Movies portraying the harsh realities of broken boarding schools and juvenile detention centers are a familiar trope, from the breakout film “Boy A” (launching Andrew Garfield’s career) to “Zero for Conduct.” However, director RaMell Ross infuses a fresh perspective into this well-trodden genre with Nickel Boys , a film that transforms a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel into a minimalist, evocative masterpiece. While Colson Whitehead's book is exceptional, much of its narrative feels familiar on screen. Ross strips away superfluous dialogue, prioritizing visuals to tell the poignant story of Elwood, a young man from Tallahassee who embodies far more than just a victim of a broken system.

Except, Ross doesn’t tell the story so much as inhabit it, to the extent I found myself wondering whether I could have followed the plot — which alternates between the 1960s and the early 2000s — had I not already read Whitehead’s novel. (I suspect that will pose a challenge for others, who should take the unconventional form as an invitation to look beyond the plot for other ways of participating in Elwood’s experience.) For the first hour or so, “Nickel Boys” feels like the most exciting narrative debut since “Beasts of the Southern Wild.” Then Ross tries something bold that doesn’t quite work, and the experiment collapses upon itself.

Building on the success of 2018's Oscar-nominated essay-doc “Hale County This Morning, This Evening,” Ross presents “Nickel Boys” as a series of first-person impressions: vivid sense memories from Elwood's childhood, education and adolescent activism, crushed but not broken by unjust incarceration. The film puts us in Elwood's shoes — it is his viewpoint that Ross prioritizes — using a variation on the style Terrence Malick pioneered with “The Tree of Life” to foster empathy.

Looking out at the world through Elwood's eyes, we see our surroundings, not the color of his skin. We feel others' gaze on us, and we're told when to look away, at which point, the camera pans down, as if to avoid being punished for disobedience. Only rarely does Elwood actually appear, reflected in a bus window or captured by the flash of a photo booth.

Among those who acknowledge Elwood's existence, some see potential — like Elwood's teacher, Mr. Hill (Jimmie Fails), who gives the boy a pamphlet for Melvin Griggs College, as well as a record of Martin Luther King Jr.'s speeches — while others are determined to limit it. There's an undeniable innocence to early scenes, as Elwood is “created equal,” in the country's own words, only to be taught otherwise by 1960s Florida society. Through it all, the boy never forgets MLK's words about turning “the capacity to suffer” into a weapon against oppression.

In one early, key shot, Elwood sits at the kitchen table while his grandmother (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) prepares a meal. His gaze drifts to the fridge, where Mr. Hill's brochure slides slowly toward the floor — a metaphor for what will become of that opportunity in his life. Elwood is on his way to Melvin Griggs when he gets in the wrong car. It's a stolen Impala, and though Elwood was just hitching a ride, the white authorities want to teach him a lesson, so Elwood is sent to Nickel Academy.

Initially, Elwood believes he can continue his education at this institution. But he soon discovers that this is no ordinary school; it's a segregated, illegal penal system where boys are forced to endure long hours of labor or engage in what the administration labels “community service” — a euphemism for selling supplies intended for students to local businesses. Nearly a century after the abolishment of slavery, this institution uses this loophole to exploit the free labor of Black youth.

Whitehead drew inspiration for “Nickel Boys” from the infamous Dozier School for Boys, where the horrific treatment of Black students led to over 100 deaths. These unmarked graves were only discovered years after the time period depicted in “Nickel Boys.” Whitehead, known for his powerful work “The Underground Railroad,” meticulously details the untold abuse that likely occurred at Dozier in his novel. Other filmmakers might have replicated this approach in adapting the story. However, Ross takes a different path. Countless films have explored this terrain, from Alan Clarke's unflinching “Scum” to Barry Levinson's more sentimental “Sleepers.”

While these films were impactful in their time, they often relied on familiar tropes: brutal beatings, solitary confinement, sexual abuse, and a death (whether by suicide or murder) that finally sparks external scrutiny. These elements have become clichés. Ross intentionally avoids repeating them, relegating such aspects to the subtext or beyond the frame.

Upon arriving at Nickel Academy, Elwood experiences a remarkable shift. Previously feeling isolated in the world, he finds a reflection of himself in another boy – a concept that Ross interprets somewhat literally. Breaking away from Elwood's subjective experience, the film leaps across the cafeteria table to Turner (Brandon Wilson), a lighter-skinned youth. Ross rewinds the scene from Turner's point of view, and from this point onward, we witness Elwood (portrayed by Ethan Herisse) through the lens of his newfound friend, as the film seamlessly shifts between their perspectives.

This formal shift addresses one of the film's initial limitations. As viewers, we crave a glimpse into the human face, and Ross initially deprives us of this visual connection. This is reminiscent of the frustration experienced by some audiences watching the Dardenne brothers' films, where prolonged scenes focus on the backs of characters' heads. Ross intends for us to empathize with Elwood, but a century of cinematic conventions has ingrained in us the practice of connecting with characters through their eyes. Now, with the introduction of Turner, we can finally examine Elwood's facial expressions – although I found them somewhat lacking.

In truth, most people conceal their feelings. Actors employ techniques to draw us into their characters' minds, but Herisse portrays Elwood as largely unreadable, his impassive expression concealing the young man's rebellious idealism — a crucial aspect of his personality in the book, largely left unsaid here. However, Ross has another motive for so drastically altering cinematic conventions in this instance, although revealing it here might ruin the surprise. It suffices to say, the future isn't what it seems, and Ross has reasons for concealing the film's biggest star, Daveed Diggs (seen only from behind).

Similar to “Moonlight” before it, Whitehead's novel is divided into three distinct periods. It's plausible that Ross could have found a way to make his adaptation equally compelling. Instead, “Nickel Boys” unravels as its multiple viewpoints and timelines become indistinct, getting lost in tangents — from archival footage of NASA missions to forensic excavations at Nickel Academy. You might interpret the boys' fate as tragic, although the film intends it as a transfer of knowledge. It seems the students did learn something there after all.