“Him” is a Brutal Evisceration of Gridiron Gods and Monsters
Football is inherently horrific. This collision sport involves two teams of heavily padded men who try to move an oblong ball 100 yards by any means necessary. Just seconds after the snap of each play, enormous players smash into one another, intent on forcing their way down the field. Gruesome injuries abound and most professional players last just a few short seasons before their bodies can no longer bear the strain. All this plays out while rabid fans scream from the stands like ancient Romans cheering on their gladiators. It’s a modern version of mortal combat sanitized to serve as a national pastime. Justin Tipping’s new horror film Him highlights this culture of extreme aggression, challenging us to question our deification of professional athletes and the sacrifices they’re willing to make for the game.
We meet first-round hopeful Cameron “Cam” Cade (Tyriq Withers) as a child taught to idolize the San Antonio Saviors. He watches Quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans) battle through a horrific injury then go on to win eight championship rings. Years later, Cade suffers his own career-threatening trauma on the eve of the all-important Combine and Draft. Thankfully he’s saved by a strange invitation. In lui of the Combine, he will travel to the remote Texas desert for a one-week training camp with Isaiah himself. But the aging QB’s unorthodox style pushes Cam to the limits of his physical endurance, systematically breaking down his humanity. With his life-long dream tantalizingly close, Cam must confront the steep price required to become the face of a national franchise.
Like football itself, Him is a shockingly violent, yet strangely enticing spectacle. Tipping’s visceral style pulls us into the mercilessness of the game with lightning-quick cuts and disturbing snapshots of Cam’s brutalized body. Still recovering from a concussion, he pushes himself to meet Isaiah’s standards knowing that each hit could spell the end of his career. X-ray effects take us under the skin to show the spiderwebbing spread of Cam’s still-healing skull fracture. One shocking scene mirrors recent depictions of CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) as the fledgling quarterback tries to prove his dominance with a vicious helmet to helmet hit. In photo-negative, this newly-birthed skeletal monster berates his seizing victim as the rest of the team cheers on the attack. It’s nearly impossible to watch Him without squirming throughout and permanently changing your view of the game.
Tipping does not shy away from the racialized nature of professional football with symbolic imagery and uncomfortable exchanges. We meet Isaiah as he sermonizes on the origin of the QB position, development of the spiral throw, and legalization of the forward pass. The name on his jersey (White) is not a coincidence nor is the name of the franchise he fronts. In exchange for unrivaled fame and immortality, Isaiah has sold his body and soul to an organization designed to make millions on the bodies of mostly black athletes. In the twilight years of his legendary career, the aging star knows that he’s worth little to them if he can’t perform. He’s backed by a shadowy cadre of mostly white owners, promoters, and businessmen, lurking in the background with pens poised to make a lucrative deal.
Wayans gives a powerhouse performance as the GOAT on the verge of retirement. He anchors this culture of chaotic excess while providing undeniable inspiration for a young man on the verge of superstardom. Tipping bounces between sequences of monstrous training and intimate conversations between two elite athletes, providing relatable vulnerability. We see that behind Isaiah’s fierce aggression is a frightened man desperately clinging to relevancy. Withers balances Wayans’ outsized performance as a neophyte tortured by obligation. We watch his slow descent into monstrosity while knowing that the league will swallow him whole if he can’t shake his bambi-like innocence. Julia Fox is bizarrely intriguing as Isaiah’s eccentric wife Elsie who waltzes into the film selling a vaginal egg as a form of radical self-care. She flips between stabilizing force in this lavish home and a deadly siren luring Cam into danger. It’s not until the film’s closing moments that we figure out where her intentions lie.
Tipping leans into this duality with a nuanced depiction of the sport itself. Set to an upbeat soundtrack, the film is both stylish and intoxicating as violent victors revel in the spoils of war. Isaiah’s elaborate training sequences are both shockingly cruel endurance tests and impressive feats of agility. Yet in spite of it all, he rhapsodizes about the thrill of the lights, the crowd, and unparalleled victory. And it’s difficult to disagree. For better or worse, American football has captured the fascination of this violent nation and shows no signs of slowing down. But a final bloody showdown clarifies Tipping’s overall message: the system is rotten to its core. We’re left to examine our own complicity in a game designed to break men’s bodies and exploit vulnerability for monetary gain.
Jenn Adams is a writer and podcaster from Nashville, TN. Find her @jennferatu.