“This Movie Walked All Over Me (In a Good Way?)” The Long Walk (2025)

From Stephen Kings official site: In the near future, where America has become a police state, one hundred boys are selected to enter an annual contest where the winner will be awarded whatever he wants for the rest of his life. The game is simple - maintain a steady walking pace of four miles per hour without stopping. Three warnings, and you're out - permanently.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAtUHeMQ1F8

I walked out of The Long Walk feeling like I’d just survived a week-long session at a Soviet youth camp run by Kafka and sponsored by Gatorade. You know that feeling after you’ve done something both profoundly stupid and weirdly impressive - like eating a family-sized bag of Cheetos alone, shirtless, while watching a documentary about Everest? Yeah. It’s that… but with more gunfire and fewer cheese dust regrets.

The setup is delightfully horrifying: near-future America has gone full jackboot chic, and the powers that be have decided that the best way to inspire civic pride is to throw teenage boys into an annual death march. The rules are simple: walk at a steady clip - about three miles an hour - and don’t stop. Ever. Fall behind three times and you’re not just out of the race; you’re out of existence. The last boy standing wins “anything he wants for the rest of his life,” which sounds enticing until you realize “the rest of his life” might be about fifteen seconds of victory and a lifetime of trauma. It’s basically American Idol if American Idol handed out funeral plots instead of record deals.

And yet… I was riveted. The film somehow makes watching people walk in a straight line for two hours feel like a white-knuckle roller coaster powered by despair and sweat. Maybe it’s because the cast actually walked. Like, really walked. They shot this in Winnipeg Canada (shout out northerners) , which, for those unfamiliar, is where the sun goes to practice its supervillain routine. Cooper Hoffman mentioned they were trudging 15 miles a day in 100-degree heat on bare concrete, racking up almost 400 miles total. There’s a weary authenticity in their faces - by the final act, you can practically smell the sunburn and desperation seeping out of the screen.

Hoffman plays Ray Garraty, and he carries the movie like he’s dragging it up a hill with dental floss. He’s got this quiet storm energy, the kind of performance where you don’t realize how good it is until you notice your jaw’s been clenched for half an hour. Beside him is David Jonsson as Peter, who somehow balances manic energy with soulful gravitas, like a motivational speaker who’s just remembered mortality is real. Garrett Wareing shows up as Stebbins, radiating the vibe of a kid who’s either going to write poetry about this ordeal or eat someone’s soul midway through the walk.

And then there’s Mark Hamill as The Major. Oh, sweet liberty on rye toast - Hamill is spectacularly awful, which is exactly the point. Gone is your warm fuzzy Luke Skywalker; in his place is a sadistic drill sergeant with the empathy of a vending machine and the charm of a DMV line. Hamill has called this his “worst character of all time,” which, coming from a man who once voiced a homicidal clown for decades, is saying something. He oozes bureaucratic cruelty so convincingly you half expect him to start handing out parking tickets mid-massacre. Watching him made me want to hydrate and call my therapist.

But what truly elevates The Long Walk is its look and feel. The whole movie is dipped in a kind of retro-futuristic malaise - think 1960s Americana left out in the sun until it curdled. Dusty highways, washed-out signage, lonely silos leering in the distance - it’s beautiful in that “we should probably evacuate” sort of way. It nails the balance between new and old tech: the world feels advanced enough to surveil you from orbit yet primitive enough that the loudspeaker might be duct-taped to a tractor battery. It’s like The Hunger Games eloped with a dust storm and forgot to send a postcard.

And the dialogue - oh, the dialogue. These boys are walking toward death but still manage to banter like they’re on a group project they know is doomed but might get them extra credit if they charm the teacher. There’s gallows humor, philosophical musings, and little slivers of vulnerability that crack through the bravado like weeds through pavement. It’s sharp, it’s real, and it makes you care - against your better judgment. Which is impressive considering half of my brain was screaming, “Don't Stop, you idiots,” the entire time.

Now, full disclosure: this isn’t a film for the faint of heart, the weak of bladder, or anyone who needs regular snack breaks. The violence is brutal. It’s not just the idea of dying on the road - it’s the way it happens. Swift, clinical, and with the kind of realism that makes you wince. Sometimes it feels like the filmmakers are holding your face to the asphalt saying, “See? This is what happens when you stop.” It’s shocking, and at times, gratuitous. Also, they do not shy away from the less glamorous aspects of bodily functions during a nonstop death march. Let’s just say the movie does for bathroom breaks what Jaws did for skinny-dipping.

And that ending… look, I won’t spoil anything, but let’s just say it’s polarizing enough to make Thanksgiving dinner arguments seem quaint. You will either walk out whispering “brilliant” or walk out planning a small, tasteful arson at the writer’s house. I personally hated it, but in that rare, grudging way that still acknowledges it took guts. Like ordering the ghost pepper taco - you regret it instantly, but respect the audacity.

Fun fact: Lionsgate held a special screening on August 30th where the audience had to watch the entire movie while walking on treadmills at the regulation three miles per hour - or risk being booted from the theater. Nothing says “immersive cinema” like threatening your audience with cardio. I can only imagine the panic when someone dropped their Milk Duds and slowed down to retrieve them - bang, cinematic execution. That’s marketing with teeth.

Here’s the thing: The Long Walk isn’t a movie you enjoy so much as endure, like a really well-made dental procedure or family vacation to a haunted corn maze. But it’s also hauntingly good. It lingers. The performances land like gut punches, the world-building feels oppressively real, and the whole thing hums with this unnerving quiet dread that gets under your skin and sets up a hammock. It’s not fun, exactly, but it’s gripping - like being handcuffed to a tiger. You know this will probably end badly, but you cannot look away.

In the grand, bloody march of cinema, The Long Walk earns a stubborn, sweaty 7.0 out of 10. Not perfect, not comforting, but unforgettable. It’s the kind of film that makes you want to drink water, call your mom, and maybe schedule a podiatrist appointment.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to sit very, very still for several days - possibly weeks - because I’ve done enough walking for one cinematic lifetime.