MIFF 2025 | ‘Lurker’ review: Alex Russell’s parable against parasocial relationships both fascinates and flounders
Théodore Pellerin and Archie Madekwe elevate an otherwise serviceable thriller that falls short of the sum total of its paradigmatic influences.
Archie Madekwe and Théodore Pellerin in “Lurker.” Photo courtesy of MUBI.
“What’s the difference between love and obsession?” asks the central lyric to one of the key original compositions from Alex Russell’s “Lurker.” It's certainly a pertinent question. In an age where digital intimacy often outpaces physical proximity, parasocial relationships have become a defining feature of modern media consumption. The cultivation of closeness without reciprocity has long been a keystone in the development of a long-standing celebrity career — from paid boy-band fanclubs in the 90s to Taylor Swift’s cultlike hold over her devoted “Swifties” through mass-produced “personalised” notes and inane scavenger hunts today, the allure of feeling “known” by someone you’ve never met but nonetheless idolise has only amplified over the years, with social media further widening our avenues for empty, highly curated connection.
A survivor of the Los Angeles music scene himself, Russell clearly knows, better than most, the burning fascination at the core of parasociality and, on the flipside, the vacuous and often shamlike nature of modern celebrity. In “Lurker,” Russell’s audience-insert everyman takes the form of Matthew Morning (Théodore Pellerin), a weary young man stuck in an endless loop of retail-work drudgery at a prestigious streetwear store. Salvation for Matthew comes sauntering into the store one day, hoodie-clad and boisterous; this is none other than mononymous pop star Oliver (Archie Madekwe), whose good looks, easy charm, and blandly inoffensive pop music has captivated millions around the world. Being one of those millions himself, Matthew wastes no time inveigling himself into Oliver’s inner circle — but not everyone in Oliver’s entourage is as enamoured by this desperate new usurper, and as threats to his newfound status come crowding in, Matthew pulls out all the stops to secure his position as Oliver’s one and only right hand man.
Writing-wise, “Lurker” just about falls short of becoming the sum total of the influences it wears on its sleeve; the unholy TikTok-era lovechild of “The King of Comedy” and “Ingrid Goes West” who didn’t quite inherit all of the former’s panache and the latter’s deranged comedic outlook. Much like Oliver’s bubbly, albeit beige, electropop, “Lurker” can never quite seem to bring itself to press the pedal all the way to the metal. Before Oliver’s circle eventually absorbs his co-worker Jamie (Sunny Suljic), Matthew is one of only two white members of the pop star’s posse who are forced to duke it out for dominance as Oliver’s documentarian; the subversive potential of this is never quite capitalised upon in favour of letting their power struggle play out merely at surface-level. Neither does the film’s conclusion feel as satisfying or shocking as its subject matter demands — the act of violence at the film’s climax feels like an unnecessary callback to its inspirations, shoehorned in for the sake of recapturing flagging audience interest after a fairly rote and predictable second half. And then, of course, there is the matter of the music itself, which is nowhere near as compelling or novel as films like Ori Segev’s similarly-premised but lesser-known “Poser” proved that original pop compositions for film could be. Composer Kenny Beats is a dab hand behind the mixing desk when it comes to scoring “Lurker,” but as for the moments where Oliver opens his mouth to sing… would it have been too much to opt for something a little less vanilla?
Some characters are also cast to the wayside in favour of less interesting relationships that the audience hardly needs spelled out for them. Most criminally ignored is Shai (Havana Rose Liu), Oliver’s publicist and apparent manager, who is canny enough to see right through Matthew but is also sympathetic enough to let him stick around for longer than most others might have. As the true gatekeeper of Oliver’s time and attention, Shai realistically holds more power than Russell allows her to have onscreen. Instead, she is mostly relegated to the sidelines in favour of making us watch Matthew get repeatedly negged by day-one yes-men Swett (Zack Fox) and Sebastian (Cam Hicks) to hammer home a dislike that is already palpable from the first scene we meet them in. As the only female presence in the film besides Matthew’s grandmother (Myra Turley), Shai’s appearances onscreen feel charged — being a woman in a male-dominated environment, let alone one as machismo-fuelled as the music industry, is merely the flip side of the coin of Matthew’s own interloper status. The lack of meaningful interaction between the two feels like more wasted potential; another letdown to be pondered absentmindedly as the film drags its feet, unable to escape the customary second act slump that more tightly-plotted thrillers manage to vault over unscathed.
What “Lurker” does get right, however, is how perfectly it captures both the painful secondhand embarrassment of the interloper, and the shallow fripperies of celebrity status in the post-Internet generation. Russell understands the power that rejection holds over the human psyche and is unafraid to deploy this to great effect. Matthew’s crushing loneliness is even harder to ignore than his parasocial insanity and resultant cruelty, making it alarmingly difficult not to empathise with him against our better judgment even as the true extent of his malignance becomes apparent. Théodore Pellerin’s mesmerising performance only elevates this to even greater heights — Matthew’s baby-faced, slippery menace is impossible to look away from as Pellerin channels plenty of paradigmatic influences of his own, Jake Gyllenhaal’s genre-redefining turn in “Nightcrawler” coming most prominently to mind.
Meanwhile, as Matthew’s foil and idol, Archie Madekwe thankfully has more to do here playing Oliver than he did with his previous role in Emerald Fennell’s repugnant class critique misfire “Saltburn.” It is a challenge that he gamely rises to, deploying all the British it-boy magnetism he can muster for a mostly pitch-perfect rendition of Oliver as a star on the verge of breaking out… and breaking down. All bluster and no bite, Oliver’s celebrity status never feels earned; his income derived from endlessly flogging his existing repertoire of lowest-common-denominator pop music on tour as a smokescreen for the lack of actual new music forthcoming from him. As a character, he is only several degrees less unlikeable than Matthew — the tides of his favour are fickle and change at the drop of a hat, and as he tacitly admits at Matthew’s prompting, he loves watching his devotees fight for his attention. Neither man seems talented enough to warrant the attention they command; not Oliver with his legion of fans nor Matthew, who eventually becomes a micro-celebrity by merely existing in Oliver’s orbit. But what they both share is a common desire to remain exactly where they are in life, dearth of vision or talent be damned. Which leads us to the only pertinent questions that “Lurker” dares to ask — doesn’t this make Matthew, in a way, perfect for Oliver? And what, then, is the difference between love and obsession — if there ever was a difference to begin with?
