The Long Walk Review | A Twisted Road-Bromance With A Strong Socio-Political Commentary

Seldom does the concept of “walking” within a film not presume the romance genre. One can perhaps think of films like the Before Trilogy (1995, 2004, 2013), where a connection begins at the onset of the on-foot journey and evolves as it moves. Although the road film or a buddy film genre takes a dark and sharp turn here, though still keeping human connection at its forefront. Stephen King’s novel drifted away from the fantasmagoric world of the paranormal horror-thriller It (2017) or The Shining (1980) to find the absurd within the mundane. Directed by Francis Lawrence, who also fittingly has a legacy of The Hunger Games series (2012-2023) behind him, brings forth another survivalist narrative but with a lot of uncomfortable walking, long stretches of silence and the pressing inevitability of death looming over. 

Fifty men, each from a state is chosen randomly from a list of applicants to participate in a yearly “walk” towards glory. The rules are simple: sign up, endure an unbroken march at no less than three miles per hour, and survive long enough to claim riches no one else can touch. Three warnings lead to execution, yet every hour walked without faltering erases one. Looming over it all is The Major (Mark Hamill), aviators on, barking through a megaphone to keep it moving. Framed as a response to an alleged “epidemic of laziness” corroding its youth, the film clings onto a metaphor of capitalism itself—bordering on exploitation of labour, promised glory that always remains out of reach and a false mirror that blames everyone but the system in power. 

At the centre is Ray Garraty (Cooper Hoffman), seated in a car beside his mother (Judy Greer) on the way to the walk’s starting line. Within that brief exchange, the film reveals everything essential: Ray’s father is absent, participation is absolutely voluntary, and the prize is staggering wealth. Once the walk begins, Ray gravitates toward companionship, most notably with Peter McVries (David Jonsson), whose presence becomes an anchor in the endless motion. Art Baker (Tut Nyuot) and Hank Olson (Ben Wang) strike up a bond with them, forming the quartet within this film.

The maxim of the American dream teaches its children to win and conquer, which they carry to their deathbed. The Major insists the walk will turn them into men. Each step presses them further into the mold of a sanctioned masculinity, whether they want it or not. Ray, too, carries his own definitions of manhood—and those definitions certainly do not involve staying home to care for his mother, but rather a will to prove something.  As the march drags forward, alliances form, tempers ignite, and exhaustion strips men bare, leaving the road as a theatre of endurance, cruelty, and fleeting tenderness.

Despite the implication of an anti-totalitarian narrative and a premise rooted in capitalist machinery, the fifty men are unexpectedly supportive of one another, urging each other to keep walking. This collective optimism unsettles cynical audiences like myself, precisely because it resists the expected cruelty of competition. Unlike Squid Game (2021), where survival demands rivalry, The Long Walk stages a rare unanimity—men bound not by victory but by the intimacy of shared conversation and a strange attachment forged in endurance.

The film situates itself in the shadow of post-Vietnam America, defined by protest, disillusionment, and government deceit. The question lingers, almost accusingly—What logistically warranted this annual event and why would anyone willingly sign up for it? Its gaze remains fixed on the road and the boys, a choice that makes the experience gripping but leaves the broader themes only lightly touched. What emerges is a bleak portrait of men stripped of purpose. Death becomes easy collateral, with the likenesses of a soldier’s obedience. The act of walking carries the guise of aimlessness, yet on screen it can also mirror the march of soldiers, propelled by nationalism until their bodies collapse, shot down in pursuit of imagined glory.

On one hand, the direction and camerawork make the march feel visceral. Prolonged shots of the men walking and the charged silences between conversations—all of it pulls the viewer into the road itself. The vibrant scenery feels abrasive against the suffering unfolding on screen. Yet this precision comes at a price. The film gestures toward larger questions of why such a brutal contest exists and what kind of society permits it, but rarely ventures past suggestion. What the film never abandons, however, is its devotion to character. 

McVries sees light where Garraty clings to vengeance, fixated on killing the Major. As the walk nears its end, McVries pleads with him not to shoot, warning that doing so would destroy his own life and shatter his mother, Ginny. Their relationship anchors the film, with not just friendship but something far more intimate. While one might argue Garraty’s final “I love you” is platonic, the film unlines otherwise. Almost warranting to play Rihanna’s song “We found love in a hopeless place”, because these two supposedly did. The film presents their ideals and eventually makes one question whether they remain loyal to them or transform entirely as the walk nears its end. 

By the film’s conclusion, one feels their metaphorical limbs ache. The Long Walk excels, particularly when it confronts mainstream audiences with subversive reflections on living and dying with dignity under a fascist regime. Its strength intensifies in moments when it lingers on the simple act of sharing space with others, inviting us to savor fleeting connections, to witness lives intersect briefly before parting ways. The Long Walk takes the road less traveled, tracing the tender endurance of fleeting friendships, the rigors of enforced masculinity, and the daring choices that come to define life within a brutal world. Beyond a few late narrative jolts, this is a somber study of young men grappling with mortality in mere days and miles of endless road.