THE STORY – In 1962 Florida, young Elwood Curtis’s dreams are derailed when he is falsely accused of complicity in a car theft and sent to an abusive segregated reform school, the Nickel Academy (a fictionalized version of the Dozier School for Boys). There, he forms a close bond with a boy named Turner as they try to survive the abuse by the school’s administrators.
THE CAST – Ethan Herisse, Brandon Wilson, Aunjanue Ellis & Hamish Linklater
THE TEAM – RaMell Ross (Director/Writer) & Joslyn Barnes (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 140 Minutes
In the early 2000s, a Jim Crowe-era “reformatory” school in Florida made headlines when hundreds of men came forward with stories of violence and abuse, and authorities discovered dozens of unmarked graves on its former grounds. In 2019, Colson Whitehead wrote “Nickel Boys,” a Pulitzer Prize-winning fictionalized account of the pain that those who suffered through the experience must have endured. And now, in 2024, documentarian RaMell Ross has brought a cinematic adaptation to the Telluride Film Festival with an emotionally profound rendition that pushes Whitehead’s themes quietly but emphatically across and through the screen.
The story follows young Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), who is encouraged in the early 1960s by his loving grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) to attend a vocational college in the American South, as represented by the Florida Panhandle. He hitchhikes there, which proves to be a fatal mistake. After being falsely accused of complicity in stealing a car, he is sentenced to the no-escape morass of the fictionalized “Nickel Academy” for boys. There, he befriends Turner (Brandon Wilson), who informs him that there are only four ways out of their prison—most of which involve death or brutal torment. The two form a life-long bond of friendship, forged by their common experience and desire to overcome it, as they try to navigate the abuse doled out by the “school’s” administrators, the latter mainly symbolized by the quietly cruel Spencer (Hamish Linklater).
Ross and his talented crew, including editor Nicholas Monsour and cinematographer Jomo Fray, make a fateful decision about how to present Whitehead’s material. The film is shot from the first-person point of view as if we are inhabiting Elwood’s own eyes and brain. We see his hands up close and the world as he sees it. About a third of the way through, the film begins to offer two perspectives, now including Turner’s. This allows us to see both Elwood himself but also Turner’s own view of the world, and how it diverges slightly from Elwood’s. Around the last act, yet one more perspective emerges, that of a grown Elwood, with Ross and his camera taking us behind the back of his head as if he now lives outside his own body.
This critical, central conceit for “Nickel Boys” works for the most part, except when it doesn’t. The technique works in one critical respect—it keeps you guessing and searching. This provides an additional layer of emotional depth to the onscreen adaptation of what is, by all accounts, a methodical, quiet novel. It also does not work when it becomes distracting, particularly when Ross betrays a true first-person perspective, sometimes shooting from improbable angles. Constantly guessing what you are seeing and from who’s perspective can become exhausting for even the most committed audience members. Whatever you think of it, this technique is unfortunately slated to become one of the film’s most talked about aspects, which in some ways is too bad given the otherwise stupendous movie and all the other things it gives you to think about.
Beyond this controversial aspect of “Nickel Boys,” Ross delivered a pitch-perfect, profound, and haunting movie. Elwood’s drive is that of a survivor—he insists that life is worth living despite his travails. He is inspired by the activism of Dr. King and his followers, which persistently plays a role in the background of his and his grandmother’s life, reminding him and us of the critical moment in history in which this tragic story is developing. Turner’s drive is also that of a survivor, but a wilier one. He has seen it all, and the fact that he has no family outside of the Nickel Academy permits him to take on other risks and enjoy his fleeting youth otherwise. The two are symbiotic. Turner helps Elwood physically survive the abuse at the academy. Elwood helps Turner emotionally survive.
In its final act, “Nickel Boys,” powerfully and devastatingly brings to the forefront the central message of the source material that inspired it. Most remarkable is the acceptance, innocence, and determination with which Elwood and Turner endure oppression. The springing hope that did not disappear until it had to. The tragic coming-of-age experience that, for most fictional characters, takes the form of meadows, butterflies, and wistful love here is expressed in whips, belts, and search dogs. The suffering of this nature, abuse of this kind, and oppression to this extent cannot be easily forgotten or erased. This little corner of emotional and physical violence creates perhaps eternal scars. Both actors are exceptional in conveying exactly what is asked of them—for Herisse to portray Elwood’s quiet suffering but emotional determination and Wilson to explain Turner’s cool but no-less-real pain.
By the time the credits roll, Ross will have made a lasting and unique impression of heartbreak on the souls of all who watch his film—precisely the cinematic treatment that Whitehead’s novel required.
