative cinematic practices, “Nickel Boys” poignantly articulates why victims of systemic, racial violence often remain tight-lipped about their experiences and the political power associated with divulging them.
Primarily set in Jim Crow-era Florida, RaMell Ross’ adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel follows bright-eyed Elwood (Ethan Herisse), an intelligent young man determined to combat racial injustice via activism, who is sent to the titular reform institution after being falsely convicted of helping steal a car. While there, he befriends Jack Turner (Brandon Wilson), a comparatively pessimistic youngster from Houston, who holds that vocally condemning white hegemony does little more than guarantee an early death at the hands of their oppressors.
“Nickel Boys” plays out the tension between these contradictory positions by literally oscillating between Elwood and Turner’s perspectives, making them the stewards of this harrowing tale. It’s a bold and resonant creative choice, as it affirms the legitimacy of their respective stances and, critically, disrupts conventional modes of cinematic spectatorship that favor a more “objective” (i.e., white) point of view.
Beyond these achievements, the motion picture’s radical cinematography, courtesy of “All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt” lensman Jomo Fray, is simply breathtaking: A child-aged Elwood (Ethan Cole Sharp) lovingly watches his grandmother Hattie (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) as she decorates their Christmas tree with shimmering gold tinsel; a teenage Elwood cautiously approaches a donkey loitering in Nickel’s halls and places his hand upon its muzzle in a monochrome, dreamlike sequence; and Turner tiredly observes the world outside his rail car, radiant stars and blinding signal lights streaking by, as he travels north.
An ambitious and meticulously rendered soundscape complements the lush visuals and furthers Ross’ mission to collapse the distance between viewers and protagonists. This is most apparent during the film’s anxiety-inducing climax: Elwood and Turner race away from Nickel, pursued by faculty determined to ensure their silence by any means — reclamation or murder will do. After abandoning stolen bikes on the side of the road, the duo dart toward a nearby forest, seeking cover in the shadow of its green foliage. Their exasperated pants and pounding hearts dominate, rising above errant noises to engulf the audience wholly.
Audiences aren’t merely watching an attempted lynching, they’re part of one — and it’s nothing short of terrifying.
Rounding out an already exceptional cinematic package is the inspired work of its ensemble cast: Herisse, Wilson, Ellis-Taylor, Hamish Linklater (as Spencer, Nickel’s domineering, corrupt administrator) and Fred Hechinger (as Harper, a school employee tasked with monitoring the convict labor program).
Wilson, who garnered a Gotham Award nomination for his portrayal, imbues Turner with a tangible swagger, speaking matter-of-factly about Nickel and white supremacy’s unrelenting grip on the school and beyond; Ellis-Taylor, a Critics Choice nominee for the role, turns a stereotypical matron role into something special, delivering a heartbreaking monologue about lynching with unexpected calm; and Herisse, who was nominated at the Black Reel Awards for Outstanding Breakthrough Performance, makes Elwood’s determination palpable, furrowing his brow in the face of adversity.
Linklater is quietly menacing as Spencer, his deplorable disposition enough to convince Griff (Luke Tennie), a Black student with a strong right hook, to take a dive during the impending Black-white boxing match he bet on. Hechinger, whose portrayal of Harper initially appears friendly enough, offering Turner and Elwood a share of the convict labor program’s profits, ensures that the character’s hatred festers beneath the surface. They’re both despicable, but their outward appearances, maintained by the actors, signal otherwise.
“Nickel Boys” is an astonishing motion picture, upending decades-old cinematic conventions, employing carefully calibrated audio work and utilizing subtle performances to put forth a powerful message: Subjective storytelling is an instrument with revolutionary potential — so, when comfortable, wield it accordingly.
