Written by Eline ter Horst
Some films tell a story. Others make you feel it. RaMell Ross’s Nickel Boys is the latter—an experience that lingers, like a memory pulled straight from someone’s mind. Based on Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, Ross’s adaptation doesn’t just tell a story—it shows it, lingering in your thoughts long after the screen goes dark.
Source: Nickel Boys (Ross, 2024).
Set in 1960s Florida during the Jim Crow era, Nickel Boys follows Elwood Curtis (Ethan Herisse), a bright and hopeful teenager raised by his grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor). After unknowingly accepting a ride in a stolen car, he is unjustly sentenced to Nickel Academy, a reform school designed to rehabilitate troubled youth based on the real Dozier School for Boys. In reality, it’s a brutal institution where Black boys suffer abuse, violence, and even death—often covered up as runaways. At Nickel Academy, Elwood meets Turner (Brandon Wilson), a boy who understands that survival requires compromise. Where Elwood clings to hope and morality, Turner has learned to navigate the academy’s cruel, unspoken rules. Their friendship becomes the film’s emotional core—two opposing views of endurance, one driven by belief in change, the other by resignation to a broken system.
The film is told entirely through a combination of first-person and third-person perspectives, switching between the two protagonists, Elwood and Turner. This stylistic choice makes it feel incredibly intimate, pulling the audience directly into their experiences rather than observing from a distance. From the outset, the story is told through Elwood’s eyes. In the mess hall at Nickel Academy, we experience the scene through his perspective—he’s the new kid, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and quietly mocked by the boys at his table. Then, without warning, the film replays the same moment from Turner’s point of view. Suddenly, we’re looking at Elwood for the first time, seeing his face fully, taking in his quiet unease. From this point onward, the film alternates between the perspectives of Elwood and Turner. These shifts are more than just a clever filmmaking technique; they unlock the emotional depth of the film. However, these perspective changes, while seamless, can be disorienting, and if you’re not fully engaged it’s easy to lose track of whose eyes you’re seeing through.
The film’s use of POV isn’t just about perspective—it’s about memory. As the story unfolds in a non-linear structure, flashing forward to a man (Daveed Diggs) reading about the discovery of unmarked graves at Nickel Academy. This reinforces how trauma lingers, how certain details stick while others fade. By alternating between perspectives and jumping through time, Nickel Boys doesn’t just tell us who Elwood and Turner are—it shows us how they see the world, how the world sees them, and how their shared history shapes their lives.
Source: Nickel Boys (Ross, 2024)
The cinematography is stunning. The opening sequence sets the tone for what’s to come, introducing Elwood not just through action but through reflections—watching his grandmother iron, where we see a little boy in the iron’s surface; watching a Martin Luther King Jr. broadcast in the reflection of a storefront TV; catching his own image on the school bus window. As these moments progress, we see Elwood grow, from child to teenager, through glimpses rather than direct exposition. A photobooth scene with his first love captures the warmth of his youth, all colour-graded in a nostalgic, golden palette. It’s sweet, hopeful, and intimate.
Then the warmth fades.
When Elwood arrives at Nickel Academy, the colour palette shifts, drained of its vibrancy. The school’s institutional cruelty is immediate, but rather than relying on graphic imagery, The Nickel Boys lets the weight of its story speak for itself. The camera often turns away from the most violent moments, instead lingering on small details—a hand gripping fabric, a shifting gaze, the corner of a worn book. It’s an instinctive reaction, a learned behaviour of self-preservation: Don’t look too long. Don’t be caught staring. The cinematography mirrors that survival mechanism, making the viewer complicit in what the characters endure.
Source: Nickel Boys (Ross, 2024)
Nickel Boys marks Ramell Ross’s directorial debut in the world of feature films, and what a debut it is—nothing short of phenomenal. Ross’s direction is subtle, yet meticulously thought-out, showcasing an extraordinary level of precision and attention to detail in every scene. His background as a documentarian shines through, bringing an intimate, almost visceral quality to the film. Every frame feels meticulously crafted, with an almost tactile sense of presence that pulls the audience in. This debut not only stands out in its own right but also leaves you eager to see what Ross will do next.
It’s hard to look past the film’s impressive and unique filmmaking when judging Nickel Boys for what it truly is. The film isn’t just about a corrupt institution; it’s a profound exploration of memory, survival, and the emotional cost of holding onto hope in a world designed to crush it.
While it took me some time to piece everything together, once the narrative threads fell into place, I was deeply moved. The film demands patience and a willingness to engage with its pacing and structure, but in doing so, it becomes both formally and emotionally eye-opening. It’s a film that doesn’t fade, lingering with you long after the credits roll, leaving you quietly reflecting on it, much like a memory.
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