In an age where privacy is an illusion and every move is traceable, The Stalking (2024) delivers a gut-wrenching and timely psychological thriller that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go. Directed by rising auteur Sarah Linton and anchored by a shattering performance from Anya Taylor-Joy, the film explores the terrifying gray area between connection and control, between attention and obsession.

This is not your standard stalker flick. It’s deeper, darker, and far more introspective—an icy, atmospheric spiral into fear that feels almost too close to reality.

Plot: When Attention Becomes a Weapon

Anya Taylor-Joy stars as Claire Morgan, a 29-year-old graphic designer and trauma survivor who relocates to Portland for a fresh start after a toxic relationship leaves her emotionally shattered. She moves into a sleek but isolating apartment complex outfitted with smart tech — digital locks, motion sensors, AI assistants — designed to provide safety and convenience.

But almost immediately, things begin to go wrong.

An email pops up that she didn’t write. Her lights flicker at odd times. Music plays at night. The smart lock on her door resets itself. At first, Claire wonders if she’s experiencing paranoia — PTSD flashbacks from her past — but the incidents escalate. A delivery arrives that she didn’t order. Her digital calendar updates with meetings she never scheduled. An online dating profile she didn’t create is drawing strangers to her door.

She’s being watched. Not in the obvious way. In the subtle, suffocating way that invades every inch of your digital life.

As Claire begins to investigate, she discovers she’s not the first tenant in the building to be targeted. The building’s management, its tech company, and even the police offer no help—until it’s too late. With no one to trust, Claire must face the chilling truth: someone is always watching—and they know her better than she knows herself.

Anya Taylor-Joy: Vulnerable, Ferocious, Real

This is arguably Anya Taylor-Joy’s most grounded and emotionally raw role to date. As Claire, she strips away glamor for authenticity, portraying a woman on the edge with nuance and empathy. Her expressive eyes do most of the work—switching between defiance, fear, and numbness in seconds.

Claire is not a scream queen. She’s not looking for a savior. Her arc from isolated survivor to empowered fighter is earned, and Taylor-Joy brings every step of that journey to life without melodrama. She doesn’t just survive — she transforms.

Direction and Cinematography: Fear in Every Frame

Sarah Linton’s direction is meticulous. Rather than rely on jump scares or horror clichés, The Stalking generates dread through stillness, silence, and tension. The apartment itself becomes a character—cold, lifeless, and increasingly hostile.

The cinematography (by Erik Messerschmidt, Mank) is full of wide-angle shots that make Claire look small and exposed, or tightly cropped frames that suggest something—someone—is just outside the edge. The color palette is cold blues and sterile grays, mirroring Claire’s emotional state and the digital void surrounding her.

A standout moment: Claire sits in her living room as the smart lights flicker, revealing shadows that don’t match her movements. It’s a masterclass in slow-burn suspense.

The Sound of Silence and Surveillance

Composer Ben Salisbury (known for Ex Machina) creates an unsettling soundscape that blends ambient electronic pulses with mechanical noise and high-frequency tones—suggesting machines thinking, watching, waiting. The soundtrack is subtle but unnerving, rising like a tide when danger is near.

Silence is weaponized too. Several key scenes are near silent, amplifying every creak, breath, or notification sound. In this world, even the ding of an email feels like a scream.

Themes: Modern Vulnerability and Weaponized Technology

The Stalking isn’t just a thriller—it’s a commentary. It explores how our tech-heavy lives have opened doors not just to convenience, but to control. Claire’s stalker doesn’t need to hide in her bushes. They’re already inside her phone, her calendar, her home. They are anonymous, invisible, and omnipresent.

It also tackles trauma with sensitivity. Claire’s past abuse is never sensationalized. Instead, it’s the lens through which we view her unraveling: the double pain of not being believed, of being told to “calm down” or “reset your devices.” The film becomes a powerful exploration of gaslighting in the digital age.

Supporting Cast: Deceptive Faces and False Comfort

Though Taylor-Joy dominates the screen, the supporting cast adds rich texture.

• Domhnall Gleeson plays Mark, the seemingly kind building technician whose charm slowly curdles into something more menacing. His performance is a masterclass in subtle threat.

• Tessa Thompson appears as Claire’s therapist, trying to untangle past trauma from current danger, and offering one of the few warm presences in the film.

• Caleb Landry Jones appears in a disturbing cameo as a YouTuber who posts “break-in tutorials” and might hold a key to what’s happening.

What’s brilliant is that no one can be trusted—not fully. In a world of online personas and filtered identities, every character could be wearing a mask.

Flaws: A Bit Too Long, Slightly Ambiguous

While the film’s slow pace is mostly a strength, the second act lingers just a bit too long in Claire’s paralysis. Some viewers may find it frustrating that answers come slowly—and even when they arrive, they’re not always clear.

The film resists the urge to give us a traditional villain reveal. We never see “the stalker” in full—only traces, suggestions, shadows. For some, this ambiguity may feel unsatisfying. For others, it reinforces the film’s core thesis: that the enemy is the system, not the person. The network, not the face.

Final Verdict: 8.5/10

The Stalking is a chilling and sophisticated thriller that speaks to the anxieties of our time. Anchored by a powerhouse performance and crafted with haunting precision, it’s less about gore and more about dread—the kind that lives in your Wi-Fi router and glows from your phone screen.

It’s not easy entertainment. It demands attention, patience, and perhaps some introspection about how much of yourself lives online. But when it hits, it hits hard—like a whispered warning from a dark room: You’re not alone.