Sports have been an essential part of humanity since the dawn of civilization. They can be brutal and violent, or they can be strategic and minimal, or they can be both. Whatever it is, sports are an essential pillar to humanity. So it amazes me that there has never been a horror film centered around sports, and I am not talking about a serial killer crashing a cheerleading summer camp. I am talking about the horror being centered on the brutality of sports, both the physical and psychological effects that high physical activity will have on someone. This horror has been largely unexplored, until now is Justin Tipping’s HIM.
We follow Cameron “Cam” Cade (Tyriq Withers), a rising quarterback who suffers a potentially career-ending injury after being attacked by a deranged fan. When all seems lost, Cam receives a lifeline when his hero, Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), offers to train him at his isolated desert compound. What starts off as a good training session, slowly turns into a nightmare which sends Cam down a disorienting rabbit hole that may cost him more than he ever bargained for.
From the very first frame, Justin Tipping stamps HIM with a clear directorial identity. It may not have been shot with IMAX in mind, but on the big screen it still feels massive. The cinematography is stunning, the editing cuts like a blade, and a score that practically vibrates through you. The chaos of football culture becomes all-consuming; every collision lands like it’s happening in your own body. Even if HIM isn’t your kind of movie, you can’t deny Tipping’s bold hand behind the camera. The problem is, no amount of style can fully mask just how tangled and uneven the script is.
For the first 45 minutes, HIM had me hooked. It teed up weighty ideas like the cult-like grip of sports, the toll of chasing greatness at the cost of body and mind, the sting of aging out, the danger of idolizing your heroes, toxic fandom, and the shadow of CTE hanging over football. On top of that, you’ve got Marlon Wayans delivering a blistering, electric performance and Tyriq Withers bringing a raw innocence that grounds the film. But for all that strong setup, HIM ultimately fumbles. The story spins its wheels, only to crash into an ending so baffling it left me more confused than moved. Sure, the message is clear, football as religion, athletic perfection as poison, but the film never digs deep enough, leaving the whole thing frustratingly surface-level.
Overall, HIM had all the makings of a truly original sports horror film. The direction is there, the performances hit hard but the paperthin script keeps it from reaching its full potential. Instead of delivering something unforgettable, it settles for flashes of greatness that never fully come together. Still, with its bold style and wild swings, I wouldn’t be surprised if HIM finds a cult following down the line.
My Rating: C+
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