‘The Only One’ Review: One of the Slasher Subgenre’s Best in Years

Flannery O’Connor said a good man was hard to find, and in the Big 2026, I think finding a good slasher movie is even harder. Sure, it’s not like the heyday of the genre was exclusively hit after hit, but even the more meager offerings (Girls Nite Out, Body Count) were experimental and subversive in ways that today’s modern offerings frustratingly resist. There are some clear winners, but overall, the subgenre is at a stalemate. That’s what makes attempts like The Only One, a new Aussie slasher from filmmaker Michael Schwarz, all the more refreshing. Here’s some slicing and dicing with gusto.

To get an inevitable comparison point out of the way, yes, The Only One bears thematic resemblance to Curry Barker’s Obsession, just with a gender flip and more conventional narrative structure. Between the two of them, The Only One is more successful, and its script (Martyn Pedler and Marek Polgar) has more to say thematically about the roots of obsession (and possession) than Barker’s debut feature. It also features some REO Speedwagon on the soundtrack, and that’s never not going to make me smile.

Starting in medias res (a frustrating choice I rarely think works well), Schwarz’s slasher introduces us to Zoe (Mel Jarnson), an aspiring actress who has dated a ton of people. So, so many. It’s impressive, and Schwarz wisely keeps his optics above water. Yes, contextual characters, including her best friend (Saphira Moran), tacitly and explicitly slut shame Zoe for her sexual conquest, but The Only One as a movie never invites doubt – the killer is the problem, not Zoe’s little black book.

And that black book is the impetus for an unpredictable killing spree when Zoe leaves Los Angeles and returns home to her small Aussie town and discovers a masked maniac knocking her exes off one by one. The structure is almost episodic, and it’s regularly a hoot. Each time a past Casanova is slaughtered—by knife or impalement—there’s another waiting in the wings, oh-so eager to provide sympathy and exploit the smaller playing field for a chance at reconnection. Men ain’t shit, as they say.