Lurker

Lurker arrives as one of the most unsettling and incisive portraits of obsession to emerge in recent years, a film that feels both of its time and timeless in its exploration of parasocial desire, manipulation, and the corrosive pull of fame. Written and directed by Alex Russell, known for his work on acclaimed series such as The Bear and Beef, the film premiered at Sundance and later played at Fantasia, where sold-out screenings confirmed its status as a festival discovery. What sets Lurker apart is its refusal to settle for the clichés of the “obsessed fan thriller.” Instead, it presents a slow-burn character study that grows more unnerving the longer we sit with it, asking us to consider the transactional nature of modern intimacy, the blurred line between love and obsession, and the price of proximity to celebrity culture.

At the center of the story is Matthew, played with chilling brilliance by Théodore Pellerin, a retail worker in Los Angeles who lives with his grandmother and drifts through life on his bicycle, seemingly anonymous, unnoticed, and almost invisible. His anonymity, however, is a mask. When pop star Oliver, portrayed by Archie Madekwe, enters Matthew’s clothing shop, a carefully staged encounter changes the course of his life. Instead of gushing like his colleague Jaime (played by Sunny Suljic), Matthew plays it cool, casually switching the store’s music to one of Oliver’s favorite deep cuts. It feels like serendipity, but it’s not. From the start, Matthew is orchestrating, watching, calculating. That Oliver immediately takes a liking to him and invites him to a show feels like destiny; in truth, it is the opening move in a long, manipulative game.

Once Matthew infiltrates Oliver’s entourage — a loose circle of musicians, yes-men, and hangers-on including Havana Rose Liu, Zack Fox, and Daniel Zolghadri — the atmosphere shifts into one of constant unease. At first, Matthew is hazed and humiliated, treated as disposable. He does chores, endures mockery, and carries out errands. But when he pulls out an old camcorder and begins shooting Oliver with a voyeuristic intimacy, everything changes. Suddenly he has purpose, access, and the illusion of belonging. He becomes Oliver’s unofficial documentarian, filming rehearsals, backstage moments, and private confidences. “I don’t talk like this with anyone else,” Oliver tells him — a line that feels at once seductive and transactional. For Matthew, it’s proof that he has finally been chosen. For the audience, it’s the sound of a trap snapping shut.

What makes Lurker so fascinating is the delicate push and pull between Matthew and Oliver. Archie Madekwe, fresh off his performance in Saltburn, makes Oliver into a charismatic yet insecure rising star, intoxicated by the devotion of others while terrified of irrelevance. He thrives on flattery, on being told he is destined for greatness, and Matthew provides this in abundance. Yet Oliver, too, exploits Matthew, using him as a mirror, a confessor, a creative outlet. Their relationship becomes symbiotic and parasitic all at once: Matthew needs Oliver’s validation to exist, while Oliver craves Matthew’s gaze to feel immortal. It’s a dynamic that recalls The Talented Mr. Ripley, but updated for the age of social media, when intimacy is always mediated through a lens and validation is counted in likes.

The supporting characters enrich this study of toxicity. Havana Rose Liu plays Shai, Oliver’s manager and occasional lover, who immediately sees through Matthew but cannot prevent his slow ascent. Zack Fox provides dry humor as Swett, a friend more interested in video games than career maneuvering, while Daniel Zolghadri’s Noah, the displaced videographer, represents the cruel truth of this world: everyone is replaceable. In one of the film’s sharpest subplots, Matthew replaces Noah as Oliver’s documentarian, only to find himself threatened when Jaime, his own co-worker, enters the fold with design talent that Oliver admires. Every new face is a rival, every gesture of affection a potential betrayal. For Matthew, belonging is never secure; it must be constantly defended, even if that means resorting to sabotage.

The visual language of Lurker reinforces its themes. Cinematographer Pat Scola gives the film a grainy, analog intimacy, intercutting polished scenes with Matthew’s camcorder footage. The effect is unsettling, as if we are watching moments we were never meant to see. This voyeurism is compounded by the film’s soundscape. The score, composed by Kenny Beats, blends pulsating synths with Oliver’s own music, performed live by Archie Madekwe. The songs, inspired by artists like Frank Ocean and The Weeknd, are so convincing that they risk becoming hits in their own right, further blurring the line between fiction and reality. In one unforgettable sequence, Oliver performs a song while being repeatedly shot with paintballs, his body bruising in rhythm with the music, while Matthew captures it all from behind the lens. It is art, exploitation, and obsession in a single, indelible image.

What lingers most after Lurker is not a shocking twist or violent climax — though the film contains moments of cruelty and betrayal — but rather the suffocating atmosphere of constant performance. Everyone in Oliver’s orbit is acting: the pop star maintaining his aura of greatness, his entourage jockeying for status, Matthew pretending to be a confidant rather than a fan. The film suggests that in a world mediated by cameras and social networks, authenticity itself becomes a performance. When Oliver sings, “What’s the difference between love and obsession?”, the question reverberates beyond the screen, a challenge to audiences who scroll and consume, lurking in the digital lives of celebrities.

Théodore Pellerin’s performance is the heart of the film. He begins as a sympathetic figure — a lonely young man seeking connection — and gradually reveals the sociopathic hunger beneath the surface. His thousand-yard stare, his toothy grin, his awkward body language mask a manipulative intelligence that is terrifying in its quiet persistence. By the time Matthew fully exposes himself as a puppet master, we realize that the “lurker” of the title is not just someone on the sidelines, but someone who thrives in shadows, waiting patiently to seize control. Archie Madekwe, meanwhile, delivers his most layered performance yet, capturing both the narcissism and fragility of a star not yet secure in his fame. Their chemistry is electric, veering from tenderness to rivalry to homoerotic tension in scenes that are as funny as they are disturbing.

Lurker is not flawless. Its pacing sometimes meanders, and a few late turns strain plausibility. But the overall effect is hypnotic. This is a film that dares to hold a mirror up to our culture of fandom, asking us to reckon with the ugliness beneath the adoration. It is, in many ways, an All About Eve for the Instagram generation — a study of how opportunism masquerades as friendship, how validation is bartered like currency, and how fame creates both gods and parasites. Alex Russell’s assured debut suggests a filmmaker with both the insight and the audacity to define a new era of psychological thrillers.

As Matthew and Oliver circle one another in a toxic orbit, the film leaves us with a chilling thought: perhaps obsession is the closest thing to love we have left in a culture where everyone is performing, everyone is replaceable, and everyone is lurking for their chance to be chosen. Lurker is not just a film about celebrity; it is a film about us — about the way we watch, desire, and consume. And like the best thrillers, it forces us to admit that the real danger lies not only on the screen, but in the mirror it holds up to our own hungry eyes.

Lurker 
Written and directed by Alex Russell
Produced by Alex Orlovsky, Duncan Montgomery, Jack Selby, Galen Core, Olmo Schnabel, Francesco Melzi D'Eril, Marc Marrie, Charlie McDowell, Archie Madekwe
Starring  Théodore Pellerin, Archie Madekwe, Zack Fox,  Havana Rose Liu, Wale Onayemi, Daniel Zolghadri, Sunny Suljic
Cinematography : Pat Scola
Edited by David Kashevaroff
Music by Kenneth Blume
Production companies : High Frequency Entertainment, MeMo Films, Twin Pictures
Distributed by Mubi (United States and Canada), Focus Features (International)
Release dates : January 26, 2025 (Sundance), August 22, 2025 (United States)
Running time : 101 minutes

Seen September 11 2025 at the Deauville International Center

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