The Only Living Boy in New York (2017)

The Only Living Boy in New York is the kind of glossy, melancholy New York drama that feels like a late-summer evening walk—restless, romantic, and just a little dangerous. It pulls you in less with plot mechanics than with mood: handsome cinematography that makes the city shimmer with possibility, and a quietly compelling lead turn from Callum Turner that captures a young man’s confusion as it hardens into self-discovery. The film has an engaging, likable flow even when its choices get messy, leaning into adult complications and emotional gray areas rather than tidy moral lessons. It won’t be for everyone if you’re allergic to sleek, talky relationship dramas, but if you want something atmospheric and emotionally charged, it’s easy to fall under its spell.

The Only Living Boy in New York wants to be a moody, literary coming-of-age drama about betrayal, temptation, and a young man stumbling into adulthood. The problem is it often plays like a narratively messy, self-important male fantasy, with an unlikeable protagonist drifting through clichéd twists that feel more derivative than insightful. Characters tend to talk in lofty, “meaningful” ways without earning it, so the emotional beats can land as cloying rather than raw. If you’re into slick New York atmosphere, attractive people making questionable choices, and a vibe-first story, you might find something to enjoy—but if you need coherent plotting and believable character development, this will test your patience.