The Mr. and Miss DC Black Pride Pageant was held at the Westin DC Downtown on Thursday, May 21. Following the pageant, Black Pride events continued with the 10th annual DC Black Pride Unity Ball.

(Washington Blade photos by Landon Shackelford)

Theatre Washington’s 42nd Helen Hayes Awards were held at The Anthem on Monday, May 18.

(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)

It was nearly 60 years ago when über-queer icon Andy Warhol pronounced to the world his prediction that “in the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” While it may have been an overstatement, we’re now experiencing the future he was talking about; and though it remains statistically impossible for “everybody” to achieve fame, that doesn’t mean that we can’t all “feel” like we’re famous. If social media has delivered any gift to the human race, that might just be it.

In the real-life dystopia that is 2026, Warhol’s 1967 quip has become a kind of cultural mantra: influencers are more famous than movie stars, podcasters can shape political policy, and anybody with a “hot take” can change the way we perceive even the most fundamentally held opinions. Whether or not this is progress is probably a moot point; it’s the reality we live in, and we have a government full of “cosplaying” charlatans to prove it.

That’s why Alex Russell’s “Lurker” – a 2025 Sundance favorite that’s now streaming on HBO Max after a limited theatrical run last summer – cuts so close to the quick. A psychological thriller exploring the dynamics of power and control within the entourage of a rock star, it strikes some uncomfortably familiar chords for an era when “bootlicking” seems to have become a national pastime.

It centers on Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), a young Angeleno who lives in his grandmother’s apartment and works in a trendy designer boutique on Melrose Avenue. When rising pop musician Oliver (Archie Madekwe) brings his entourage to the store one afternoon, Matthew sees a chance to make an impression; plugging his phone into the shop’s sound system, he plays a song that he knows the pop star admires – and minutes later, he’s been given a backstage pass to Oliver’s next concert and invited to hang out with the star himself.

Their relationship continues to develop quickly at the show. Though he’s met at first with some discomfortable hazing from members of the entourage, by the end of the evening he’s on his way to becoming part of the inner circle. Chosen by Oliver to become his “official documentarian,” he’s soon a fixture in the entourage himself, sparking jealousy from members higher in the “pecking order” than he is; but Matthew is better at the game than they suspect, and despite their attempts to keep him in his place, he uses his proximity to Oliver – and a few surgically precise acts of sabotage – to rise quickly to the top.

Staying there, however, is not so easy. Within the volatile social politics of the entourage, he must always be on guard, and his efforts to thwart others from displacing him become increasingly ruthless. Eventually, he crosses a line, resulting in a fall from Oliver’s grace and his ejection from the group; but being close to fame leads to its own kind of fame, and Matthew has worked too hard to give it up so easily – even if it means using his Machiavellian powers to go after Oliver himself.

Slick, stylish, and as hypervisual as any viral pop music video you can imagine, Russell’s sardonically amoral exploration of fame – or rather, the desire for it – is as much a satire as it is a psychological drama, but it plays like a horror movie. Matthew is a protagonist cut from the same cloth as the title character of “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” a schemer whose endearingly awkward appearance masks a devious purpose and a diabolical mind. Oliver, whose creativity seems more about his “vibe” than his actual music, is charismatic but aloof, beneficent but mercurial, and seemingly blind to the massive ego that hides beneath his “chill” persona. There’s a kind of tension between these two characters that feels distinctly romantic, even homoerotic, and though it’s expressed only through subtext, it provides a palpable edge that makes their relationship feel dangerous – as if this were a love story in which anyone who tries to come between them is likely to get hurt.

As to what they actually feel about each other, “Lurker” keeps quiet about it. Matthew “reads” like a queer character, but his inner life is never revealed to us save through the conclusions we can draw from his behavior, and Oliver seems so much in love with himself that nobody else can compare; even so, there’s something between them that plays as much more intimate than the enthusiastic “bro”-ish affection that they exhibit together. 

In the end, however, the “love story” here is not about romance, nor even sex; it’s about fame. Matthew, even if his own creative talents may be more solid than Oliver’s, is enamored primarily with fame; perhaps he longs for importance, for a life of more excitement and opportunity than his thankless existence as a low-level retail employee, and as the movie proceeds it becomes clear that he is willing to go as far as he has to go in order to achieve it. For Oliver, maybe it’s about the longing of the famous for something more than sycophantic lip-service, for finding the adulation of his fans personified in an authentic, tangible, and individual form. Whatever it is, there’s very little love involved.

Of course, there’s an unavoidable comparison to be made between the mentality on display in “Lurker” with the prevailing trend in our American consciousness, in which performative loyalty and opportunistic friendship feel like the order of the day; from the fickleness of “fan culture” to the escalation of outrage-baiting on social media to the barely-concealed cutthroat narcissism on daily display in our very government, the message that comes through loud and clear is a chilling throwback to the Reagan-era “greed is good” philosophy: loyalty, feelings, and friendship are for suckers, and the most vicious player is the winner who takes it all.

As usual in a character-driven piece like this one, it’s ultimately the actors who make it work; Pellerin (a Canadian actor who won his country’s equivalent of an Oscar for “Family First” in 2018) is the lynch pin, and he delivers such an endlessly fascinating portrait of obsessively determined duplicity that we find ourselves rooting for him even as we recoil from the coldness of his tactics; Madekwe (“Saltburn”) captures the vapid pretension of a pop artist who has faked his way to success, but infuses Oliver with enough well-meaning sincerity that we can still feel a little bit sorry for him. In a smaller role, Hannah Rose Liu (“Bottoms”) makes an impression as the manager who keeps Oliver’s life running, offering an anchor of relative sanity in a sea of madness. 

Russell’s taut and tantalizingly opaque screenplay manages to capture all these things and more into a compact narrative that keeps us engaged while weaving its observations seamlessly into the plot, and his direction – which somehow yields an expansive scope through an intimate and sometimes frenetic focus – reinforces the unpredictable instability of fame, status, power, and the social hierarchy that governs them all. There are occasionally twists that feel a bit too convenient to be believable, but all in all, it’s a solid piece of cinematic workmanship.