Lilli Keeve
Director Oscar Boyson and his longtime friend and writing partner Ricky Camilleri knew they had something special, an intriguing story centering on two lonely boys from different planes of existence searching for connection in the digital age. The initial spark behind the idea for Our Hero, Balthazar stemmed from an incident connected to the 2022 Uvalde school shooting: a woman from Germany received a foreboding message from the shooter but ultimately ignored it. The question that transpired for the film was: How could she have known this was real?
Thus, the film’s complex and flawed central characters were born. In a dynamic and unsettling performance, Jaeden Martell (IT, Defending Jacob) is Balthazar “Balthy” Malone, a disconnected and privileged Manhattan teen who seeks sympathy online by posting himself crying in response to the world’s tragedies. When he tries to impress an activist classmate (Pippa Knowles) by showing her his insincere “grief narratives,” she’s immediately disgusted by his disingenuousness. In an attempt to prove himself and win back her attention, he begins to message an individual who appears violent and threatening. Misguided Balthy believes that by befriending this alienated person, he can prevent another senseless tragedy and become a national hero.
Balthy travels to the Texas suburbs to locate the frustrated loner Solomon Jackson, intensely played by Asa Butterfield (Sex Education, Hugo). Solomon lives in a trailer park, taking care of his disabled grandmother (brilliantly portrayed by Becky Ann Baker), lost his gas station job, has no prospects, and no friends. Disappointed, Balthy attempts to stir the pot and unleash Solomon’s inner rage; he is a ticking time bomb.
Shifting from one character point of view to another, the burgeoning kinship between Balthy and Solomon is the beating heart of Our Hero, Balthazar, showcasing the lengths to which misunderstood young men will go for validation. Solomon’s menacing online persona differs from who he is in reality, which is a rather sweet and good-hearted person. On the other hand, Balthy is manipulative, dissociated from any genuine human connection, and eager to step on anyone to get what he wants. The brilliance of the film is that despite their imperfections and faults, we still manage to care about them, and the magnetism of Martell and Butterfield draws us in, and we can’t look away.
Interestingly, Balthy and Solomon have more in common than meets the eye. Balthy’s absent mother (Jennifer Ehle) is consumed by her career, and his father chose another family. Wide-angle interiors of Balthy in his penthouse overlooking the city lights illustrate the coldness and isolation he experiences daily. In contrast, Solomon is captured in his claustrophobic and chaotic home environment. Unlike Balthy, Solomon has to earn a living and pay rent, grappling with the loss of his mother and proving his worth to an egocentric father (Chris Bauer) who wants nothing to do with him. Solomon has everything to lose, while to Balthy, it’s all a game. Both characters have varying levels of power, and it’s enthralling to witness how that manifests.
While Our Hero, Balthazar shifts from being an absurd buddy comedy to a dark, heavy drama, it does so seamlessly. There’s an innate grittiness to the atmosphere created: Boyson’s daring sense of direction, paired with a nuanced and evocative screenplay, gives the characters, people, and places an authentic texture. This is real life, this is America. Boyson and Camilleri drew inspiration from Larry Clark’s controversial and brutal 2001 film Bully, based on an actual event about a group of Florida teenagers who plot to murder their mutual tormentor. Both films parallel the themes surrounding violence, innocence, and teenagers growing up without guidance, parental authority, and the inability to distinguish right from wrong. The issues that plague teenagers are timeless, but are significantly heightened now due to social media and the instant accessibility to the internet.
Our Hero, Balthazar presents a dialogue on current sensitive cultural topics, such as gun violence, masculinity, digital identity, accountability, and harmful media commentary. It’s a provocative and insightful character study that captivates from beginning to end — Boyson and Camilleri are gifted creatives with a distinct vision and voice. Martell and Butterfield embody these daring roles with a searing depth and earnestness, marking their career turns as elevated actors.
