Published in 2019, Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel “The Nickel Boys” boldly reworked the harrowing, scarier-than-fiction true story of the Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys in Marianna, Florida. Hiding in plain sight for more than a century, the reform school closed in 2011, after which it was revealed that at least one hundred boys were killed (many more abused), and their remains buried near the school’s property. Whitehead’s novel is a trim (213 pages) and terrifying fictionalization, while RaMell Ross’ “Nickel Boys,” the Opening Night Selection at the New York Film Festival, is inspired but not beholden to the source material. It zigs and zags, deploying multiple perspectives to explain the long tail of systemic abuse. Ross’ elliptical chronicling and the film’s swoony, dreamlike visuals are drawing rapturous post-festival reviews. And while the stylistic flair occasionally trumps the wrenching substance, Ross’ audacious, compassionate storytelling demands—and earns—vigilant engagement.
In press notes for “Nickel Boys” the production team describes Whitehead’s novel as “taut and mesmerizing.” It’s a testament to Ross’ ambition (he directed and co-wrote the screenplay with Joslyn Barnes) that he forgoes the former and embraces the latter, creating a 140-minute reimagining of the unimaginable. Juggling space and time, Ross is ostensibly telling the life story of Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse) whose dreams are crushed and rerouted when he leaves home bound for a promising prep school, the next stop on the way to a college education. Far from home, however, he unknowingly accepts a ride from a wanted man, so the cops arrest the adult, and drop Elwood at Nickel Academy. A shy, bright teenager, Elwood retreats further, until he meets Turner (Brandon Wilson), who serves as a protector of and, a hardened ally helping acclimate Elwood to Nickel’s brutal way of life.
Challenging Audiences to Create their Own Images
Up until that point, Elwood’s point of view guided the film. When Turner stands up for Elwood to some casual, predictable bullying, the POV switches, and volleys back and forth for the rest of the film. Showing the world exactly as Elwood or Turner see it isn’t just a nifty trick—though, that too—it’s a calculated risk that invites and implicates the audience. To align with only Elwood or only Turner risks manipulating the audience’s loyalties. But, there’s no middle ground between good—or, at least innocent—and evil here, and both boys are ultimately powerless against the entrenched forces wielding the heavy hands of hatred. What they see, we see, and that gives them an elusive power, a sense of ownership that’s impossible in their suffocating world.
Ross is cagey, however, about who sees what. Most of the violence occurs offscreen, challenging the audience to create its own images, similar to what Ross has done in adapting Whitehead’s vision: deconstructing it, and scattering the varying—and sometimes disjointed—pieces on the screen. Oscar-nominated for his debut “Hale County This Morning, This Evening” (2018), Ross displays a documentarian’s generosity and curiosity, affixed to an unflinching photographic lens. Showing and telling, “Nickel Boys” is a busy film that doesn’t settle for a standard linear approach; nor does it limit its resources to what happens on or around the school grounds. Ross—ever playful but never irreverent—inserts still historical images (unlabeled, as if they could come from anyone), home movies (ditto) and blank screens, conjuring Jonathan Glazer’s “The Zone of Interest” (2023) both in its experimental delivery and deliberate withholding (but sharing sounds) of the most abhorrent crimes.
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The Sum is Better than its Off-beat Parts
Hell on Earth, it had to be, and “Nickel Boys” summons Glazer again in tackling what Ross described as “the epic banal” a counter, or pair with “banality of evil,” Hannah Arendt’s famous phrasing related to Nazi Germany. It takes a village—and a system—to perpetuate hatred and cruelty, and the lasting effects stick and vibrate for generations. So when Ross shows an older Elwood (Daveed Diggs) grappling with unshakeable grief, it’s an essential reminder about the emotional bruises burrow deeper, taking up permanent residence in the body and mind. The time jumps are relatively clunky—compared to the novel’s seamless delineation—but Ross doesn’t exactly sprint ahead without guideposts. Cultural touchpoints (‘80s wardrobe and television picture quality) and self-homage (old old Elwood has a print out of the New York Times’ “Hale County” review on his desk) provide some hand-holding to clarify any chronological meandering.
What then, of the alligator? An unexplained and recurring visitor to Ross’ expansive frames shows up in the back of the classroom and later, on the side of a road. That, combined with Ross’ POV strategy, reminded me of Werner Herzog’s “Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans” (2007) which told part of a scene from an alligator’s perspective. A Florida thing? Maybe. The point isn’t that there has to be a point, it’s that Ross isn’t a perfectionist, so if the narrative cohesion loses some stickiness, the sum is still greater than the firehose of offbeat parts and optical (Credit to cinematographer Jomo Fray) bravura. A motion picture in every sense of that word, Ross’ creation takes considerable liberties with Whitehead’s book, showing how you can take the boys away from Nickel, but even their deaths or escapes won’t let Nickel off the hook.
“Nickel Boys” is playing at the New York Film Festival, which runs from September 27th – October 14th. Follow us for more coverage.
