Gretel Packer

The New Boy (2023) drops you right into rural Australia, 1940s, dust swirling, heat pressing down. There’s this mysterious young Aboriginal kid, no name, just “the new boy,” getting dumped at a remote monastery in the dead of night. The place is run by Sister Eileen, a nun who’s got a soft spot for lost causes, even if the church higher-ups aren’t exactly thrilled about her bending the rules. The boy doesn’t speak much—he’s got these wild, intense eyes, and you can feel he’s carrying something heavy, some secret or power buzzing just underneath. The nuns try to fit him into their world, teaching him prayers, chores, all the stuff that comes with their version of salvation. But honestly? The kid’s not buying it. He’s slippery, almost feral, more at home in nature than inside those stone walls. Weird things start happening too—unexplainable stuff, like the boy healing from wounds that should’ve leveled him, or animals acting strange around him. The sisters can’t decide if he’s blessed, cursed, or just plain trouble. As the story unspools, the clash between Indigenous spirituality and Catholic dogma gets sharper. Sister Eileen wants to protect the boy, but her grip on faith and reality starts to slip. There’s a constant tug-of-war—belief versus doubt, tradition versus survival. In the end, it’s not really about miracles or monsters. It’s about belonging, loss, and what you’re willing to risk for someone you barely understand. The film’s haunting, beautiful, and leaves way more questions than answers.