Entertainment
Review: 'Nickel Boys' is a priceless paean to the lives of victimized reform-school kids
The 2012 discovery of a mass unmarked grave on the grounds of the Florida School for Boys was the sort of headline that short-circuits the brain. Archeologists estimate that nearly 100 kids died from violence and neglect over the juvenile reformatory’s century in use. How can anyone process that scale of buried grief?
Author Colson Whitehead funneled that sorrow into “The Nickel Boys,” a 2019 novel about two Black friends at the lightly fictionalized Nickel Academy, and unearthed emotions so beautiful that he won a Pulitzer Prize. A straight adaption would pack power, but it’s even better that the book came into the hands of a true humanist like RaMell Ross. Making his feature debut, the director not only turns anonymous bones into people, he turns his people into the camera: The audience sees the world literally through the eyes of Elwood (Ethan Herisse) and Turner (Brandon Wilson). We couldn’t be hugged any tighter to their point of view.
Ross describes his visual style as a tribute to the “epic banal.” Small moments — a spaghetti dinner, a smiling girl, a scattering of Christmas tinsel — are shot by the cinematographer Jomo Fray with such grandeur that they become important. He’s already made a documentary with the technique, the Oscar-nominated “Hale County This Morning, This Evening,” set in Alabama. The goal isn’t just to prove that the ordinary world is surrounded by beauty; it’s that his characters are active observers of it, too.
This shouldn’t seem like a radical act except that Ross uses the technique to immortalize the days of Black Americans in the South whose lives are more often looked at than through. Outsiders tend to cram people into a box, force them to fit a message that ranges from exploitative to tediously well-meaning. Ross sets them free. The message is simply that Elwood and Turner are human beings.
The script, co-written by Ross and producer Joslyn Barnes, scraps Whitehead’s opening prologue about the wretched cemetery to instead emphasize that this will be a bittersweet celebration of life. Elwood, growing up in racially riven Tallahassee during the 1960s, is introduced first. The glimpses of his world from a child (played by Ethan Cole Sharp) to a high school student flicker by with no sense of urgency, which is exactly how it should be for a boy who has no reason to suspect his freedom is about to be taken away. He’s smart — perhaps not as bright and sensitive and idealistic as he is in Whitehead’s novel, but making him more of an everyman seems to be on purpose. (Ross has even dropped the “The” from the title.)
It’s possible to read Whitehead’s book and think, “How could these horrors happen to such a good kid?” Ross instead wants us to ask, “How could this happen to anyone?” including the school’s bullies and white boys who live in a segregated part of the campus and seem to be getting preferential treatment. To be accurate, the white students were victims, too. Later on, both groups of students joined forces on a blog that gathered enough stories of abuse, a website that’s referenced when the film leaps a few decades into the future. But “Nickel Boys” is also kind to those who can’t confront their memories, even in its camerawork which refuses to record the cruelty — it’s implied, never shown. Sometimes, to endure, you swallow all the bad things and hold them inside.
Things go awry when Elwood, nearly 17, hitches a ride in the wrong car. He doesn’t know he’s getting into a stolen Plymouth and can’t fathom how this one choice will derail his future even if we could warn him what’s coming. But Ross knows that this road will lead Elwood straight to Nickel Academy, so he extends this moment into an agonizing gag in which the driver (the late Taraja Ramsess) fiddles with figuring out how to unlock the passenger door. It’s not something you’re aware of on the first watch. You spot it on the second. Like Elwood, we start naive and only later recognize the danger.
The idea that Nickel Academy is a school by any definition of the word is a bleak joke. The kids are essentially enslaved to work the fields or run illegal errands under the supervision of an employee named Harper (Fred Hechinger). It’s gut-wrenching that this tragedy is happening in the moment when Martin Luther King Jr. is leading a Civil Rights revolution not too far away. It’s worse that the school stayed open until 2011, when it was closed for “budgetary limitations.”
Elwood is written to be so watchful that it’s hard to feel like you know the character at all — he’s almost too universal. His individuality comes across best when we see him the way his classmate Turner does, chin-tucked, eyes learning to be wary. Elwood believes in MLK’s optimism for America. “It’s against the law!” he protests to Turner, the sly and funny cynic, who can’t imagine things ever improving. Elwood is convinced he can surmount obstacles; Turner is resigned to going around them. The two debate but don’t always seem to hear each other. As we take turns being inside of them, it’s up to you which one you trust.
Periodically, Ross and his editor Nicholas Monsour cut to old black and white TV images of NASA rockets attempting to beam data back to Earth. The motif doesn’t totally make sense. Is it a comment on the country’s priorities? An example of looking up rather than around? Is it just a neat way to take a breather from all the awful stuff happening under the trees? Eventually, I settled on imagining these transitions as an echo of Alex Somers and Scott Alario’s fantastic rough-hewn score with its fuzzy notes that sound as though they’re getting pinged back and forth between satellites, deteriorating as they travel through time, uncertain if their pleas will be heard.
Ross likes to feel, not tell. There are images of students teetering on stilts, of kids who look too small to be there playing with toy soldiers in a puddle of milk. After Elwood and Turner suffer permanent blows, the camera leaps out of their bodies and hovers behind their heads, particularly as the one we stay with as an adult, played by Daveed Diggs, attempts to grow into a full person. Disassociation never looked so lovely. At its most soul-stirring, the film becomes a mood piece. There’s a five-and-a-half minute montage set to “Tezeta,” a jazz track by the Ethiopian musician Mulatu Astatke, that would be mesmerizing at twice the length.
Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor in the movie “Nickel Boys.”
(Orion Pictures)
As good as the movie is with its visuals, it’s just as skillful with sound. In the first shot, Elwood lies in the yard looking up and when he turns his head, you can hear blades of grass tickle the back of your neck. Later, there’s a buzz — a bee? A fly? — that, as the crimes multiply, shifts into a continual hum, a plague upon the brain.
The only ding on the film is that Ross is still learning to work with actors. He’s fine when his background characters are just palling around the lunchroom, but the POV approach is hard on his leads, even talents like Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor as Elwood’s grandmother. When there is dialogue — which, thankfully, isn’t all the time — it’s in the form of one person staring into the lens and waiting for their turn to speak. The really clunky moments come off like an audition tape in which the off-camera casting assistant running lines is late on their cues.
The one great conversation scene comes when Diggs sits across a bar from a fellow Nickel alumni, played by Craig Tate in a phenomenal cameo where his nervous twitches show us the broken boy inside the man. Now old, the two survivors are siloed in their grief — alive and lucky, sure, but still entombed. They’re so damaged that they can’t, or won’t, really connect about what they went through. It’s too hard to see past their own trauma, but Ross has shown us how they once simply saw themselves as teenagers, with the promise of a better future ahead. We remember. We saw it, too.
‘Nickel Boys’
Rated: PG-13, for thematic material involving racism, some strong language including racial slurs, violent content and smoking
Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes
Playing: In limited release Friday, Dec. 20
Movie Reviews
Bandar Movie Review: Bobby Deol roars in Anurag Kashyap’s unsettling legal thriller that refuses to spoon-feed
Name: Bandar
Director: Anurag Kashyap
Cast: Bobby Deol, Sanya Malhotra, Sapna Pabbi, Saba Azad, Jitendra Joshi, Raj B Shetty
Writer: Sudip Sharma, Abhishek Banerjee
Rating: 3.5/5
Plot:
Bandar follows Sameer Mehra’s character, essayed by Bobby Deol, a fading star who is desperately clinging to his past glory. Just as he attempts to rebuild his life and finds solace in a new relationship, his world comes crashing down. A former girlfriend files a heinous allegation against him, dragging him into a vicious, high-profile legal battle. Written by Sudip Sharma and Abhishek Banerjee, the film moves away from standard Bollywood courtroom setups. Instead, it dives straight into the murky waters of social media trials, public perception, and a sluggish judicial system where the truth gets buried under layers of gray.
What works:
Known for his chaotic energy, Anurag Kashyap takes a remarkably mature and controlled approach here. He avoids sensationalizing a highly sensitive topic, choosing instead to focus on the psychological claustrophobia of the protagonist. The prison sequences are exceptionally well-shot. They create a suffocating, raw atmosphere that makes you feel the weight of the character’s confinement. The script successfully avoids preachy, black-and-white monologues. It bravely forces the audience to confront their own biases regarding modern-day public trials and the digital judge-and-jury culture.
What doesn’t:
Clocking in at nearly two hours and twenty minutes, Bandar feels heavily weighed down in the second half. The narrative stretches thin, and a few subplots demand too much patience, making you wish for a tighter edit. The film stubbornly refuses to take a definitive moral stance or offer a neat resolution. While film enthusiasts might appreciate the complexity, mainstream viewers looking for a clear-cut ending or emotional payoff might walk away feeling detached and frustrated.
Performances:
- Bobby Deol is the beating heart of this film. Stripping away the massive macho swagger and menacing villainy of his recent hits, he delivers a deeply vulnerable, understated performance. He plays Samar with a mix of arrogance, confusion, and raw helplessness, proving his immense range.
- Sanya Malhotra anchors her screen time with her trademark reliability, turning in a grounded and impactful performance.
- Saba Azad and Sapna Pabbi excel in their respective roles, bringing genuine nuance to characters that could have easily been sidelined.
- Jitendra Joshi is an absolute scene-stealer, commanding your attention every single time he steps into the frame.
- Indrajith Sukumaran and Raj B Shetty are absolute show stealers with their raw acting.
Final Verdict:
Bandar is an unsettling, morally complex thriller that refuses to spoon-feed its audience. It isn’t a comfortable watch, nor does it try to be. While the sluggish pacing in the second half prevents it from being an absolute masterpiece, it is worth a watch for Bobby Deol’s spectacular acting reinvention and Anurag Kashyap’s gritty, thought-provoking storytelling.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not reflect the official policy or position of Pinkvilla. No statement in this article is intended to defame, harm, or malign any individual or entity.
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Kathy Hilton will no longer be the grand marshal of West Hollywood’s pride parade.
The city and WeHo Pride on Wednesday released a joint statement, announcing that “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” star would no longer serve as the Grand Marshal Icon for the 2026 WeHo Pride Parade. The event is scheduled for Sunday.
“After thoughtful discussions, the City of West Hollywood, the WeHo Pride production team, and Kathy Hilton have determined that the 2026 WeHo Pride Parade will not designate a Grand Marshal Icon honoree,” read the statement.
The decision comes less than a week after Hilton was announced. That May 28 announcement was met with swift backlash from the LGBTQ+ community and allies, who called out Hilton’s ties to President Trump and alleged MAGA-leaning politics. Critics also cited accusations that the socialite had used a homophobic slur while on a trip with other cast members of “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills,” an action she has previously denied.
In their joint statement, West Hollywood and the WeHo Pride team expressed their appreciation for “the respectful and sincere dialogue” around both the event and the “role and significance” of Pride honorees.
“The City of West Hollywood has always believed that Pride belongs to the community,” the joint statement said. “Since its earliest days, Pride has served as both a celebration and a platform for activism, visibility, resilience, and the ongoing pursuit of equality, dignity, and justice for LGBTQ+ people. … These conversations reflect the passion people have for WeHo Pride and underscore the importance of ensuring that WeHo Pride continues to honor the history, values, and diverse voices of the LGBTQ+ community.”
In a statement, Hilton expressed gratitude for being considered for grand marshal and reaffirmed her commitment to the LGBTQ+ community and causes.
“My reason for wanting to be involved in this year’s WeHo Pride weekend was simple: to celebrate, support, and share in the joy of a community that means a great deal to so many people,” Hilton said. “Pride is, and always will be, about celebrating and uplifting LGBTQ+ voices, experiences, and achievements. … My support for the community and WeHo Pride is unwavering.”
She also mentioned several queer advocacy organizations and events she has supported over the years, including GLAAD, the Elton John AIDS Foundation, the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation, Dr. Mathilde Krim, God’s Love We Deliver and Project Angel Food.
The latest Pride-related dust-up follows the abrupt cancellation of the Long Beach Pride Festival in May. The city’s Pride Parade took place as planned.
Both snafus have occurred as conservative politicians and advocates continue to attack LGBTQ+ rights and visibility nationwide. Some Republican governors have even pushed for conservative alternatives to Pride month festivities. A recent Gallup poll has found that after years of steady gains, support for marriage equality and same-sex relationships has slipped, particularly among Republicans.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: Travolta’s “Propeller: One-Way Night Coach” is One for the Ages — All Ages
Back in the good ol’days — the ’90s — John Travolta would love to get off the topic of “Michael,” “Pulp Fiction” or “Get Shorty” in interviews with film journalists like me and regale us with how utterly besotted he had been with his first flying experience, how that drove his passion for piloting and buying planes and airfield-adjacent luxury houses.
He didn’t even seem to mind having to move house when this or that development balked at him flying his Boeing 707 out of there on the way to locations.
Travolta would tell any journalist who asked that he was writing a kid-friendly book, “Propeller: One Way Night Coach,” based on his first flights as a child in old propeller driven airliners — cheap red-eye overnight treks with too many connections for your average jet age traveller to tolerate.
I remember picking up the book when it came out later in the ’90s — at an airport gift shop — and thinking “Well, that’s as cute as I figured.”
And now, decades later and trapped in the B-movie hell of his post “Gotti” career, Travolta’s turned that cute book into the most delightful, fanciful and colorful bon bon of a movie.
“One Way Night Coach” is a child’s fantasy of flight and flying the way it used to be — with pristine, uncrowded, futuristic airports, an early ’60s era of jets and prop planes with over-uniformed stewardesses in white gloves, the days “Back before every Joe Sweatsock could wedge himself behind a lunch tray and jet off to Raleigh-Durham,” as Sideshow Bob memorably sneered on “The Simpsons’.”
It’s a fictionalized account of Travolta’s childhood about an only child (at least two Travolta siblings have bit parts in this movie) of a never-made-it/never-will actress/single-mom (Kelly Eviston-Quinnett) who indulges her aviation-obsessed eight-year-old with a cheap cross-country overnight flight.
Little Jeff (Clark Shotwell) will revel in almost every Idlewild to Pittsburgh to Dayton to Chicago to Kansas City to Denver and Los Angeles minute. He strolls into the cockpit to meet pilots, charms the stewardesses and checks out the sleeping bunks on the TWA Lockheed Super Constellation, loving even the delays if not the Chicken Cordon Bleu he’s offered on legs of the journey that offer a meal.
And as he’s an observant child, he comments (Travolta narrates) on his 50ish mother’s vamping and posing, her choice of cigarettes (Newports) and drinks, the solo traveling men whose attention she pursues and earns.
“I was her best audience,” adult Jeff remembers of the mother who’d read him plays as bedtime stories and delusionally hopes that this trip to Los Angeles might be her “big break” even though she’s pushing 50.
“Hollywood called,” she’d explain about their overnight cheap flight arrangements to ticket agents and crew. “They told me to take the next flight!”
At every turn, Jeff meets or sees kindness — stewardesses who indulge his many questions and bump them up to first class on the mostly-empty planes, a captain who fixes his toy model of a Constellation, a mentally ill flyer who flips out but is calmed by a flight attendant who isn’t overworked and frazzled in jet-powered tin-can jammed with Joe and Jane Sweatsocks who think nothing of traveling in their pajamas.
Normally, I cringe at pictures this reliant on voice-over narration. I recoil from stars who populate their picture with Sandler etc. offspring. But “Propeller” is unfailingly sweet and never cloying.
Sure, it’s fictionalized. But if you’ve followed Travolta’s life and career, a lot of him is in this — his raptoruous engagement with flying, an indulged child who developed a taste for fine food and creature comforts, a mother who was his guiding star as an actor.
I get why there are less adoring reviews than mine floating around “Propeller.” It’s unfailingly sweet. Mom’s man-hunting is seriously dated. This TWA tale is decorated with Gershwin’s majestic “Rhapsody in Blue” — United Airlines’ signature tune. And Travolta’s been around long enough for recent generations to come up and not feel a connection to the “Saturday Night Fever/Get Shorty” star whose career has fallen off and life has been visited by too much tragedy.
But I’d hate to be seated next to anybody who doesn’t appreciate this adorable, pristine and nearly perfect aviation fantasy on any flight, much less an overnight one.
Rating: TV-PG
Cast: Clark Shotwell, Kelly Eviston-Quinnett, Ellen Travolta, Ella Beau Travolta, Olga Hoffmann and John Travolta.
Credits: Scripted and directed by John Travolta, based on his book. An Apple TV+ release.
Running time: 1:01
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