Thanks to Jordan Peele, you're never going to look at the sky the same way again.
As teased in the haunting promotional poster for Nope, the supernatural horror at the center of the heralded writer/director's third film is a dark cloud, ominously trailing a string of brightly colored flags. Fear not: The secrets within this creepy cumulus won't be unveiled in this review. But I warn that Peele has done it again, crafting masterful terror that pulls screams, laughter, and jaw-dropped awe from audience.
With Get Out, Peele and his subdued but sensational (and Oscar-nominated) leading man, Daniel Kaluuya, brought a modern edge to possession horror. Then came Us, where Peele's disturbing parable about inequality in America turned Oscar-winning sweetheart Lupita Nyong'o into a mesmerizing menace. Now, with Nope, he reunites with Kaluuya, teaming the slick star with Hustlers scene-stealer Keke Palmer for a tale of family and fear that has roots in '70s/'80s horror cinema, but a vibe that's uniquely Peele.
Nope pulls inspiration from horror classics like Jaws, The Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Poltergeist.
Yes, this means Nope boasts superbly suspenseful sequences punctuated by scares that had audience members (this critic included) screaming unabashedly. (One standout terrifying sequence involves a shadowy barn and a man who thinks it's just him and the horses in there.) But beyond iconic scares, these horror hits of yesteryear also share an earnest interest in the character, and a slow-burn terror born from embedding us in the lives of a family. In Nope, that family is the Haywoods, a dynasty of animal wranglers who — according to their hype woman — have "had skin in the game" since the dawn of film.
A long drive from the hubbub of Hollywood studio shoots, the Haywoods own a sprawling ranch, where they train horses to perform in commercials and movies like The Scorpion King. But after a freak accident sidelines their proud patriarch (Keith David), it's up to eldest son OJ (Kaluuya) and his spirited sister Emerald (Palmer) to save the family business from going broke. When all seems lost, a confounding occurrence convinces the siblings they might be able to save the ranch by documenting a recurring supernatural sighting. On their quest to catch "the impossible shot," they wrangle in a frenetic tech salesman (Brandon Perea), an eccentric cinematographer (Michael Wincott, brooding like the '90s-era badass he is) and a former child star turned theme park entrepreneur, who is just as unnervingly obnoxious as that description would suggest (a perturbing and entertaining Steven Yeun).
The two sides of Jordan Peele duet in Nope.
As a comedic performer, Peele showed a madcap energy and welcoming charisma that made his every appearance a vibrant joy. Like Get Out, Nope balances its dread with bursts of humor, both from comedic relief Perea, who delivers shocked interjections with a delightful (and appropriate) panic, as well as from an impeccable Palmer. Her Emerald shines with a megawatt smile, dazzling charm, brightly colored streetwear, and the popping patter of a true side-hustler. Palmer knows how to make an entrance and snag the spotlight, which she does neatly in Emerald's introduction, where she folds the "safety minute" speech for a film crew into history lesson on her family's legacy and a pitch to hit her up for whatever else might be needed. (Motorcycle stunts? Mac and cheese? Emerald has many talents.)
Why go see a Jordan Peele movie if you want the expected?
Her foil is OJ, the brother who wears responsibility heavy on his shoulders, along with the dull-colored t-shirt, paired with jeans and Timberlands, which are his self-imposed uniform. He feels like Peele's persona as a director: serious, thoughtful, with a cool alertness that suggests he's ready for whatever Twilight Zone twist might come his way. With a lesser performer, OJ might seem dull next to the glimmer of Palmer's Emerald. But Peele knows what Kaluuya can do and trusts him to carry silent, concentrated close-ups.
One of this horror film's most harrowing moments isn't one of violence or gore, but of OJ, trapped and waiting for a break in the storm of horror. His eyes wide, his breath ragged, his body as still as it can be while suppressing a shudder, he is a portrait of stark terror. I get goosebumps remembering it! Yet even in moments with his bombastic onscreen sister, Kaluuya shines steadily. He has the stoic machismo of a world-weary cowboy, but within his reserved reactions, there's a slice of sadness glinting from his eyes. And this pointed pain binds us to OJ, even if he won't scream for our attention.
Jordan Peele isn't afraid to build thrills.
Like Spielberg, Peele leans on character, seeding his horror film with simple human moments of frustration, failure, and fraternity between the Haywood siblings. So, when things go even slightly off-kilter, our pulses quicken in fear for them. And Peele knows he has us. Rather than creating a glut of graphic imagery, he teases out eerie elements: a shadow in the sky here, a blood-dripping paw there. Like the seldom-seen shark in Jaws, Peele knows the looming threat — paired with a savvy score — can make audiences go wild, and they will (or did at my screening.)
Peele carefully constructs his scare sequences with a blink-and-you'll miss it reveal, followed by a spooky thing that can't be ignored, won't be ignored. Get Out and Us composer Michael Abels' pitch-perfect score plays like an ice cube dripping down our spines, shocking and delighting us with its chill. Meanwhile, cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema, who is new to Peele's repertory, gives us wide, wide shots of majestic terrains, reveling in the beauty of the Haywood ranch, visually reminding us of its importance, grandeur, and also its remoteness. Then, when danger lurks, his lens whips down to a bolting horse, up to the sky then down again to disaster, all fluid and frightening, for he won't let us miss a moment that matters. The effect mimics POV, not literally plopping us into the perspective of the characters, but mirroring their experience as if we too are there, with the dirt whipping up and hitting our faces, the smell of horse heavy in the air, almost as heavy as the uncanny sounds booming above us.
The scariest thing in Nope is its mysterious sound design.
If Nope's sound team doesn't win an Oscar this winter, the Academy is overrun by fools. What they've orchestrated as the soundscape of this film is otherworldly in a way so haunting that I literally had nightmares just about these sounds. Some of them come from terrestrial terrors, allowing Peele to suggest scenes of grisly violence without making a gruesome visual spectacle. Instead, off-camera attacks are seen in shrewd glimpses, but the violence hits hard because of the wet, pulpy thuds of the blows coming down. You don't need to see the blood when you can hear it.
However, the parts of Nope's sound design that curled up into my brain and latched in hard were the sounds of the cloud. Not quite human. Not quite animal. Determinedly, damningly something else. A familiar sound your brain can recognize becomes distorted to a mocking mimicry, echoing and broadcasting an orchestra of doom. It's a soundscape so rich and textured that you can almost feel it, sticking to your skin, clinging to your eardrum, pounding to get in.
Nope takes a risk that might be polarizing.
While Get Out and Us received plenty of acclaim, they also faced criticism for being pretty transparent in their messages. Good news for those critics, Nope is Peele's most opaque film yet. Amid the complex characters and nerve-shredding suspense sequences, Peele doesn't drop any easy explanation to what Nope means. One could point to the fame-chasing child star, the animal wrangling for film and TV, and the quirky camera operator as indicators that Peele is prodding at the absurdities of Hollywood. Or you could focus on the cloud, and wonder how its real-life inspiration might be at the heart of Peele's purpose. Whatever your thesis, it's a pleasure to ponder.
Within this refusal to spell everything out for his audience, Peele wraps his film up with a finale that brandishes eye-popping action, a curious swerve, and plenty of gripping character moments. But the final reveal might inspire some grumbling, as he's rejecting the standards of the horror subgenre into which he's riding. But why go see a Jordan Peele movie if you want the expected? His playing with form is a major element that makes his films so exhilarating. He's clearly aware fans expect a twist, but true to his evolving style, that twist is not meant to feel like a gotcha, but a window into frightful possibilities, like the Sunken Place and the Tethered.
In the end, the title of Nope might be its thesis. Maybe Peele is calling out the messiness of human nature, where we look at the world around us, recognize the looming cloud as a threat, and instead of confronting it, we say, "Nope," and go back to looking down, ignoring the horror that's oncoming. The heroes of Nope don't look away. They dare to stare down the terror, and in doing so give us a rousing adventure laced with humor, humanity, and — of course — bone-chilling horror.
With Nope, Peele continues his streak as a master of modern horror, delivering challenges alongside stomach-churning scares and bark-at-the-dark laughs.
Nope is now in theaters.
