Review: HIM is a Rare Sports-Horror Victory

Outside of professional wrestling, the crossover of sports fans and horror diehards is a passionate minority. Consider HIM an olive branch, uniting jersey-clad tailgaters and theatrical thrill seekers. Justin Tipping's sophomore feature is a sensationally stylish nightmare about what it takes to be the greatest of all time in the most gratifyingly unsubtle way. The Dear White People and Twenties director scores a touchdown with his satirization of "no guts, no glory," examining predatory instincts that have become an everyday part of American gridiron culture. From peewees to Heisman winners, it's all grooming for the chance of a lifetime—but as HIM catastrophically shows, Hall of Fame immortality comes at a cost.

Tyriq Withers turns in a star-making performance as Cameron "Cam" Cade, a blessed college quarterback destined to become a #1 draft selection. That's until he's bashed in the head by what looks like a crazed mascot, leaving him with a swollen brain and stapled wound. Cam's stock drops because he has to skip the USFF Scouting Combine, but fate has other plans. Saviors quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), a legend with eight championship rings, calls Cam and extends an invitation to train one-on-one at his private facility. If all goes well, Cam could be Isaiah's successor—as long as he's deemed worthy.

HIM is Opus for pigskin fanatics and way more successful. The similarities are eerie, but Tipping leaves A24's music industry cultishness in the dust. As Cam pulls up to Isaiah's massive bunker-like mansion, complete with its own indoor and outdoor 100-yard fields, it's like Opus but with cleats—down to the face-painted devotees outside Isaiah's gates. However, differentiation sets in once Isaiah greets Cam and begins the gauntlet of pain-inflicting trials he must overcome to be anointed the Saviors' newest franchise superstar. Familiar GOAT’ed themes present a captivating, horror-themed take on mini-camps, medical treatments, and the inverse of a popular mantra amongst NFL players, "God, Family, Football."

Tipping's punches aren't pulled; they're concrete fists wrapped in steel and shot from a cannon. HIM is unapologetically on the bloody nose, screeching the quiet part out loud. Whether it's photo shoots that paint Cam as the second coming of Christ, or Isaiah's anecdotes about how football evolved based on colonization, the film's commentary about sacrificial lambs and gladiatorial combat—especially from the Black experience—is aggressively smashmouth. Tipping, Skip Bronkie, and Zack Akers aren't necessarily protesting the NFL, but their screenplay exploits makes allusions to CTE, fandom versus obsession, and televised brutality interpreted as machismo. The veteran who's afraid to retire versus the newbie who could beat his records: two men ready to destroy themselves just to hear the roar of a crowd and rake in generational wealth—while the (white) billionaire owners in skyboxes reap the real rewards.

Perhaps that all sounds heavy and scoldy, but I assure you, HIM is an energetic crowd-pleaser. Marlon Wayans disappears into the darkness that is Isaiah's curse to bear, whether or not that's passed on to Cam. As Wayans' and Withers' competing quarterbacks run through passing drills, pushing their bodies beyond rational limits, their toxically masculine tendencies become a barbaric display of "footbrawl." Julia Fox brings the correct amount of dangerous crazy to her social media influencer role as Isaiah's wife, Elsie White, while Jim Jefferies injects the men with miracle juices that cure their injuries as Isaiah's physician guru. They're all caricatures of sports entertainment stereotypes to the max (Tim Heidecker steals scenes as Cam's agent), spiraling into madness within Tipping's cartoonish and cutthroat world.

In cinematic identity terms, HIM is a knockout. Isaiah's complex is adorned with the Saviors' gilded color scheme and eerily occult symbols, sometimes encrusted like bedazzled swag, and other times coldly minimalist as a dedication to "football above all else." Cinematographer Kira Kelly shoots with ominous appeal, slowly tracking Cam as he nervously explores Isaiah's kingdom, but also meets the chaos of party scenes where writhing, inebriated guests overindulge around shocking rituals. Visuals are fantastically intentional: the usage of flyover fighter jets streaming red, white, and blue smoke, faceless cheerleaders, X-ray overlays that show bone-crunching damage on brutal hits à la Blitz: The League, and what I'll call Sports Drink Advertisement Chic. Everything is football'ed to the max, including Bobby Krlic's hypnotic score that blends hype-up stadium tracks with marching band battle cries.

Thankfully, HIM is an indulgent underdog story that morphs into a searing analysis of what's become America's favorite pastime (sorry baseball, introduce tackling). Expect a fever dream of popularity contests, the fruits of talent, and the despicableness of what companies like the NFL don't want fans to acknowledge. From murderous mascots to rabid fans, Tipping and company have a blast thinking of every football staple to bastardize. It's Hard Knocks gone to hell with a violently cult-driven punch, and while style trumps substance in some parts, the very scarcity of sports-centric horror films makes HIM a Hail Mary pass that finds the end zone.

Movie Score: 4/5