A transfixing morality tale cleverly turned on its head, “Lurker” opens with an overture: its protagonist, Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), goofing around for a camcorder wielded by a friend. When the person holding the camera jokingly asks Matthew where he sees himself in five years, Matthew replies sincerely. “I already have everything I want,” he says, stealing a glance into the lens.
Rewind to the before times, when Matthew is living with his grandma and working as a retail employee at a hip clothing store in Los Angeles. In walks Oliver (Archie Madekwe), a pop music artist famous enough to cause a murmur among the store patrons. Matthew, abuzz with anticipation, pops on a track that impresses the VIP, and the next thing he knows he’s being folded into the small, sycophantic entourage of not-quite friends and not-quite collaborators fortunate enough to accompany Oliver on his excursions.
So begins a parable of obsession and loneliness related with such immediacy that even its relatively low stakes start to feel like life or death. In his debut feature, the writer/director Alex Russell (who has written for the series “Dave” and “The Bear”) viscerally captures the complex dynamics of hierarchical friendships, in which a fear of alienation and craving for belonging can drive people to the brink. The movie’s greatest feat is its attention to the nuances of how these men use mocking or scorn to ascend a rung on their narrow social ladder — and if “Lurker” eventually succumbs to certain genre tropes and a handful of story bumps, it makes up for its limitations in perspicacity and the overall strength of its filmmaking.
After Matthew catches Oliver’s attention in the store, he ingratiates himself quickly. Soon, he’s making himself useful around the star’s Los Angeles pad, performing chores and sucking up to his circle of buddies. At this point, Matthew is still at the bottom of the pecking order, an appendage and acolyte who understands the delicacy of his station. We witness his wild desperation to maintain his status in scenes at home, where he screams at his grandma not to interrupt him while he’s on the phone and replays Oliver’s videos to study his taste and habits. There’s a derivative feeling to these latter moments; we’ve seen portraits of blind obsession before, and at this point in the movie, you may wonder where Russell will take the relatively familiar tale.
These social hierarchies shift in a strong scene set in a pasture. Oliver’s crew has gathered to make a music video, but soon into the shoot, the group’s videographer Noah (the talented up-and-comer Daniel Zolghadri), realizes that he’s misplaced his camera batteries. Sensing an opportunity, Oliver whips out his grandma’s old camcorder and suggests that he attach it to a sheep’s head for a point-of-view shot. It’s a middling idea at best, and the composition is entirely off. But that’s no matter to Oliver, who takes to the idea and whose approval is the only one that matters. Darkly funny and effective, the scene proves a point that Matthew seems to intuit: any power structure is flexible if you’re willing to challenge its shibboleths.
Throughout, Russell and the cinematographer Pat Scola (“Pig,” “Sing Sing”) demonstrate a keen understanding of where to position the camera to best calibrate perspective and emotion. One memorable example occurs after Matthew has ascended to the position of Oliver’s righthand man, and has even invited his own pal, Jamie (Sunny Suljic of “Mid90s”), to a music industry party. A relative innocent, Jamie ends up winning over Oliver’s entourage, much to Matthew’s chagrin. As Oliver and his friends fawn (rather ridiculously) over Jamie’s ugly handmade sweater, Scola trains his camera on Matthew’s face, capturing shades of envy, quiet rage and panic. These aesthetic flourishes find an auditory corollary in Kenneth Blume’s swelling, spectral score, which toggles between sinister and ecstatic.
Oliver — a Gen-Z-cusp singer-songwriter a la Dominic Fike — begins the story as a rather straightforward character. He enjoys the influence he exercises over those around him, which explains his tendency to hand-pick fans and convert them into lackeys. Yet as the story unfolds, Russell shows how Oliver’s fame is an alienating experience. Through small looks and line deliveries, Madekwe shines as he imbues Oliver with the genuine vulnerability of a young man who tends to doubt himself and his work, and who distracts himself from unease through incessant pleasure-seeking.
Pellerin, perhaps best known for his memorable turn in “Never Rarely Sometimes Always,” is a worthy match for Madekwe. He is a gifted physical performer, with his gawky frame and large, fidgety hands useful tools as he shifts from anxiety to anger and back again. Matthew and Oliver’s alignment as characters is thrown into sharp relief once the film reaches a rather far-fetched turning point. The events — which the film all but skips through, lest the viewer start to question its plausibility — turn the tables such that Oliver becomes beholden to Matthew’s whims, rather than vice versa. In an on-the-nose flourish, Russell scores this about-face with the James & Bobby Purify song “I’m Your Puppet.” Later, the filmmaker takes the literalization trend even further when Oliver and Matthew’s jockeying for dominance is made visual in a homoerotic wrestling match.
These later scenes of power struggle suffer from some unevenness compared to their earlier counterparts, which capture the subtleties of social maneuvering better than most. Still, when the third act finally arrives, Russell deserves credit for making the audacious decision to deny his characters their comeuppance and instead end the film on a cynical note. “Lurker” is a movie about lonely young men who know that, at the top of their social ladders, more emptiness awaits them. Yet they keep climbing them all the same.
Grade: B+
“Lurker” premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
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