The democratization of celebrity in the 21st century has accelerated the process of audience capture: Tell fans what they want to hear and reap the rewards. Lurker portrays an even more contemporary permutation of this feedback loop by dismantling the presumed hierarchy of its participants. The artist and audience member are coequal—and codependent—in this perceptive drama about a parasocial relationship that enters the realm of reality.
The value exchange is clear from the moment in Alex Russell’s film where Matthew (Théodore Pellerin) steals an AV jack at the clothing store where he works to blast a song meant to resonate with rising music star Oliver (Archie Madekwe). Instead of professing his deep knowledge of Oliver’s work, Matthew plays dumb and lies that his selection of the song, which inspired the artist, was just pure coincidence. Mistaking the artificial meet-cute for an authentically serendipitous connection, Oliver invites Matthew backstage before his group’s show that night.
From Matthew’s first interaction with Oliver’s entourage, during which he quite literally commits whole hog to a humiliating dare, a toxic spiral is set into motion. Matthew loves the validation of being treated like a true crew member, while Oliver thrives on the supplication from someone he presumes has an organic connection to his work. The conditional nature of acceptance in male groups further locks them both into a constant state of performative angst.
Russell, no stranger to depicting the particular dynamics of specific milieus from his time writing on The Bear, is tremendously perceptive about the drumbeat of social insecurity that keeps groupies in the orbit of musical acts. Matthew earns his keep around the band with his verité-style videos—a convenient way for him to parlay his outside fandom into insider access. The strongest indication of why Oliver tolerates such a transparent hanger-on comes from the level of unfiltered confessions the singer offers the camera. Like Matthew, he’s his most honest self when allowing a technological tool to mediate his presence.
But tension escalates when Matthew tries to consolidate his dominion over the ecosystem that props up Oliver’s operations. These exploits catch the eye of the singer’s manager, Shai (Havana Rose Liu), and the film reliably—if, perhaps, too reliably—cuts away to her skeptical reactions in order to emphasize the questionability of Matthew’s actions throughout. Given Shai’s clear-eyed view of the situation, Lurker strains some credibility by not having her intervene more forcefully before the dynamic escalates to dangerous and harmful extremes.
Shai being relegated solely to this role of observer is an indicator that her primary function is as an audience surrogate, staring on in disbelief at Matthew’s latest desperate maneuver to maintain relevance. Especially whenever he seeks to forcefully neutralize the influence of a former co-worker, Jamie (Sunny Suljic), whose unique capability with threads threatens to usurp Matthew’s prime position within Oliver’s inner circle, Russell reveals the true colors of his tale. Lurker makes use of exaggeration and escalation to tell a fable about modern fame.
The film manages to connect the dots between Matthew’s individual experience and a wider social delusion due in large part to how well Pellerin embodies and radiates the desperation for acceptance. It’s as if the tentative Matthew exists in the permanent stance of a question mark, needing the offline equivalent of a post like to confirm the correctness of his every choice. Unlike most contemporary actors whose performances go dead when forced to react to a screen, Pellerin thrives on reflecting the physical impact generated by a digital device. He’s capable of revealing every degradation with just the slightest lilt on his face.
The presence of a Saltburn supporting cast member in Madekwe may raise fears that Lurker may veer in the direction of over-explanation. But when it feels like the wheels might fall off in the third act, Russell kicks his film into high gear. He manages to keep Matthew and Oliver’s motivations satisfyingly occluded as their relationship becomes more fraught and interconnected. Such lack of definition makes the build toward a conclusion all the more electrifying because it remains open to so many different possible readings of their actions.
Even as he’s forced by circumstances to open up, Oliver remains mostly defined by his musical output, and his songs are at least catchy enough for it to be believable that he’s on the verge of stardom. (Having soundtrack inputs from rapper and DJ Zack Fox, who also plays Oliver’s bandmate Swett, certainly helps.) Yet Matthew never faces such a deficit of characterization. Small details help to paint a picture of how such an unassuming acolyte could come to shape a musician’s career so thoroughly. Russell leaves his film thrillingly open to the idea that Matthew could potentially be vindicated, vilified, or even excused—just never fully explained.
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