What “The Long Walk” Shows Us About Hope and Humanity

WARNING: THIS REVIEW MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE LONG WALK.

Stephen King is an author who needs no introduction. A titan in literary horror, many of his most infamous works intertwine the twisted cosmic with the dark corners of the human psyche. For example, iconic titles such as It, The Shining, and Pet Sematary have not only defined the horror genre but also spawned highly influential film adaptations. The Long Walk, directed by Francis Lawrence, continues that mastery. Much like the book, the film imagines King’s signature conceptual terror through a tangible dystopian lens. Ultimately, it ponders the human spirit, desperation, and the sacrificial price for desire.

The Long Walk is set in a somber, bleak reality. A war brought the American empire to its knees. As a result, the United States now finds itself amidst economic collapse. With national morale at an all-time low, American society has turned to a fascist regime for salvation. As part of the new laws designed to restore patriotism and glory, the government created “the long walk,” a brutal cardio marathon spanning multiple days and hundreds of miles. The goal is simple: walk along the road for as long as possible. The last one standing receives a cash prize and a single “wish,” whether that be fame, more money, or otherwise. Slowing down or stopping means you die, shot by military executioners. In essence, it’s a twisted contest of willpower and physicality.

Starring names such as Cooper Hoffman, David Jonsson, Judy Greer, and Mark Hamill, the film follows Ray Garraty (Hoffman), a young man selected to participate in the walk alongside 49 other young men. He befriends multiple endearing and lovable walkers throughout the film, notably Ben Wang’s “Hank Olson” and Tut Nyuot’s “Arthur Baker.” However, it’s the character Pete McVries (Jonsson) who acts as one of the film’s hearts. 

Garraty and McVries quickly form a brotherly relationship, saving and motivating each other to keep walking against exhaustion and intrusive thoughts of death. Hoffman and Jonsson’s performances are both compelling and heartfelt. The long walk itself naturally establishes an environment of vulnerability and openness. After all, each step could be anyone’s last. Their bond, along with Olson and Baker, brings humanity and hope to a desolate place. Hoffman, Jonsson, Wang, and Nyuot are a quartet of powerhouse emotions, raw and real, that push and pull against the story’s despair. However, it’s this hope that lingers in the back of viewers’ minds. The reminder that their brotherhood sadly cannot outpace their inevitable fates.

Yet, Lawrence tries to grapple with that idea. Each participant is there on the whim of personal desire, whether that be fame, money, validation, or otherwise. However, despite the weight of the prize ahead of them, they take time to find happiness in the company in front of them. Humanity can’t help but shine through, even in a place as barren as The Long Walk’s dystopia. In an interview with NPR, Lawrence elaborates on this sentiment. He says, “…it’s a brutal story and it’s a brutal book. And what you have is this sort of brutal violence that’s cut against and contrasted against this…really intimate emotion and relationships, and you need both.” Ultimately, this is what humanity tends to be. It’s both brutal and tender—desperate and freeing.

The film’s set design reinforces that intention. The path they travel cuts through a rural United States that feels almost post-apocalyptic. Nature has reclaimed most decaying buildings. Abandoned cars litter the roads. Bystanders watch the walk with haunting dejection. These visuals avoid a specific time period. As a result, it helps the concept and its hopelessness feel timeless, as if this reality is around the corner. 

The Major (Hamill), the film’s antagonist, is a nameless symbol of totalitarian rule. Cold and commanding, he’s an abstract representation of cruelty. Meanwhile, Garraty’s mother, played by Greer, is the total opposite. She embodies emotions like love, warmth, and sorrow. Again, a story of human dichotomy. It’s these paths, bowing to oppression to chase desire versus embracing the love that does exist, that Garraty truly walks.

Lastly, one of the film’s most standout elements is the intense gore. Lawrence unapologetically uses the R-rating to its fullest extent, sometimes to an overwhelming degree. For instance, the first death is an incredibly graphic scene of a teenage boy being shot in the head, executed for being unable to walk. While audiences are typically used to violence nowadays, The Long Walk focuses hard on each narratively significant execution. Anyone can watch John Wick shoot bad guys all day. Not everyone can stomach a nearly two-hour-long series of executions. 

That is what Lawrence wanted to underscore. These are not just movie deaths; they’re executions carried out by an oppressive force. The sound effect of the guns rings in viewers’ minds long after the first shot. In a culture that’s often too desensitized to violence, the film created an impression that lasts. It’s not every day that viewers feel the weight of death like they will in The Long Walk. Yet, despite that looming darkness, humanity can still blossom on desolate roads.

Watch The Long Walk in theaters now!