There’s a very specific kind of discomfort that Our Hero, Balthazar weaponizes almost immediately. It’s one that doesn’t just come from watching deeply awkward people spiral, but from recognizing just how plausible their downward trajectories feel.
Directed by Oscar Boyson in one hell of a feature debut, this is a film that lives in that uneasy space between satire and sincerity, where every laugh lands with a lump in your throat, and every moment of empathy is quickly undercut by something far more disturbing. It’s a morbidly pointed, often hilarious character study about two young men failed by the worlds they inhabit - and the dangerous ways they try to fill that void.
At the center of the film are Balthazar (Jaeden Martell) and Solomon (Asa Butterfield), two polar opposites on paper who reveal themselves to be eerily similar where it counts. Balthazar is a wealthy, painfully detached kid drifting through life in New York City, numbed by privilege and a lack of genuine connection. Solomon, meanwhile, is scraping by in Fort Worth, Texas, caring for his ailing grandmother (Becky Ann Baker) while sinking deeper into bitterness, isolation, and a self-fashioned identity built on internet-fed rage. Their eventual collision feels less like coincidence and more like inevitability. It’s a meeting of two lonely frequencies that were always bound to find each other.
What makes Our Hero, Balthazar so effective and so difficult to shake is how sharply it observes the different flavors of loneliness that define its protagonists. Balthazar’s emptiness is quieter, passive, almost ambient; coddled his entire life by a largely absent mother (Jennifer Ehle), he exists in a world of abundance that offers him nothing of substance. Solomon’s, on the other hand, is loud, performative, and increasingly volatile. He wants to be seen, to be feared, to matter in any way he can, mostly due to a lifetime of wrong upbringing by his abusive father (Chris Bauer). And when those impulses are fed by the worst corners of both online and the broader American gun culture, the results are as unsettling as they are darkly absurd.
Butterfield (All Fun and Games, Sex Education) delivers what is easily one of the most unhinged, fascinating and possibly best performances of his entire career. Solomon is, in many ways, the film’s most outwardly alarming presence. He’s a walking contradiction of pathetically sad insecurity and dangerous bravado. Watching him spiral deeper into incel ideology and self-delusion is both horrifying and, at times, weirdly funny in a way that makes you question your own reaction. There’s a giddy earnestness to him, especially in moments where he’s trying to impress Balthazar - showing off his weapons, his journals, his warped sense of purpose - that reveals a deeply broken person underneath all the posturing. It’s that sliver of humanity that makes him so compelling, even as the film never lets him off the hook.
Martell (Arcadian, It), by contrast, plays Balthazar with a kind of detached curiosity that becomes increasingly unsettling in its own right. He’s less outwardly extreme than Solomon (despite his strange social media output) but no less adrift. There’s something almost clinical in the way he engages with Solomon, as if he’s observing him as much as befriending him. And yet, as their relationship develops, the lines between fascination, friendship, and something even more complicated begin to blur. The film even toys with a strange, faintly homoerotic undercurrent in their dynamic - particularly in scenes where Solomon takes on a mentor-like role, teaching Balthazar how to use guns - that adds another layer of discomfort to an already volatile pairing.
That volatility is where Our Hero, Balthazar does its most incisive work. The film isn’t interested in easy answers or moral grandstanding; instead, it presents a world where systemic neglect, toxic online spaces, and personal failures collide in messy, often terrifying ways. There’s a biting humor running throughout, whether it’s Solomon blasting BABYMETAL in his car, proudly showing off his anime body pillows, or the film’s recurring gag involving his favorite childhood superhero, Jimmy Phantasm, but the jokes never feel like real relief. If anything, they deepen the unease, highlighting just how absurdly familiar these people and behaviors have become.
What’s perhaps most striking is how the film balances that absurdity with genuine empathy. As ridiculous and frustrating as both of these characters can be, Our Hero, Balthazar refuses to reduce them to punchlines or cautionary stereotypes. It understands that people like Balthazar and Solomon don’t emerge in a vacuum, but are products of environments that have, in very different ways, failed them. That doesn’t excuse their actions, nor does the film attempt to, but it does force you to sit with the uncomfortable reality that their pain is real, even when it manifests in deeply troubling ways.
By the time Our Hero, Balthazar reaches its inevitable breaking point, it leaves you with a lingering sense of dread that feels all too relevant. This isn’t just a story about two lost young men, it’s about the ecosystems that create them, enable them, and ultimately fail to stop them from their worst impulses. It’s funny, yes, and often sharply so, but it’s also deeply affecting in its uniquely unsettling way. And if nothing else, it’s a stark reminder that sometimes the scariest stories aren’t the ones that feel far removed from reality, but the ones that hit a little too close to home.
‘Our Hero, Balthazar’ is now playing in select theaters.
