Wayans is MVP of otherwise fumbling film, ‘HIM’

There are bad movies, and then there are movies like HIM, the kind that somehow manage to be both overblown and undercooked, the cinematic equivalent of a long Instagram caption with no point.

On paper, HIM could have been intriguing: the story of Isaiah White, a once-legendary quarterback staring down the twilight of his career, forced to wrestle with what greatness really means. That’s fertile ground for a character study. But in execution, the film feels like a film-school thesis inflated to feature length, packed with creative camera angles, disjointed monologues, and a script that thinks repeating the same word a hundred times counts as theme.

And oh, the word of choice here: GOAT. Greatest of All Time. A fine idea, if the writers had used it sparingly. Instead, the film runs the term into the ground, hammering it into nearly every scene. Teammates say it, coaches say it, announcers say it, random bystanders say it. By the end, even Isaiah White himself is mumbling it in voiceover. The repetition is so absurd it borders on parody, like a Saturday Night Live skit that forgot to end. What starts as a potentially thoughtful exploration of legacy becomes a drinking game no one should play.

The film also hides behind its marketing. Posters and trailers leaned heavily on the involvement of Jordan Peele, who is listed as a producer. But let’s be clear: Peele did not direct HIM. He didn’t write it. He didn’t even whisper a note into the final cut. His name is there for prestige and ticket sales, and the difference shows. None of Peele’s trademark sharpness, cultural insight, or genre-bending creativity makes it onto the screen. Instead, HIM feels hollow. Peele’s brand name is slapped on a project that otherwise wouldn’t have made it past the festival circuit.

The direction by Justin Tipping doesn’t help. Every ounce of energy is poured into camera tricks—odd angles, lingering close-ups, and stylized lighting that screams look at me! while ignoring little details like pacing, character development, or coherence. The film constantly teases big, meaty ideas about the cost of greatness, the exploitation of athletes, and the mythology of sports, but never sees them through. Half-ideas are raised, then abandoned, replaced by another GOAT reference and another dramatic shot of a football spiraling in slow motion.

And yet, buried in this heap of wasted potential is Marlon Wayans, turning in a genuinely great performance. As Isaiah White, Wayans radiates the swagger of a sports icon who knows his time is fading. He brings pathos to quiet moments, bitterness to confrontations, and charisma to the rare scenes where the script lets him breathe. It’s a performance so strong it feels like it wandered in from a different, better movie. Wayans proves he has the chops for dramatic work, and hopefully Hollywood takes note because he deserves material far better than this.

Unfortunately, his efforts are swallowed by the film’s larger failures. The supporting cast is one-note, the dialogue lands with a thud, and the narrative drags toward a limp finale that’s supposed to feel profound but instead plays like a first-draft idea no one dared to challenge.

In the end, HIM is less a movie than a cinematic exercise in wasted opportunity. It wants to be mythic but winds up trivial. It wants to redefine the sports drama but collapses into clichés. It wants to convince you that greatness can be captured in a single word, but it only proves that overuse kills meaning.

Marlon Wayans may walk away from HIM with his reputation enhanced, but the film itself? Best left forgotten.

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