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(Fantasia Fest 2025 Review) Power, Performance, and the Predator Behind the Lens: LURKER Turns the Camera into a Weapon

By. Professor Horror

                                                                               

Amid the ongoing wave of post-Saltburn thrillers that revel in seductive cruelty, shifting power dynamics, and the unmasking of false intimacy, Alex Russell’s LURKER stands out not for how it echoes that trend, but how it subverts it. Premiering to some strong buzz at Fantasia Fest 2025, the film has drawn easy comparisons to Saltburn, Nightcrawler, and even The Talented Mr. Ripley. But unlike those films, LURKER quietly builds its menace through an unlikely object: a camcorder. Where Saltburn luxuriated in voyeurism and opulence, LURKER is more interested in surveillance disguised as intimacy, the kind that gets justified as “art” or “collaboration,” even as it violates consent and destabilizes reality. Here, the camera isn’t just a storytelling tool, but it becomes a character, a weapon, and a mirror for obsession. In one of the year’s most unnerving creative choices, Russell explores what happens when a camera isn’t just watching, but it’s controlling.

                        

The plot centers on Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), a socially awkward retail worker living with his grandmother in Los Angeles, who worms his way into the inner circle of rising pop star Oliver (Archie Madekwe). Their connection begins in the most banal Gen Z way imaginable: a shared appreciation of Nile Rodgers in a hip boutique. But this moment, seemingly spontaneous, is orchestrated. Matthew has studied Oliver’s preferences online. He cues up the right track, gives just enough eye contact, and sidesteps overt fan behavior. It works. Oliver invites him to his show that night, and from there, a dark intimacy begins to bloom. Soon, Matthew is invited to shoot documentary footage of Oliver’s rehearsals, hangouts, and home life. He uses an old camcorder, a charmingly nostalgic object that helps him appear harmless…even helpful. But what Oliver and his team don't realize is that the camcorder is also a smokescreen. As Matthew ascends the ranks from outsider to trusted confidant, his footage becomes increasingly manipulative, as it is edited to serve not the subject’s narrative, but the filmmaker’s emotional needs. When he installs a hidden surveillance camera in Oliver’s house (under the guise of capturing B-roll) the line between documentation and coercion disintegrates completely.

Russell, best known for his work on The Bear and Beef, makes his directorial debut here with striking confidence. His greatest risk (and the film’s most innovative aspect) is how it weaponizes the ethics of documentary filmmaking. The idea of a “documentarian” used to carry an assumption of neutrality or even advocacy. But LURKER reminds us that documentation is never neutral. It is always shaped by framing, perspective, and…crucially…access. Matthew doesn’t just record Oliver. He orchestrates his behavior, knowing when to flatter, when to withdraw, and when to provoke a reaction that can be caught on tape. In one moment, he frames Oliver mid-breakdown, exploiting the rawness for emotional effect. In another, he films Oliver’s performance while he’s repeatedly shot in the chest with paintballs, each hit synced to a song beat. Matthew watches from behind the lens, silent and detached, as bruises bloom across Oliver’s body as we see a grotesque blend of performance and punishment.

                      

The camera becomes a silent accomplice to Matthew’s obsession. It never flinches and never intervenes. It’s what gives Matthew power, even when he's outwardly submissive. He uses the footage to displace Oliver’s longtime videographer (Daniel Zolghadri), to earn proximity, and eventually to set a legal trap that puts Oliver’s career (and sense of reality) at risk. As you see, the surveillance isn’t just for safety or posterity. It’s Matthew’s emotional insurance policy, proof that he mattered, and that he was inside the golden circle of fame.

That sense of lurking desperation is brought chillingly to life by Théodore Pellerin who is mesmerizing as Matthew, delivering a very creepy and calculated performance. His physicality is angular, birdlike, somehow always folding inward, which tells us everything about Matthew’s suppressed rage and yearning. Pellerin plays him as a geek performing sincerity…smiling just a little too long, listening just a little too hard. But as the film progresses, Matthew’s passivity gives way to agency. Watching him claim authorship of Oliver’s life story is like watching a stalker write the final act of a shared screenplay that only he believes exists. As Oliver, Archie Madekwe is equally compelling, delivering his best work yet. His pop star persona walks the line between chill charisma and desperate insecurity. At times he is generous, even tender. At others, he weaponizes flattery and access just as deftly as Matthew. It’s a performance full of contradictions as he is a man who wants to be known, but only on his terms. Madekwe’s expressive eyes carry the ache of someone who craves authenticity but has forgotten how to accept it. Their scenes together steam with tension, especially once the power begins to shift. In a moment loaded with homoerotic subtext, Matthew demands that Oliver wrestle him to the floor, creating a disturbing blend of play and threat. The camera lingers. Matthew laughs. Oliver panics. And we, the audience, are left unsure whether to intervene, recoil, or keep watching.

                      

Visually, LURKER makes brilliant use of formats. Pat Scola’s cinematography alternates between polished widescreen shots and handheld video footage, often blurring the two. This dual perspective (polished illusion vs. messy reality) reinforces the film’s central question: who controls the narrative? The result is a thriller that feels like it’s watching you back. Russell’s direction is unusually attuned to the mechanics of image-making. He understands how the promise of a documentary can become a cage. He also understands that in the age of social media, being seen is a kind of currency, but one that can be revoked, reframed, or stolen. In the end, we see a quiet act of erasure disguised as tribute, which stands as a reminder that the person who holds the footage often gets the last word. LURKER is stylish, unsettling, and sharply attuned to the power dynamics of fame, creativity, and control. But what sets it apart is how it treats the camera not as a neutral eye, but as a manipulative force. In a time when everyone is documenting everything, LURKER dares to ask: who’s really directing?

LURKER will have a theatrical release in the U.S. on August 22, and it’s absolutely worth seeking out…especially if you’re tired of thrillers that stare into the abyss without realizing they’re part of it.