Him

Him is demonic noise.

Director Justin Tipping be trippin', because what he's given us instead of a movie is the most disjointed and incoherent mess to hit the screens since Megalopolis. It's what I imagine Malcolm McDowell's character was forced to watch in A Clockwork Orange, football-themed horrors strobing their way directly into your brain with no story or rhythm.

In place of a cohesive narrative, its micron-thin plot is barely an excuse to bludgeon audiences with its overly simplistic metaphor (the generational trauma of pushing yourself and your loved ones for excellence in sports), and abuse them with hyper frenetic and often satanic imagery.

There is virtually no time (literally) given to character or plot development, and the only sense of cohesion is the feeling of being abused for daring to have purchased a ticket.

It's impossible to critique the performances because there weren't any. The main character walks around looking half asleep for 99% of the movie, while Wayans does whatever the hell (get it) it is that he is doing all movie long.

This is a movie best forgotten.