The Loneliest Boy in the World (2022)

The Loneliest Boy in the World feels like a modern storybook that wandered into a graveyard and came back with a grin: it’s a zombie comedy with real sweetness under the grime, anchored by Max Harwood’s endearingly awkward Oliver as he tries to manufacture connection in the most disastrously literal way. Martin Owen leans into a quirky, stylized vibe—clever camera flourishes, punchy production design, and a surreal suburban atmosphere that makes the whole thing play like a coming-of-age tale told through a macabre joke. The gore is undeniably squishy (limbs, guts, the works), but it’s staged with a mischievous, cartoonish sense of timing rather than mean-spirited brutality, and there’s an unexpectedly tender pulse about grief and belonging beating beneath the chaos. If you like your laughs offbeat and your horror more whimsical than terrifying, this one’s an odd little charmer; if zombies—or intentionally weird tonal blends—aren’t your thing, it may be too eccentric to win you over.

The Loneliest Boy in the World is clearly aiming for a quirky, modern fairytale vibe—grief, loneliness, and found-family sweetness—just with zombies and slapstick gore. The problem is the execution: the jokes often lean broad and familiar, the satire doesn’t really sharpen into anything, and the story can feel like it’s circling the same idea without enough momentum. If you’re hoping the premise turns into something clever, scary, or genuinely surprising, you may find it oddly tame and a bit lifeless despite all the undead. Still, if you like gentle, oddball horror-comedy with a likable lead and you don’t mind a thin plot as long as the tone stays playful, it can be an easy enough watch.