My Friend Dahmer (2017)

What makes My Friend Dahmer special is its refusal to turn a notorious name into a carnival attraction; instead, it’s a quietly unnerving, sharply observed coming-of-age film that watches warning signs accumulate in plain sight. Marc Meyers directs with a steady hand, finding an eerie, everyday tone in lockers, kitchens, and school-bus rides, while Ross Lynch gives a surprisingly controlled performance that’s less “monster movie” and more a portrait of isolation curdling into something frightening. The film’s power comes from its humanity and craft: it captures the awkward humor of teenage social survival alongside the ache of a collapsing home, letting the dread seep in rather than announcing itself. It’s not an easy watch, and it won’t satisfy anyone looking for sensational true-crime thrills, but if you want a thoughtful, deeply troubling character study that lingers, this one is worth your time.

My Friend Dahmer is clearly trying to be a restrained, character-focused look at the lonely, awkward teen years that preceded the monster, and it deserves some credit for not turning the material into a cheap slasher. The catch is that the film leans so hard into ambiguity and low-key observation that it can feel flat, even dull, as if it’s circling a point it refuses to make. If you want psychological clarity, a stronger dramatic engine, or any satisfying “why” behind what you’re watching, this will likely frustrate you rather than enlighten you. Still, Ross Lynch gives a committed, unsettling performance and the suburban period detail is solid—just don’t expect the movie to deliver answers, only discomfort and a slow drift toward the inevitable.