M: Beyond Wasteland treads post-apocalyptic ground that will be familiar to most viewers, but thanks to its commitment to its point of view, this compelling story of survival and isolation is soaked in warmth and fear.

In a mysterious forest, Marko (Matej Sivakov) lives alone with his father (Sasko Kocev), simultaneously caught in a state of restrictive safety and fear. He recites a fairy-tale that simultaneously distracts him, gives him hope and might just help him to survive. When he discovers a woman living nearby and strikes up a friendship with her son, he begins to suspect his overprotective father and the story he's been told. Then events, and the world outside, come at him fast.

It's fair to describe this Macedonian film as an alt-zombie movie—the shuffling hordes that provide the physical threat are barely seen. Often cloaked in shadow, they're kept at more than arm's length, bar one pivotal scene. Any act of infection, implied or seen, ends in a quick death. There are one or two superbly well-staged attacks—one a slow-mo pivot through the fiery flash of bullets—but this isn't a film for horror fans wanting a zombie onslaught. Instead, relayed entirely through the experience of 9-year-old Marko, it's a thoughtful and effective look at survival, friendship and hope in the apocalypse.

Uncovering a post-apocalyptic fallout through a character's eyes isn't so unusual—we've followed Jim unaware into the Britain of 28 Days Later, seen the devastation of The Day of the Triffids along with Bill, and been on The Road with the boy. But channelling it through the eyes of a child like Marko, who's kept away from the reality of what's happened, allows co-writer and director Vardan Tozija to uncover new post-civilisation fears of manipulation and what reality means. Marko's father seems to be preparing his son for the inevitable, but if he never sees the danger, it's surely only a matter of time before doubts about what his father tells him break through. Those moments, caught in awkward, shocked silences between father and son, are heart-breaking; Kocev's stern, desperate, wild stare breaks at the realisation of what he's become.

Ultimately, M leaves Marko unaware of his dilemma. Will the survival tools invested in him—and the fable of the Leaf Boy growing strong to find the Fairy who will save him—help or hinder? There's a truly terrifying moment where the sum of Marko's hope exposes him to extreme danger. That's probably not the only time this emotional take on a ravaged world will leave viewers with damp eyes. Sivakov's expressive face, carrying hopelessness, vulnerability, and pain throughout, could melt the hardest of horror fans' hell bound hearts.

As M progresses, it moves, like the fairy-tale, from leafy forests to concrete cities. A late hint in the urban mass beyond Marko's wasteland, suggesting when M might be set, is a shock, but it doesn't hit as hard as the cumulative horror of Marko's powerless walk into the unknown. Regardless of the sliver of hope at the film's conclusion, it's the dismal, bleak third act that will linger in the mind.

M: Beyond the Wasteland is a movie of its time—It's clearly a response to the pandemic, packed with isolation, rage, and confusion. But it's also a worthy addition to a packed subgenre, confident enough to pull the rug from under the zombie genre as much as take a deep dive into the futility of human existence in impossible circumstances. Featuring poetic, memorable scenes accompanied by an extraordinary, often jazz-based score from Nathanaël Bergese, M is proof that sometimes a dystopian horror is really all about the journey.

M: Beyond the Wasteland is available on digital from GrimmVision now