This article was written exclusively for The Film Magazine by Scott Z. Walkinshaw.
Love and Monsters (2020)
Director: Michael Matthews
Screenwriter: Brian Duffield, Matthew Robinson
Starring: Dylan O’Brien, Jessica Henwick, Michael Rooker, Ariana Greenblatt, Dan Ewing
Michael Matthews’ Love and Monsters arrives as a welcome refresh in the post-apocalyptic young-adult subgenre, a film that favors heart and humor over relentless bleakness. It takes familiar genre elements—ruined landscapes, monstrous wildlife, a perilous journey—and uses them to tell a story that is both entertaining and emotionally grounded.
The premise is simple and effective. Years after a cosmic event triggers massive mutations among cold-blooded creatures, the remaining human survivors live in underground colonies. Joel (Dylan O’Brien) has spent seven years sheltered from the world above, still holding on to the memory of Aimee (Jessica Henwick), the girl he loved before the catastrophe. When he learns Aimee is only eighty-five miles away, Joel decides to brave the dangerous surface. What follows is a road-movie adventure through landscapes reclaimed by oversized insects, amphibians, and reptiles—creatures that feel convincingly alien yet believable within the film’s ecological logic.
The monster designs are a highlight. Rather than go for extravagant, showy creations, the filmmakers opt for mutated versions of familiar animals—rough, utilitarian, and plausibly ecological. The mix of CGI and practical effects gives many of the creatures an unpleasant tangibility that heightens the film’s sense of danger. Subtle production details reinforce the worldbuilding: enormous egg sacs tucked into trees, vast cobwebs that suggest entire ecosystems, and rusted human artifacts half-swallowed by nature. These elements reward careful viewing and help the film feel lived-in rather than purely spectacle-driven.
Dylan O’Brien anchors the film with a warm, self-deprecating narration and a performance that leans into Joel’s vulnerability. He’s not the typical action hero; his tendency to freeze in dangerous moments becomes a character trait to be overcome. That arc—growing from fearful survivor to someone willing to take risks for love—gives the story its emotional throughline. O’Brien’s chemistry with Jessica Henwick, even across distance and limited scenes together, supports the film’s romantic core without becoming soppy.
Supporting performances add texture and comic relief. Michael Rooker plays Clyde, a gruff but surprisingly grandfatherly survivalist who becomes an unlikely mentor. Ariana Greenblatt’s Minnow is a bright, resourceful youngster who injects energy and optimism into Joel’s quest. Together, Clyde and Minnow form a makeshift family that helps Joel learn vital survival skills and, more importantly, how to rely on others. This emphasis on community—people ceding petty rivalries in favor of cooperation—gives the film an unexpectedly warm moral center.
There’s also Boy, Joel’s canine companion, who provides genuine emotional beats. The film treats the dog not as a gag or accessory but as a believable bond that deepens Joel’s connection to the world above. The interplay between human and animal life is handled with affection and a light touch that often earns some of the film’s most affecting moments.
Tonally, Love and Monsters balances scares with comedy and quiet character moments. It can be gross and gory in the way creature-features should be, but it rarely lingers on brutality for its own sake. Instead, the film uses frightening set pieces to punctuate character growth and to advance the journey structure. The pacing keeps things moving: action sequences are interspersed with quieter scenes that let relationships develop and give viewers time to breathe.
While the plot relies on familiar archetypes—the reluctant hero, the grizzled mentor, the plucky sidekick—what sets the film apart is its tone. The characters are largely decent people who, despite the circumstances, choose cooperation and empathy over paranoia. That optimistic perspective makes the film emotionally satisfying and provides a welcome counterpoint to darker entries in the genre. It suggests that even after catastrophe, human connection remains the most important survival tool.
Visually, the film makes good use of its settings: overgrown highways, flooded towns, and cavernous interiors create a varied backdrop for the journey. The production design emphasizes texture and scale, helping to sell the idea of a world reclaimed by nature and dominated by creatures that have adapted in unsettling ways.
In short, Love and Monsters is an inventive, earnest adventure that blends creature-feature thrills with a heartfelt romantic core. It may not revolutionize the genre, but it succeeds by delivering a well-crafted, enjoyable ride—one with enough character, humor, and creature design to make it worth seeing. The movie closes on hints that the characters’ world will continue to evolve, leaving room for future stories without undercutting the film’s satisfying emotional resolution.
17/24
Written by Scott Z. Walkinshaw
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