The Long Walk marches Stephen King’s dystopia onto the big screen (video).
At long last, one of Stephen King’s most brutal and bleak early works is lacing up its boots and heading grimly to the cinema. The Long Walk, the author’s 1979 dystopian novel (originally published under the deliciously shadowy pseudonym Richard Bachman), is finally making its screen debut on September 12, 2025, thanks to Lionsgate and director Francis Lawrence. And let’s be honest—this isn’t your standard popcorn-and-lasers science fiction romp. It’s psychological horror with blisters.
Set in an alternative America ruled by a totalitarian regime where the government doesn’t muck about with social media censorship or quiet surveillance—no, it prefers to openly murder its teenagers in a televised endurance death march—The Long Walk is equal parts The Hunger Games, 1984, and that one P.E. teacher who took running laps personally.
The premise is horrifyingly simple: 100 boys. One road. One winner. Keep walking above 4 miles per hour or die. No bathroom breaks. No meals. No stopping. Last one standing gets whatever he wants. The rest get three warnings and then a bullet. Charming.
King’s novel, written in the 1960s when he was but a lanky, existentially plagued university student, has always loomed large in the imagination of his readers. Though never adapted until now (despite George Romero and Frank Darabont circling it like artistic vultures for decades), The Long Walk was King’s first completed novel, stuffed with all the pre-Carrie angst and raw psychological energy of a young writer wondering what America might look like if its obsession with competition and militarism got really out of hand.
Enter Francis Lawrence (The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, I Am Legend), who knows a thing or two about dystopias that involve unrelenting torment in slightly-too-perfect jumpsuits. He directs from a script by JT Mollner, with a cast of promising up-and-comers including Cooper Hoffman as Ray Garraty (yes, that’s Philip Seymour Hoffman’s son), David Jonsson, Charlie Plummer, Ben Wang, and, in what’s sure to be a scene-devouring role, Mark Hamill as the Major—a sort of jackbooted Patton-meets-Satan figure who oversees the death march with a disturbing mix of ceremony and indifference.
If the film remains faithful to the novel, expect psychological breakdowns, existential debates, fraying friendships, and a grim parade of young men trying to outwalk death and each other. This isn’t about flashy effects or a big twist ending. It’s about how long the human mind and body can endure when stripped of everything but fear, adrenaline, and the faint hope of survival.
For those not yet familiar with The Long Walk, it’s the kind of story where the tension creeps—not explodes. It’s about attrition. The horror is in the banality of the rules. Walk. Don’t stop. Die if you do. King uses that premise to dig deep into masculinity, death, authority, and the terrifying idea that you might volunteer for your own destruction because it’s the only thing left to do.
And let’s not forget the cast of doomed boys—each one a character sketch in emotional collapse. There’s McVries, the sardonic truth-teller. Stebbins, the enigmatic oddball who may have more to do with the Major than anyone knows. Parker, the barely contained id in sports shoes. And Barkovitch, who just wants to “dance on graves” but ends up falling apart under the psychological weight of his own performative cruelty. There are no easy heroes here—just fragile humans on a road with no exit.
The ending? Let’s just say it’s not the Hollywood kind. There’s no triumphant trumpet fanfare or crowd-surfing champion. Just one boy, too broken to stop walking, chasing a phantom down the endless road. The kind of ending where the screen might go black, and the silence in the cinema will be loud enough to hear hearts breaking.
Here at SFcrowsnest, we’ve long admired The Long Walk as one of King’s most haunting early works—a slow-burn nightmare with a blistered soul. If Francis Lawrence captures even half of its desolate, road-worn poetry, this could be one of the year’s darkest, smartest films. Just don’t expect a happy ending. Or a seatbelt.
Because in The Long Walk, there’s no turning back. Just one foot in front of the other, until there’s no one left.
