Week Ending 8/22/25

(limited release; streaming on MUBI soon)

It's all about the switch. That shift in unearned power when Matthew (Théodore Pellerin) takes control of the narrative. Because he is a ball of insecurities when he first meets his idol Oliver (Archie Madekwe) at the clothing shop where he works. Insecure yet shrewd—enough to realize the only way for this superstar musician to notice him was to be unlike every other fan gawking and taking photos. So, he feigns ignorance. He plays it cool. Aloof. Matthew turns the table so that it's Oliver who makes the first move. It's not a nobody begging for a seat at the table. It's a somebody begging for a fresh perspective.

The scene ends with Matthew shaking—a mix of not believing it worked and sheer terror for having even attempted the maneuver. We wonder about what's going to happen next now that his foot is in the door. Will he be able to still play it cool and pretend like he truly doesn't know who Oliver is? Will he buckle under the bright lights of celebrity and make a fool out of himself? Will he be able to cultivate an honest and authentic relationship with this artist and perhaps rise to the occasion to really belong? The thing we don't consider, however, is that writer/director Alex Russell might inexplicably answer "Yes" to all the above.

This is why Lurker is equal parts discomforting and enthralling. It's why Matthew's competitive nature to do whatever is necessary to maintain his foothold in Oliver's orbit can make you cringe in second-hand embarrassment while also nodding your head at the truth his anger inevitably exposes. Because one could argue everything he does to Oliver and his entourage post power dynamic switch is exactly what they did to him. Yes, it is objectively worse considering its driven by malicious intent, but it's not as though Matthew wasn't a victim of coercive manipulation and infantilization first.

Everything is intentional from Oliver joking that Matthew is his "little boy" and "son" to Noah (Daniel Zolghadri) actively trying to cut Matthew out of the inner circle for his own self-preservation—things Matthew will soon do himself. It's not the same for Swett (Zack Fox), Bowen (Olawale Onayemi), and Shai (Havana Rose Liu). The two men are old friends with Oliver and embrace their roles as mascots without greater ambitions. And she keeps the ship afloat as the sole adult providing the professionalism they couldn't conjure themselves. Their presence is still beholden to Oliver's whims, but they're secure in those roles.

They also know Oliver latches onto strangers and kicks them to the curb on a daily basis. He gets distracted by a new shiny toy and then gets quickly distracted by another. So, Shai looks at Matthew with skepticism. She keeps him at arm's length, gives him cleaning jobs, and waits to see if he'll give up. Noah tests the waters to see if Matthew is actually a threat, deems him to be another throwaway, and works to push him aside so Oliver forgets he ever existed. They underestimate Matthew's commitment. Because he's not just a fanboy. This isn't just about proximity to greatness. It's about becoming great himself.

We can't therefore merely dismiss Matthew as a stalker or sociopath. He is both those things, but not in the way we would presume or how Russell intentionally presents him. The insecurities that drive him to be willing to physically and psychologically sabotage those who are higher on the ladder (Noah) and those who dare to try climbing past him (Sunny Suljic's Jamie) aren't about access to Oliver specifically. They're about access to the world Oliver represents. Matthew might look like he's allowing himself to be used, but it's really him using them. As he says towards the end of the film: "We're all the same, but I'm better."

This self-awareness allows Lurker to prove so unique despite its familiar machinations. Russell is using the stalker narrative to mask the fact that this is actually the story of a volatile yet evolving partnership. Think of predatory managers like the one depicted in Elvis by Tom Hanks. Matthew is the same. He simply doesn't have the clout. Whereas you could build an entire movie around Colonel Tom Parker's ascent through the ranks, technology and influence now make it so that rise can be accomplished overnight. Matthew doesn't want to help Oliver's greatness because of parasocial adoration. He truly believes he can.

It's a chilling performance as a result. Pellerin is able to flip the switch so a smile or laugh devolves into something sinister once he realizes the people he's laughing with are laughing at him. The more success he finds manipulating situations to his advantage, the more untouchable he believes himself to be. So, Madekwe is just as crucial to the whole because his puppet master personality is a big motivator for Matthew to escalate his plans. Just as Matthew's insecurities hide his ambition, Oliver's confidence hides his insecurity. They're both little boys marking their territory, but only one is willing to turn his bark into a bite.

8/10

(limited release)

Told in four chapters titled "The Woodsman," "Grandma," "The Wolf," and "Red," Kelsey Taylor's feature debut To Kill a Wolf wears its fairy tale inspiration on its sleeve. That doesn't, however, mean you should assume The Woodsman (Ivan Martin) is a hero, Red (Maddison Brown) has somewhere to go, or the wolf is hiding in the woods. Because Taylor isn't simply bringing "Red Riding Hood" into the real world. She's actually reinterpreting its themes to present a story of abuse that, as she explains it, stays in the "gray."

That's with all aspects whether characters, setting, or mythology. Because naïveté doesn't have a place in these dark moments. This tale deals in fear, shame, and regret. Those are the emotions Red is dealing with when she runs blinding into the forest only to end up unconscious in the snow. They're also what The Woodsman battles as he frustratingly scours those same trees to sabotage a neighboring cattle rancher's inhumane wolf traps before coming across her body. And it's why, despite an early level of trust, they hardly speak to each other.

Trouble is obvious, though. You don't become a hermit or almost die miles from civilization without a reason. It's precisely because they have their reasons that they don't pry. She's grateful he found her. He's grateful she was found. Now it's time to go their separate ways and return to their personal anguish. Except, of course, that he's old enough to have chosen that isolation for himself. She is not. No, she has been forced into this impossible situation with seemingly no escape. So, she embraces avoidance and lies in hopes of never needing to admit the truth.

Enter Chapter Three: "The Wolf." Delivered as a nightmarish flashback, we finally see what brought Red here. Abandonment. Death. Grief. Confusion. Abuse. It's where we meet her aunt and uncle (Kaitlin Doubleday's Jolene and Michael Esper's Carey) and learn about her grandmother's fate. It's where the idea of love as a weapon continues to rear its head considering the same notion plays a role in The Woodsman's exile—as evidenced by the townspeople's adoration for someone else leading them to scowl whenever he's in their presence.

So, we inevitably discover his back story too. And while their pasts are very much not the same, Taylor isn't afraid to expose the parallel sense of despair permeating through their shared stoicism. The Woodsman doesn't want to burden Red with the suffering born from his self-imposed imprisonment. She doesn't want to unburden herself on him and let what happened to her be released into the world. That insularity is a double-edged sword, though, since a refusal to open up risks pushing each other away. And neither is quite ready to go back to being alone.

The truth of what happened to Red is pretty obvious, but Taylor expertly draws it in a way that forces the character to believe it's grayer than it is. This is crucial to why she did what she did running away and why she doesn't want to give it life: she believes herself complicit. So, it's the perfect contrast to The Woodsman's own predicament since he isn't afraid to admit what everyone already knows—he just wants to live in this moment of potential redemption a little longer by not telling the one person who doesn't. They therefore want to help each other but can't quite help themselves to fully commit.

It leads to an unforgettable final chapter that finally sees the pent-up emotions inside both get released. Why now? Because seeing her gives shape to his victim and seeing him reveals how the truth is the only thing able to set her free. Brown and Martin are fantastic in these moments, but so too is the script for never treating the supporting roles as pieces solely present for the leads' sake. A lesser film would have a specific character put their own needs aside to worry about Red rather than allow them to react with authentically selfish tunnel vision. But that person deserves their pain just like Red and The Woodsman do.

In the end, our two flawed protagonists do end up saving each other from the wolf. Yes, the figurative one haunting Red, but also the metaphorical one signifying mankind's fallibility to make mistakes and drown in blame rather than evolve to become better. It's no surprise that the literal wolves on-screen are conversely presented as victims being killed merely because humans deem them a threat within their own natural habitat. They're just trying to survive. It's man that poses the real threat. To the wildlife, to each other, and to themselves. Taylor makes certain to include an example for all three.

8/10

(streaming on Prime)

When the corrupt mayor laments the loss of his drug dealing cronies because of the hit it will take to his bottom line and then smugly turns to his Nazi police chief to revel in the fact that the “Mop Monster” hasn’t cleaned the streets of all the trash yet (meaning himself), I just knew he’d call in the National Guard. Why? Because that’s what Trump did when his poor wittle “Big Balls” got roughed up in DC.

If only our actual National Guard had the integrity of the one Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz put on-screen, maybe a Melvin of our own (Congress, Supreme Court, Bueller, anyone?!) could check whether Donnie Small Hands has any guts too.

Pure deranged midnight movie schlock. There’s so much to dislike, but it’s all delivered with such inspired energy that you can’t help grinning. Troma truly is that little psycho kid tearing the wings off an insect while looking for approval and we’re the proudly delusional parents applauding the ingenuity, oblivious to the depravity.

I felt bad laughing out loud when Bozo punched that old woman in the stomach, but having him instantly reminisce about doing it to Slug assured me it was actually okay to find it funny. Thanks, Bozo!

6/10