"Him" - All Flash, No Game

Alright, let’s talk about Him. I went in ready for a wild ride, but I have to be honest—this sleek, stylish thriller left me feeling a bit cold. Imagine a movie that’s all muscle and no heart: a stunning, sun-bleached nightmare of concrete hallways, ritualistic workouts, and desert vistas that somehow manages to be… well, kinda repetitive.

The setup is fantastic. Rising football star Cameron Cade (the promising Tyriq Withers) gets a dream invite to train with his literal idol, the legendary QB Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), at his super-secret, super-swanky desert compound. It should be heaven! But it quickly starts feeling more like a cult.

Think less Rocky montage, more get-the-holy-water because these pep talks sound like sermons and the “training” involves a lot of ominous injections. The problem is, the audience figures out the sinister vibe about ten minutes in, and then we spend the next hour just waiting for Cameron to catch up. It’s like watching someone slowly realize their house is on fire while you’re screaming from the sidewalk.
Now, don’t get me wrong—the movie is a feast for the eyes. Kira Kelly’s cinematography is razor-sharp, and they use these incredible “x-ray” impact shots every time someone gets hit that’ll make you wince. The whole aesthetic is so cool it almost tricks you into thinking something deeply cool is happening.

And the real, undeniable MVP here is Marlon Wayans. Holy smokes, does he deliver. He’s magnetic, unsettling, and completely captivating as this guru/shark/preacher figure. He can shift the entire energy of a scene with just a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Julia Fox also zips in for a few scene-stealing moments as his influencer wife, and Tim Heidecker is reliably hilarious as a brand-obsessed agent. These guys are the spark this movie desperately needs.

But once you strip away that incredible style, there’s just not much game plan underneath. The movie keeps circling the same ideas about sports being a religion and sacrifice being the price of fame, but it shouts them through a megaphone instead of exploring them with any depth. It’s all vibe, no momentum. The finale goes for big, flashy fireworks, but by then it feels more like an empty spectacle than a satisfying payoff.

Let me set expectations straight: this isn’t actually a Jordan Peele film, despite what the marketing might suggest. Monkeypaw produced it, sure, but Peele didn’t write or direct. When you go in expecting that signature Peele blend of social commentary and horror, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. The film can’t live up to those comparisons and honestly shouldn’t have to try.

What actually works:

• Marlon Wayans is absolutely electric—seriously, he’s worth the price of admission alone. Watching him play this charismatic guru who’s basically selling salvation is mesmerizing and deeply unsettling.
• The technical craft is undeniable: every shot looks magazine-perfect, the sound design gets under your skin, and those brutal impact moments hit like a truck.
• Julia Fox and Tim Heidecker show up just when the energy starts flagging and inject some much-needed life into their scenes.

Where it falls apart:
• The middle section just spins its wheels—lots of moody atmosphere pretending to be plot progression.
• Big themes get the surface treatment when they deserved real depth and bite.
• That finale goes for pure spectacle when what we needed was emotional resolution. Too many loose threads left dangling, and not in a good way.

Overall: Him looks incredible and Wayans gives a powerhouse performance, but the movie keeps dropping the ball when it matters most. I can appreciate the ambition and craftsmanship, but it left me feeling more frustrated than entertained.