Before Alex Russell directed his feature film debut, he was a music journalist. Profiling artists for outlets like The Fader gave him insight into the music industry, a field that has changed fundamentally in recent years — for artists, fans and the content creators that bridge the gap. In 2025, the ultimate star maker is the internet and opportunities arise from virality. As artists increasingly lean on behind-the-scenes content to hold fans’ attention, viewers begin demanding more access than artists are comfortable sharing. Russell’s gripping new film “Lurker” is a keen reflection on musicians’ desire for their artistry to be known and the privacy they sacrifice to get there.
In the world of “Lurker,” any right-minded music fan has heard of up-and-coming pop artist Oliver (Archie Madekwe). He’s tall, British, handsome and produces music with rhythm and melancholy akin to Frank Ocean’s. While visiting a trendy Los Angeles clothing store, Oliver gleefully strikes up a conversation with the cashier, Matthew Morning (Théodore Pellerin), but is caught off guard. Despite their shared music taste, Matthew has never heard of Oliver’s work.
After their chance encounter, Oliver invites Matthew into his inner circle. Behind his star power is a many-handed machine of friends that pay their dues by helping execute the singer’s creative visions. Armed with a grainy DSLR camera and an apparent knack for documentary filmmaking, Matthew is soon creating content in support of Oliver’s next studio album. His ignorance of Oliver’s fame, however, is feigned. He’s actually a Tumblr superfan with encyclopedic knowledge of the artist’s interests and ascent to stardom. As Matthew solidifies his place in Oliver’s crew, obsession begins to seep through the cracks of his demeanor.
Matthew’s integration into the clique is alarmingly easy. Oliver is quick to trust — perhaps a symptom of his sudden rise to fame. In modern celebrity spaces, where to be loved is to be known to a tee, director Alex Russell encourages viewers to interrogate parasocial relationships and the way we perceive celebrity access. He exacerbates this notion by emphasizing the role of social media and content creation in music marketing, a strategy which creates a false sense of intimacy between artist and fan.
Onboarded as his new videographer, Matthew’s recordings of Oliver reward his fans insatiable infatuation with him in the same way the audience likely consumes content from their favorite artists — they’re where viewers get the most insight into the pop star’s character. In front of Matthew’s camera, Oliver confesses that he left home to pursue music full time without his parents’ support, contextualizing his dependence on his interpersonal relationships.
The effect becomes unsettling as Matthew’s surveillance grows increasingly invasive. His persistent videography feels especially apt in a world where entitlement and demands for constant access are ever growing. He soon follows Oliver everywhere, from concerts to kickbacks to even backstage hookups.
Matthew’s idolization represents at its most toxic, when admiration can give way to dangerous extremes. Pellerin’s haunting, expressive performance demonstrates a sense of urgency, looking toward his idol with a reverent intensity that renders a pit in viewers’ stomachs. Matthew’s obsessive need for proximity is brought to life through light and sound: When Matthew is close to Oliver, the film feels warm and focused; when they’re apart, the film is full of somber, grainy visuals and hazy acoustic hums.
Matthew’s crushing desire to be singled out as special among an ocean of fans isn’t unique at all — its the same impulse driving the rest of Oliver’s in-group. As they all vie to remain in his orbit, their jealousy doesn’t seem all that different from the emotions compelling Matthew’s hostile antics. Everyone craves proximity to Oliver, but as Matthew declares: He wants it more.
As it turns out, Oliver needs his clique as much as they need him. Given his lack of familial support, his assertion that his friends are like family holds significant weight. But they’re also his coworkers and his fans, facts that irreparably stunt his relationships with them. After all, only he gets to decide who is in the clique.
Though Oliver hopes his upcoming album will be his most genuine, the unhelpful feedback loop of his sycophantic yes-men leaves him frustrated and his project further obfuscated. As Matthew’s mask of meekness slips away, he grows bolder in his rebukes of Oliver, upending the traditional artist-devotee relationship. When Matthew’s devotion to Oliver and Oliver’s dependence on his relationships overlap, it becomes clear that this is the story of not one, but two broken people.
Director Russell’s take on celebrity culture is surely informed by his years reporting on the industry. More and more across the film, Matthew’s invasive actions evoke the entitlement of keyboard warriors who disguise their protrusion into stars’ personal lives as mere affection.
“What’s the difference between love and obsession?” Oliver laments on the highlighted track of his album. “I can never tell them apart.”
Contact Eleanor Jacobs at [email protected].
