Director Francis Lawrence’s screen adaptation of Stephen King’s novel by the same name is one of those pictures that makes me want to stand up in the theater and exclaim that the Emperor is indeed naked (though I’d probably be quickly escorted from the moviehouse if I did so). The source material for this production, originally written at the time of the Vietnam War, was an allegory about the draft and its impact on young American men at the time, a mandate that often led to their deaths in an unpopular and largely unexplained conflict. And it’s a statement that’s admittedly still valid (albeit perhaps not as relevant) all these many years later. However, the story’s translation from book to screen in the present day leaves much to be desired, in part because its message isn’t as timely as when the book was written and in part because of the film’s stunningly poor execution. “The Long Walk” tells the tale of a feebly justified (and even more poorly explained) grim ritual in which 50 young men selected from a nationwide lottery embark on a nonstop march in which they must maintain a minimum 3 mph walking speed. Their determined efforts in this symbolic venture are supposedly intended to inspire the population to become more productive citizens in a dystopian version of America as it recovers from a great war. But those who fail to sustain their pace are mercilessly gunned down after three warnings (and who said cold-blooded killing isn’t motivational?). The last man standing in this open-ended competition is named the “winner,” an accomplishment that entitles him to whatever he wishes as a reward. Symbolism and literary surrealism aside, however, the premise behind this work is utterly absurd, especially since participation in the march is voluntary, a betrayal of one of the principal thematic elements of the source material in allegorically criticizing an underlying inhumane mandate. Given that, then, who in their right mind would sign up for something like this? But, beyond the inherent lunacy of its premise (not to mention its contradictory and countless logically implausible plot elements), the picture fails as a well-crafted, engaging work of cinema. To begin with, it commits the cardinal moviemaking sin of predictability, its narrative events and ultimate outcome largely visible from miles away. Next, its storyline quickly becomes tediously repetitive with only minor deviations in plot devices along the way. Its billing as a horror flick is seriously misplaced, as it’s not particularly scary – just gratuitously gross whose shock value impact and multiple disgusting references to bodily functions fade rapidly by going to the same tiresome well far too many times. And, on top of all that, it’s often terribly boring, loaded with protracted conversations among bland, monodimensional characters that just aren’t especially compelling or profound. The screenplay driving all this appears to draw its inspiration from the narratives in pictures like “Platoon” (1986) and any number of classic World War II buddy films but with less articulate and attention-holding writing. To its credit, the film valiantly attempts to infuse the story with insights related to contemporary social and political issues, though these efforts sadly remain largely underdeveloped. What’s more, there are missed opportunities here, too, such as the picture’s failure to make a definitive statement about the bloodsport nature of the event given its popularity with a rapt, admiring and inexplicably reverential public that’s able to watch the entire spectacle via a live video feed. When all of these elements (or should I say shortcomings?) are combined, you’ve got one ridiculously hot cinematic mess (handily one of the worst releases of 2025), one that probably would have been more aptly titled “Roadkill.” I find it puzzling that this offering from the director of four of the five “Hunger Games” franchise releases was unable to work his magic once again in this release in light of the similar nature of this project. However, in my view, this production misses the mark by such a wide margin that, if the sharp-shooters in this story had an aim comparable to that of the director, no one would have died by the time the closing credits roll. But, then, maybe we would have been better off with a picture that produced such an outcome, given that there’s little redeeming entertainment, enlightenment or educational value in this cinematic debacle. And, no matter what anyone might say, in the end, the Emperor is still naked.
