My quick rating – 7.0/10. Francis Lawrence’s The Long Walk trudges down a grim, hypnotic road that feels both eerily plausible and disturbingly familiar. Adapted from Stephen King’s early Richard Bachman novel, the film imagines a dystopian America ruled by a military dictatorship, where teenage “volunteers” enter a government-run endurance contest that doubles as a public execution. The conceit is simple yet nightmarish: one hundred young contestants must keep walking at over three miles per hour. Fall below the pace three times, and soldiers escorting them on the highway deliver swift, televised justice. The last one standing wins “whatever he desires.” Everyone else dies for the nation’s amusement.
Cooper Hoffman leads as Raymond Garraty, a boy driven by something more complicated than hope. Alongside him, David Jonsson’s Peter McVries provides the kind of emotional counterbalance that keeps the movie from collapsing into nihilism. Their chemistry builds the heart of the story, as exhaustion and fear strip away the thin veneer of patriotism they were sold. The rest of the competitors blur together at first, but Lawrence wisely lets their personalities emerge through snippets of conversation and brief, fleeting humanity. The dialogue is surprisingly natural, balancing gallows humor, confusion, and philosophical musings about freedom and purpose.
Mark Hamill is rock solid as the authoritarian Major, commanding the event with a chilling, bureaucratic calm. His presence is simultaneously theatrical and terrifying, perfectly embodying a regime that has learned to turn cruelty into pageantry. Every time a participant falters and receives their “final warning,” the ensuing execution scene hits hard — not just for its brutality, but for its cold efficiency. Lawrence doesn’t shy away from showing the violence, yet he never lets it feel gratuitous. Instead, it becomes part of the film’s oppressive rhythm, like the steady beat of boots on pavement.
Despite the simple setup — it really is just a marathon of walking — The Long Walk sustains a surprising amount of tension. The cinematography captures both the monotonous grind of the endless road and the psychological unraveling of the marchers. The longer it goes on, the more the landscape blurs into a hallucination of sweat and despair. The pacing slows deliberately, almost daring the viewer to feel the exhaustion alongside the boys.
That said, Lawrence’s adaptation does soften King’s original bleakness. I did notice some missing elements and a reworked ending that feels a bit too polished — a touch of Hollywood sheen where King’s text offered raw despair. Still, the film’s core message survives: youth as disposable entertainment, violence as spectacle, and the way societies numb themselves by televising cruelty.
The Long Walk might not fully explore the philosophical potential of its concept, but it’s still a powerful, unsettling experience. Between its strong performances, technical excellence, and haunting premise, it lingers like a nightmare you can’t quite shake. As I have been saying for years, Reality TV hasn’t gone this far yet, but mark my words, it’s only a matter of time.
