The Long Walk

Every Step Could Be your Last, Each One a Test of Will.

I wasn’t especially eager to watch this film, but after catching the first twenty minutes at FrightFest 2025, my curiosity was piqued.

That brief glimpse persuaded me to make the long walk to the theatre for the full screening.

In all honesty, I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about “The Long Walk.” It’s uncompromising, unflinching, and perhaps perfectly timed given the current climate—particularly in the United States.

The film is based on The Long Walk, the first novel Stephen King ever wrote, though originally published under his pseudonym Richard Bachman.

The book was a thinly veiled allegory for the Vietnam War: a lottery sending young men to die, written at the height of anti-war resistance.

Transposed into a dystopian future—one that feels uncomfortably close to our present reality—the story follows a group of young men who volunteer to take part in a gruelling endurance contest.

The rules are simple: keep walking or be shot. Only one will survive.

From the outset, the film wastes no time with backstory or setup. The narrative drops us straight into the ordeal, which is both a strength and, in some ways, a weakness.

While this stripped-down approach creates immediacy, it also distances us from the characters.

I never formed a real emotional attachment to any of them. Strangely, that detachment feels intentional—almost as if the lack of personal connection reflects the dehumanisation of the event itself.

Yet, as we watch the men support one another, only for them to be executed for something as trivial as tying a shoelace or stumbling with cramp, the brutality begins to lose impact.

The repetition dulls the edge, and a sense of diminishing return creeps in.

Technically, Lawrence’s direction is assured. The cinematography, by Jon Willems, is striking, and the performances are uniformly strong. On a craft level, everything works. But the overall experience left me oddly unmoved.

I suspect I may be in the minority—many will find it powerful—but for me, something crucial was missing.

Thematically, the film is blunt but resonant. It suggests that in modern life—especially for men—the pressure to be relentlessly strong, competitive, and emotionally detached is suffocating. Weakness is punished, vulnerability denied, rest impossible.

That metaphor is hard to miss. How many of us truly get the time to step away, recharge, and live on our own terms?

Genuine freedom, the film suggests, is a privilege few can afford—especially in a world where weapons and authority dictate survival, both in the film and in reality.

“The Long Walk” forces reflection—not only on America’s fragile notion of freedom but on universal truths about power, control, and endurance.

Even if I didn’t personally connect with it as deeply as I’d hoped, I can’t deny its relevance. I may not have loved it, but “The Long Walk” deserves to be seen.

It’s the kind of film that provokes debate, lingers in the mind, and leaves you questioning the world we live in—especially after its unsettling conclusion.