TLDR: Again GFYS
I saw HIM yesterday—a psychological horror film heavily marketed as a “Jordan Peele production.” I’ll get to that later, but first, let’s talk about the movie.
Did I plan to see HIM opening weekend? Not really. I was intrigued when I caught the trailer during Sinners, but I wasn’t sold. I’d already fallen for the “Anything-Attached-to-Get Out” marketing trick before (see: Antebellum) and left wildly disappointed. Still, I was shocked at how fast and loud the backlash to HIM was, with critics calling it one of the worst movies ever made.
Naturally, I had to see for myself.
So I went to my local theater—formerly Magic Johnson Theater (Magic’s) at the Crenshaw Mall. Some movies I prefer to watch in Black spaces, and by that I mean places where people talk back to the screen. Why? Because I do too. Not all the time, but just enough to embarrass whoever I came with. And I’m glad I did, because a few scenes had me squirming, and it felt good to voice my discomfort out loud. Anyway, I digress.
Overall, I enjoyed the movie—and if you go in with an open mind, not expecting a Jordan Peele film, you might enjoy it too.
I am going to break this review down into four pieces:
Aesthetics, Acting, Symbolism, Marketing
STOP HERE IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS
Aesthetics
Aesthetically, the movie was stunning—a minimalist desert hell dressed in extravagance and excess. The rich have a way of making abundance vanish in plain sight. That desert house, for example: sprawling on the inside, yet from the outside nothing but a barren wasteland. The same emptiness lingered in the secret club Cameron visited with Elsie, in the bathroom where he took ice baths, the bedroom he slept in, the practice field, even the real field. Each space was filled with “things” but hollow at its core. Glitter without substance—and that hollowness became the perfect horror backdrop for Cameron’s growing isolation. The color schemes, symbolism, lighting, and cinematography all amplified that emptiness beautifully.
Acting
have no complaints. I’ve loved Marlon Wayans as a “serious” actor since Requiem for a Dream, and I’ve been screaming about his underrated dramatic chops ever since. That was the “aha” moment where I started taking his artistry seriously. In HIM, he fully embodies Isaiah White—sometimes the father figure Cameron needed, sometimes a best friend, and other times the scariest, most unpredictable MF alive—yet always Cameron’s biggest idol. (Sidenote: I ain’t shit, idc. Marlon, Cameron’s daddy, and Cameron’s grown brother… CHOO CHOO. Lawd. Just fiiiiine.)
Julia Fox is delightfully manic here, and I love an unhinged bitch with “fucked up eyebrows,” so her Elsie White was a hit for me. Tyriq Withers was excellent as Cameron Cade, perfectly capturing the tension between striving to be the best and trying to be a good person. He shifted from “good kid who just wants to ball like his hero” to a ruthless killing machine with no morals and no regrets. Watching that duality unfold—the question of whether his soul was for sale—was breathtaking. And seeing the so-called golden child turn that apathy on his makers, killing them without hesitation, was deeply satisfying.
Plot/Symbolism
A young athlete descends into a world of terror when he’s invited to train with a legendary champion whose charisma curdles into something darker.
Cameron Cade’s character is a messiah, shaped by his late father’s devotion to football and to Isaiah White, star quarterback of the Saviors. This movie drips with symbolism—oozes it. God. Family. Football. Or maybe: Football. Family. God. The central theme is SACRIFICE, heavy-handed but effective. Some may have found it too much; I loved it. Cameron’s sacrifice began the moment he answered the call and accepted Isaiah’s training camp invitation.
He didn’t sacrifice himself at the combine—football’s modern-day slave auction (a rant for another day)—but his initiation was no less violent. Football thrives on violence. It feeds on Black bodies. Gladiators for the crowd. As Isaiah’s doctor put it: “Two gladiators go in. One comes out.” Violence is the key, and only one can win.
The history Isaiah gave Cameron about the quarterback position—true or not—felt real enough. Cameron absorbed every word, surrendering piece by piece: his phone, his privacy, his freedom, his morals, even his underwear. He submitted to injections without question, trusted a process in an environment he didn’t trust, and endured rituals designed to break him. Each day stripped away his humanity:
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Day 1 – Fun: the grooming begins.
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Day 2 – Poise: can he adapt?
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Day 3 – Leadership: does he have that dog in him?
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Day 4 – Resilience: can he turn Retriever into Rottweiler?
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Day 5 – Vision: can he see himself on the Throne? (The Last Supper imagery here was brilliant—his last meal as Cameron Cade.)
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Day 6 – Sacrifice: he must die to be reborn, selling his soul for greatness.
Cameron’s descent was voluntary. No one twisted his arm—until the very end. His journey showed him he was never in control. That’s why the final scene matters: it’s the first time Cameron acts independently.
The movie critiques celebrity, wealth, the NFL, and fandom. Cameron believed he was successful because he was good—and to some extent, he was—but ultimately, his path was engineered by kingmakers through a deal his father struck. Cameron was constantly reminded that everything he did was for his late father. That monologue about wanting to quit football before his father’s death revealed the truth: football wasn’t even his dream. His father sacrificed Cameron for his own. Maybe even his own life. Even the chant Cameron did with his dad: who are you? I am Him! Was that “him” in reference to Cameron? To his father? To Isaiah? To God? God. Family. Football. Football. Family. God.
Cameron learns he isn’t in control. His fate belongs to rich weirdos obsessed with ritualizing the kingmaking process. Call it “Illuminati” or not—secret societies exist, and they do strange things. Elsie White tells Cameron he’s no longer a “normal” person. That raises the real question: are fame and fortune worth losing the anchor of being normal?
By the end, Cameron has seen enough. The bigger question isn’t the fallout from Isaiah White’s bloody house massacre—it’s what comes next. The Saviors, cloaked in God’s glory, worship their star as a false idol. And what is a false idol but a mascot? Exactly what Isaiah warned Cameron not to become. The Saviors are just one team in a much larger league. This wasn’t an isolated event—it was part of the machine. And the machine must be fed.
Cameron’s story doesn’t end with the massacre; if anything, the horror deepens. Because no matter how many bodies pile up, the league won’t miss a game. A man can die on the field, and someone else will always step in. The game must go on. That is the true horror.
Marketing
Two things need to happen at once. First: stop using Jordan Peele’s name as branding when he didn’t write or direct the film. Second: remember what Peele actually did with Get Out. He turned the white fetishization of Black people into horror. That brilliance was misunderstood as creating an entire “race/Black trauma” genre. Get Out was the exception, not the rule.
Since then, people have searched for hidden racial allegories in all of Peele’s work—Us, Nope—jumping through hoops to decode “the message” instead of appreciating the meaning that was actually there. Hollywood caught on and churned out shallow imitations like Karen, They, and Antebellum, as if the recipe were simply “white people are awful.” But that was never the point.
So when audiences walked into HIM expecting a Jordan Peele film and instead got a Justin Tipping film, disappointment was inevitable. And that confusion isn’t just on viewers. Plastering Peele’s name across the marketing devalues his brand and misleads audiences. HIM has two executive producers, two associate producers, one co-producer, and four additional producers—only one of them is Jordan Peele.
There’s nothing wrong with audiences understanding the difference between “written/directed by” and “produced by,” but that line blurs when studios weaponize “produced by” as a marketing hook. Using a famous Black face to push a movie about Black men—when the director isn’t Black—feels cheap. And I think that’s a big reason why HIM is getting roasted. I knew better and I think that is why I liked it because I went to see HIM (movie) not because of Him (Jordan Peele).
I give it an 8 outta 10. 🙂