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In this in-depth conversation, filmmaker RaMell Ross offers a behind-the-scenes look at his cinematic adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s powerful novel, The Nickel Boys. Ross delves into the creative choices that shaped the film’s emotional core—from his bold use of point-of-view shots to his collaborative process with actors. He also reflects on balancing authenticity with artistic freedom, illuminating how the haunting landscapes and the subtleties of performance underscore the story’s central themes of trauma, injustice, and survival. Here, he sits down with interviewer Amir to discuss the challenges and triumphs of bringing this urgent narrative to life.

Amir Ganjavie, UniversalCinema Magazine (UM): My first question is about adaptation. Adapting such a powerful novel to film can be challenging. What were some of the key decisions you had to make to ensure that the themes of trauma, injustice, and survival resonated in your adaptation?

RaMell Ross (RR): That’s a good question. I didn’t think too much about how the themes would resonate because Colson’s narrative is already so strong. All you really have to do is establish that framework, and people recognize the horror of a reform school in that era. The bigger challenge was not overemphasizing those themes. I wanted them to feel sinister in a quieter way, more as a disturbing undercurrent than something overtly dramatized.

(UM): Were there challenges in maintaining the authenticity of the novel while adapting it to the screen? Were there moments when you felt you needed to use artistic license to amplify the story’s emotional core?

(RR): Absolutely. In fact, my co-writer and I felt the novel was so powerful that we needed to step away from it—sort of stand beside it rather than live inside it. That way, we weren’t forced into constant comparisons. We wanted the film to do what cinema does best, rather than strictly follow every detail of the novel. We distilled the story down to its essence: a path of love moving through the characters. That guiding principle helped us stay true to what Colson wrote without feeling burdened by every detail.

(UM): The performances in the film are incredibly emotional. How did you work with the actors to bring out the depth and complexity of their characters, especially in scenes involving difficult topics like abuse or institutional racism?

(RR): I like to give actors a lot of freedom. They’re the ones who best know how to convey a character’s nuances. I have early conversations with them about the core traits of a character—Elwood’s resilience, optimism, and strong sense of self, for example—but then I step back and see how they interpret those traits. My role is to make sure they’re not veering in the wrong direction. If what they’re doing feels right to them, it will often feel authentic to the audience.

(UM): So you didn’t have specific, preconceived ideas about how each scene should be acted? You allowed the actors to discover that organically?

(RR): Exactly. I knew I wanted the performances to be subtle and restrained. For instance, I didn’t want Hattie to be a stereotypical, overly emotional grandmother who’s always wailing—she’s more measured. I also didn’t want the film to be overly conceptual; the characters could easily become archetypes if I imposed too much. You’ll notice the sound design is organic but also guided, and I like to bring that balance to all departments, including the actors.

(UM): The relationship between Elwood and Turner is central to the narrative. How did you work with the actors to highlight the nuances of their friendship and its evolution?

(RR): That was probably the toughest part. Brandon and Ethan—who play Elwood and Turner—have such great chemistry that sometimes we had to pull them back. We’d say, “Hey, guys, you just met. You should be skeptical of each other. Turner isn’t fully Elwood’s friend yet.” We had to remind them where their relationship stood in the story’s timeline. Otherwise, their natural chemistry was already there. They really looked at each other with care and love. That sort of connection can’t be directed or manufactured.

(UM): How did you decide they were right for the roles of Turner and Elwood? Was there a traditional audition process, or did your casting director propose them?

(RR): We had a lengthy audition process. We found Brandon (Elwood) quickly, and I had an initial idea of who Turner was from the novel. Then Ethan auditioned, and even though he wasn’t what I’d initially pictured, I knew right away he brought something special—he had this ease and adaptability, very much like Turner, who’s a survivor. Brandon, on the other hand, projected Elwood’s optimism and introspection effortlessly. Most importantly, neither tried to act like a “historical” character. They were simply themselves, delivering the lines naturally instead of adopting an accent or mimicking a stereotypical 1960s persona.

(UM): The film’s use of point-of-view shots is very striking. What motivated you to choose this perspective, and how does it enhance the emotional experience?

(RR): I’ve long wanted to make a POV film. It’s how we naturally see the world, yet cinema mostly uses a third-person perspective. With Colson’s novel, it felt right to put viewers inside the characters’ eyes. It was the best way to give life to the Dozier School boys and to Colson’s characters—there’s a spiritual reason to see through their eyes. It brings the audience into a more active, even complicit, relationship with what’s happening.

(UM): In some scenes, we break from that POV and see a more traditional shot. How did you decide when to use full POV and when to pull out of it?

(RR): The only characters who really have POV power are Elwood and Turner. They truly see each other in a way no one else does. The camera can be inside either of them. Then, at the end, when Elwood is shot, the perspective shifts out of Turner—he disassociates. He takes on Elwood’s name while on the run, and in those future scenes, the camera follows behind him because he’s not living as himself anymore; he’s living as Elwood. It visually represents his trauma.

(UM): Could you say more about collaborating with your Director of Photography to achieve that POV style?

(RR): We spent a lot of time defining how the camera should move like a human eye—focusing on attention rather than just framing. We wanted it to feel like the world already existed and the character was simply looking around, rather than the camera building the world for the viewer. We also worked on the small gestures—how someone might avert their gaze when uncomfortable or when hugging someone. We practiced a lot with a DSLR in the DOP’s Airbnb, figuring out details like how the camera should tilt to replicate a natural line of sight.

(UM): In many ways, the Nickel Academy itself feels like a character. How did you use the physical environment to reflect both the characters’ internal struggles and the larger societal issues?

(RR): We wanted it hot, bright, quiet—almost devoid of life except for lizards, ants, and little signs of nature. It’s beautiful yet menacing. You can run through a gorgeous field, but violence could strike at any moment. That Florida landscape is visually rich and carries a lot of historical trauma. We didn’t want to overemphasize the “Southernness,” but we wanted to give you that sense of heat, stillness, and the weight of its history.

(UM): Elwood’s belief in justice clashes with the brutal realities he faces. Do you see his journey as a meditation on the limits of idealism when confronting overwhelming injustice?

(RR): I love that question. Hope can be contradictory—it drives us forward but can also blind us to impossibility. This story grapples with different methods of protest and change: nonviolence, direct action, or something else entirely. Is there a “best” approach? The narrative doesn’t claim to have a definitive answer. It’s more about wrestling with the complexity of social problems and how people try to solve them.

(UM): The film balances hope and despair. Do you feel it suggests hope is essential for survival, or that it might be an illusion under such oppressive systems?

(RR): Hope and despair are both integral to the human experience. Every culture and individual has some capacity for hope, even if they’re dominated or oppressed. But despair also emerges because we recognize how things could be better. They’re complicated emotions that reflect not only societal issues but also the core of our personal desires and disappointments.

(UM): The notion of justice is central to the film. How do you think your portrayal of institutional injustice challenges viewers to reflect on justice in contemporary society?

(RR): I hope it shows that injustice isn’t always overt. Sometimes it’s wrapped in language about “reform” or “improvement,” especially in the U.S., where some of the harshest systems are described in optimistic terms. At Nickel Academy, the environment may seem benign at first glance, but we know the terrible history. That disconnect between surface appearance and underlying reality should make viewers think about how these same contradictions exist today.