When the lights dimmed in theaters across the country on September 19, 2025, audiences were introduced to a new kind of sports horror with the release of HIM, a film that slices through the glossy veneer of American football to expose the psychological and physical terrors lurking beneath. Directed by Justin Tipping and produced by Jordan Peele’s Monkeypaw Productions, HIM has already stirred debate—not just for its genre-bending style, but for its unapologetic critique of the culture and machinery that power professional sports.
At the heart of the film is Cameron Cade, portrayed by Tyriq Withers, a former college wide receiver who brings a haunting authenticity to the role. Cameron is a rising quarterback, fresh off a mysterious brain injury, who finds himself drawn into the orbit of Isaiah White, an eight-time champion quarterback played by Marlon Wayans. Wayans, best known for his comedic roles in Scary Movie and White Chicks, delivers a career-defining performance—one that is chilling, layered, and deeply unsettling.
Julia Fox steps in as Elsie, Isaiah’s media-trained wife, whose presence suggests there is more to her than meets the eye. The ensemble cast is rounded out by Tim Heidecker, Grammy-nominated artist Tierra Whack, MMA heavyweight Maurice Greene, and hip-hop artist Guapdad 4000, all making their feature film debuts. The result is a film that, according to Hypebeast, “basks in a hyper-visual universe that presents layered, nuanced themes regarding how athletes become cultural commodities held to extreme, inhuman standards.”
From the outset, HIM refuses to play by the rules of the typical sports drama. The fictional San Antonio Saviors are more than just a team—they are a cult, a community institution that demands unwavering loyalty from its fans and players alike. The film opens with a flashback: a young Cameron watches as Isaiah, then at the start of his career, suffers a gruesome injury. But Isaiah’s comeback is the stuff of legend, winning eight championships—one more than Tom Brady, the clear inspiration for his character, as noted by Slate.
But greatness comes at a cost. Isaiah’s methods grow increasingly bizarre and brutal. At his secluded compound, Cameron is subjected to a series of twisted training rituals. In one of the film’s most harrowing scenes, Isaiah forces Cameron through a drill in which every failed throw results in a football being fired directly into the face of a desperate free-agent receiver. The man—bloodied, battered, and laughing maniacally—thanks Isaiah for the opportunity. “It’s zealots all the way down,” writes Slate, capturing the cult-like devotion demanded by the sport.
As Cameron’s training intensifies, so do the horrors. Isaiah’s personal doctor, played by comedian Jim Jefferies, administers a series of involuntary blood injections. The origin? Isaiah’s own blood. The film reveals a chilling tradition: each quarterback takes the blood of his predecessor, a grotesque ritual intended to pass on greatness. This body horror, paired with kinetic sports action and unnerving sound design, marks HIM as a unique entry in both horror and sports cinema, as highlighted by Hypebeast.
The psychological toll of professional football is a central theme. Isaiah, facing the end of his career, is desperate to maintain his legacy at any cost. His arrogance and single-minded focus are not just character flaws—they are survival mechanisms in a world that demands superhuman resilience. “I’m gonna go watch film,” he repeats, a mantra that underscores the relentless pressure to perform. The film suggests that to be a great quarterback, one must become almost inhuman—a point driven home by Isaiah’s willingness to kill to secure his position.
But HIM is not content to limit its critique to the players. The film takes aim at the entire ecosystem of professional football, from the die-hard fans camped outside Isaiah’s compound to the shadowy figures in the owner’s box. In a shocking climax, the team owner—portrayed by Richard Lippert—is beheaded and left against the uprights, a literal and metaphorical decapitation of the power structure. The owner’s final words to Cameron are laced with racism and threats, demanding he sign a contract to replace Isaiah or face deadly consequences. Cameron’s refusal, and his walk away from the carnage, is a rare act of defiance in a world that chews up and spits out its heroes.
Throughout, the film draws uncomfortable parallels between sports fandom and cult membership. “Sports fandom can be cult membership by another name,” observes Slate. The Saviors’ rituals, the fans’ fanaticism, and the players’ willingness to undergo physical and psychological torment all speak to a system that values victory above humanity. Even the supporting characters—Isaiah’s wife, Cameron’s agent (played by Heidecker), and the team doctor—are revealed to be cogs in a vast, dehumanizing machine.
For all its surreal and violent flourishes, HIM is grounded in a reality that will be familiar to anyone who has followed the NFL. The film’s depiction of nonwhite quarterbacks facing extra scrutiny and barriers is a pointed commentary on real-world dynamics. As Isaiah tells Cameron, “getting coaches to trust them with the keys to the franchise” requires more than talent—it requires total sacrifice, and sometimes, a willingness to become “a generally insufferable guy.”
The movie’s internal logic is not without its flaws. Slate notes that the circumstances leading Cameron to the Saviors are never fully explained, and the nature of his brain injury remains mysterious. Plot holes aside, the film’s willingness to “throw a knife into the neck of pretty much everyone associated with a team” sets it apart from its peers. It spares no one—not the players, not the fans, not the executives.
Perhaps most surprising is that NBCUniversal, a treasured NFL broadcast partner, allowed such a scathing critique to hit theaters. As Slate puts it, “I’ve gotta respect that the same parent company that broadcasts Sunday Night Football was willing to give the green light to whatever this was.”
In the end, HIM may not be “good” in the traditional sense, but it is undeniably bold. It forces viewers to confront the uncomfortable truths about what it takes to become a legend—and what is lost along the way. For those willing to look beyond the blood and spectacle, HIM offers a thought-provoking meditation on the cult of celebrity, the machinery of sport, and the price of greatness.
