Him Review

An Empty Critique of American Football that Relishes in the Violence It Claims to Condemn

By: Marc Kozak

Him

An Empty Critique of American Football that Relishes in the Violence It Claims to Condemn

By: Marc Kozak

First things first, it's worth noting that Jordan Peele did not direct or write this movie. His name has been front and center in the trailers and promotional material leading up to the movie's release, and I've spoken to multiple people (including a few in the theater) who did not realize that his involvement is limited to producer. This is, of course, exactly what the marketing folks want -- you know and love Jordan Peele, you see his name, you go see the movie. It's a little trick the movie studios use every once in a while, usually when they aren't entirely confident that the product is going to stand on its own. Turns out that instinct is really on the money in this case, as "Him" needs all the tricks in the book and then some to try and counteract the avalanche of negative word of mouth surrounding the movie.

It's negativity that is sadly well deserved. "Him" attempts to be a horror-twinged critique of American football -- an interesting enough idea in theory -- but one that is executed with the heavy touch of a sledgehammer, with an overreliance on a music video visual style that does little to cover up the lack of any real substance. Directed by Justin Tipping and produced by Peele's Monkeypaw Productions, the movie aims for the same vibe as Peele's "Get Out" and "Us," but the story quickly becomes so far removed from reality that it skips straight past satire and becomes nothing more than a grotesque parade of bloody violence and muscular men with bulging eyes screaming at each other at the top of their lungs.

You can almost hear the concept being discussed in a pitch meeting. Football is America's largest sport, worshiped so much by its fans that it's almost like a religion. In order to make it to the very top, athletes have to sacrifice everything (especially their bodies) in order to become adored like a god, even if it's only for a relatively short period time due to the human body not being able to withstand regular punishment for more than a few years. But what if football really WAS a religion? Or even better, a perversion of religion, a devilish cult? What if you could make a deal with the devil to ensure your success at the highest level? What would someone have to sacrifice in order to be accepted into such hallowed immortality?

" The story quickly becomes so far removed from reality that it skips straight past satire and becomes nothing more than a grotesque parade of bloody violence and men screaming at each other. "

You can pretty much fill in the blanks from there. We meet Cameron Cade (Tyriq Withers), football's biggest young prospect, rumored to be the heir apparent to quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), an aging legend similar to Tom Brady, and one who miraculously overcame a horrific injury in his earlier days to go on to lead his team to an unprecedented eight championships. After having to miss the training combine due to getting bashed over the head by a demonically attired mystery person (an incident that is astonishingly given almost zero attention), Cade is given a chance to try and impress Isaiah White and his team (the San Antonio Saviors, ugh) by attending a week-long boot camp of sorts, where White can gauge if Cade is really ready for the big time.

Already we're straining credulity in order to set up yet another movie where someone is invited into a trippy, cult-like compound set up to satirize elements of the topic at hand (e.g., "The Menu," "Opus," "Blink Twice," just to name a few recent examples). Each day Cade spends at White's camp is progressively unhinged, as we come to learn that White's training methods are incredibly violent and certainly not legal. “No guts, no glory” is the repeated mantra, as a preternaturally intense White encourages Cade to let go of any kind of attachment, personal or moral, that would prevent him from being the best.

The crazed camp activities make up the bulk of the movie, with each of the six days separated by chapter headings that seem to indicate the various points that Tipping is making about football. There are no surprises here. There's the part about keeping your body right, which of course includes using mysterious substances injected by White's physician (Jim Jefferies, adding a welcome sense of goofiness to proceedings). There's the part about handling the media, in which Cade is coached by White's wife (a crazed and unnatural looking Julia Fox), who of course makes a pass at him in another dream-like sequence involving strippers and alcohol. There's the part about concussions, in which White brings in willing athletes to beat up on (to the point of death) during training, highlighted by using infrared x-ray vision to show the bones being broken in slow motion.

Yes, being a professional football player requires a lot of sacrifice and each of these elements are worthy of discussion, but the movie gleefully abandons any usage of subtlety in favor of hyper-stylized machismo action, frenetically edited to the point of inducing migraines.

I've mentioned the word "horror" a few times, but those genre elements are used very, very loosely. More than once, the music swells and we anticipate a jump scare, only to reveal...a football, either bouncing into frame or inexplicably spinning without stopping. Again, this happens more than once. I'm not sure what it could possibly mean, but it is one of the more ridiculous things I've seen on screen in 2025. Tipping also leans heavily into dream scenes or hypnotic, trippy events that may or may not be really happening, a recurring trick that only seems designed to make wacky, surreal visual images instead of doing anything substantive.

Things reach a fever pitch in the final 10 minutes as we enter full music video mode, the entire climax shot like some kind of drugged out halftime show. We get a supernatural explanation for things and an obvious shot at the ownership structure of professional sports, before descending into one last hyper-bloody freakout. The final reveals are completely silly, and whether that's intentional or not, it is at complete odds with the seriousness of the real-life issues in football that the movie wants to deal with.

Marlon Wayans is good enough as the wildly unpredictable Isaiah White, even if he really isn't equipped to deal with moments where he isn't going full tilt. Tyriq Withers is fine if unremarkable in a role that mostly has him reacting to the craziness around him. If there's any bright spots, it's the supporting cast that hovers around the edges, like Jeffries as the doctor, Fox as the sultry wife, and Tim Heidecker as Cam's mega shitheel agent.

What could have been an interesting takedown of the shadier elements of a popular American sport seems to instead bask in the very violence it wishes to condemn, with spectacular images of blood and guts getting all of the glory and any actual attempts at conversation getting shoved into the background. It's interesting that Jordan Peele would willingly attach his name to a misfire like this; you can imagine he is merely trying to hype the work of a friend or a company asset. Either way, it's a hit to his brand and a dilution of a marketing trick that probably won't work as well the next time.