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There is, potentially, some satirical juice in the idea of a supernatural gridiron satire, and the fact that 鈥淗im鈥� is being presented by Jordan Peele 鈥� the reigning master of high-concept genre fare, who鈥檚 been using his Monkeypaw production company as an incubator for fresh talent 鈥� raises expectations.

But where Peele鈥檚 gifts as a filmmaker begin with his elastic mastery of tone, Tipping鈥檚 style feels stretched thin from the opening snap. The quick-cut, hallucinatory visuals of the prologue give the game away too fast. For whatever reason, the movie is in hurry to reach its own foregone conclusion, like a prospect trying to beat the clock at a draft-week skills combine.

With his prime-cut physique and fanatical work ethic 鈥� a quality instilled in him from childhood by his late father 鈥� Cameron 鈥淐am鈥� Cade (Tyriq Withers) is entering his early 20s as a generational quarterback prospect. He鈥檚 the projected prize of the draft until an attack by an unknown assailant leaves him concussed, confused and staring down the possibility of a life without football.

Enter Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), a decorated league MVP, who takes an interest in Cam鈥檚 fortunes and invites him to try out for his championship squad, the San Antonio Saviors. It鈥檚 an offer Cam can鈥檛 refuse, and while there are things about the Saviors鈥� desert-set practice facility that are weird 鈥� from the occult-ish iconography dotting the facility to the obsessive, almost cultlike fans camped out on the edges of the property 鈥� it seems like a pretty good deal.

Isaiah鈥檚 doctors pump Cam full of drugs to speed up his recovery and sculpt his body; his wife, Elsie (Julia Fox), who doubles as the team鈥檚 social media guru, works her magic to raise Cam鈥檚 public profile. So what if Cam鈥檚 been having Satanic panic attacks and Isaiah and his minions seem dangerously crazy? Welcome to the show, kid.

The single best thing 鈥淗im鈥� has going for it is Wayans, a marvellous dramatic actor who inadvertently ends up exposing the shallowness of his own role. Ideally, Isaiah would contain multitudes, including some ambivalence about the obvious fact 鈥� obvious to everyone but Cam, at least 鈥� that he鈥檚 grooming his successor. There鈥檚 pathos in Wayans鈥檚 performance, but the script keeps handing him absurd, distracting, over-the-top shtick 鈥� seemingly to kill time, until we realize that said shtick is the texture of the entire enterprise.

There鈥檚 a version of this story where the Devil would be in the details 鈥� in the way that a culture predicated on the exploitation and endangerment of athletes points toward something urgent and corrosive in American society. But 鈥淗im鈥� isn鈥檛 really interested in the complexities of its subject, or in taking on the football-industrial complex the way聽Oliver Stone鈥檚 鈥淎ny Given Sunday” did.

Instead, it鈥檚 interested in the Devil, capital D, and so ends up slipping into the sort of derivative rhythms 鈥� ominous foreshadowing, eerie dream sequences, shameless jump scares 鈥� that require a real filmmaker鈥檚 sensibility to hot-wire and steer somewhere worthwhile. Sadly, Tipping doesn鈥檛 work up much momentum, instead cycling through narrative and allegorical clich茅s with barely any fresh or arresting images to show for it.

The climax in particular is a letdown: a veritable smorgasbord of gore that nevertheless feels drained and bloodless. There was never much chance of a movie like 鈥淗im鈥� being the GOAT, but it doesn鈥檛 have the courage or conviction (or vision) to skirt worst-of-all-time territory either. It鈥檚 a movie to forget.