In ‘Lurker’ a social striver squirms his way into a star’s inner circle

Well into Lurker, a gripping melodrama about a sociopathic striver who burrows his way into the clique of a pop star, said striver is stopped on the street. An awe-struck stranger has recognized Matthew (Théodore Pellerin) from the celebrity’s Instagram posts, and wants some advice on how to follow in his footsteps. “You inspire me to be myself,” he gushes. But sandwiched between the awkward flattery is an embarrassing admission: He has no idea what Matthew “does,” exactly. In fact, he wonders — eagerly, as if ready to jot down study notes on the spot — “What do you, like … do?”

There it is — an illustrative, if not definitive, query for our current times. What does anyone these days do, really? As the hustle culture/gig economy/social media influencer ecosystem has swallowed entire industries and corners of life, enticing everyone from doctors to gym rats to teachers to develop public personas in pursuit of gaining “followers,” living has meaninglessly become “content.” Fame and celebrity are old concepts, but gaining attention for merely being banal used to be a lot rarer than it is now. In 2025, it’s a career path.

Fame and celebrity are old concepts, but gaining attention for merely being banal used to be a lot rarer than it is now. In 2025, it’s a career path.

In his feature debut, Lurker‘s writer and director Alex Russell gets this paradox just right, on top of a lot of other icky facets of human existence. Matthew begins the film as a gawky, colorless 20-something working in an L.A. clothing store, the kind of boutique establishment where there’s more visible open space than there is merchandise for sale. During a shift he catches the attention of Oliver (Archie Madekwe), a mid-tier pop star who makes lo-fi R&B-adjacent music but who has outsized aspirations of channeling the legendary Nile Rodgers with his next project. The next thing Matthew knows, he’s invited backstage for one of Oliver’s shows, peering directly into his inner-circle from just outside.

Russell has written for the high-stress restaurant “comedy” The Bear and the bleak road-rage showdown Beef, and understands how to play and sustain the many rhythms of in-group dynamics. Early scenes in which Matthew starts lingering around Oliver and his small crew of devoted yes-people unfold as if this were middle school, with Matthew as the unpopular kid who’s only invited to the party because the parents insisted no classmate should feel excluded.

It’s top-shelf cringe: At first everyone either ignores him, mocks him, or looks at him sideways, stirring up intense feelings of both second-hand embarrassment (for the viewer) and hilarity (also for the viewer; one of Oliver’s hangers-on is played by the reliably goofy Zack Fox, i.e. Janine’s scrubby ex Tariq on Abbott Elementary). Clearly, the flighty Oliver has a habit of cycling new blood in and out fairly regularly. As Shai (Havana Rose Liu), the sole woman of the bunch — and seemingly the most responsible — warns Matthew bluntly: “You should make yourself useful if you want to stick around.”

Matthew does, and then some. But at what cost?

The pop star and his new barnacle are two very different people aligned in their baseline desire to carve out an identity, any identity, for themselves. As the best movies about obsession and/or parasocial relationships often go, the lines are blurry all over. Who gives vs. extracts, who’s got the upper hand, who’s reaping the most benefits — in any given scene, it can and does tilt in either direction.

The actors are smartly cast and game for the task. Pellerin draws Matthew so acutely you can practically smell the character’s uncool desperation through the screen, and whenever that insecurity is activated by the threat of losing his proximity to Oliver, he doesn’t have to say much, if anything. Those striking eyes, cast slightly downward and staring off nervously into the distance, are foreboding enough. Likewise, Madekwe inhabits Oliver’s privileged manchild, believably vulnerable yet also easily distracted by shiny new objects offering him the slightest deviation from the boredom of familiarity. There’s a fantastic scene where his goober tendencies give way to a calculation delivered via a knowing, sly smirk — for some of the time at least, he’s the king and knows how to get his way.

If Lurker‘s deeply cynical resolution strains credulity, it doesn’t matter all that much. The push and pull between Matthew and Oliver is deeply satisfying in its unease, and the essence of Russell’s storytelling remains true — the insatiable desire to be noticed in the way you want is a hell of a drug.