Justin Tipping’s HIM is a horror film that never lacks ambition—only purpose. From the opening frame, it’s clear that Tipping and his creative team are committed to crafting a visually arresting experience. The cinematography is undeniably stunning: every shadow is deliberate, every color palette carefully composed to evoke dread, unease, or surreal beauty. But what HIM offers in aesthetic flair, it ultimately lacks in narrative clarity and emotional grounding.
The film’s commitment to style over substance becomes its most glaring weakness. Nearly every sequence is dripping with symbolic imagery and visual metaphor, yet few of them ever land with real weight. There’s a fatigue that sets in around the halfway point—not because the film isn’t trying, but because all its visual gymnastics never seem tethered to a story with stakes. The audience is exhausted, not thrilled.
Marlon Wayans turns in a capable performance, injecting his scenes with a grounded energy that briefly sparks life into the film. Unfortunately, his efforts are dulled by Tyriq Withers’ flat and unconvincing lead turn. Withers seems overwhelmed by the film’s tone and narrative demands, and without a compelling center to anchor the story, Wayans’ performance fades into the background.
Most frustratingly, all the artistic promise of HIM’s first two acts dissolves into a third act that feels both disjointed and hurried. What should be a satisfying payoff to the film’s mysterious setup ends in a tangled mess of rushed exposition and half-baked revelations. The film tries to explain itself, but in doing so, undercuts the eerie ambiguity it worked so hard to build.
HIM is a film that wants to be looked at more than it wants to be understood. For some, that might be enough. But for most, the lack of emotional resonance and a cohesive story makes this a visually beautiful, but ultimately hollow, experience.
