’Manhunt’ review: Intense psychological thriller follows two troubled boys across the Canadian wilderness

Dir: Wayne Wapeemukwa. Canada. 2026. 100mins

Alienation, toxic masculinity and nihilism burn with the heat and intensity of a forest fire at the heart of Manhunt, a searing anthem for doomed modern youth. Wayne Wapeemukwa’s bleak but thoughtful psychological thriller is inspired by the story of a real-life 2019 killing spree by two teenagers from Vancouver Island, who evaded police for two weeks as they fled north through the wilds of Canada. He is less interested in the acts of violence themselves than the brewing possibility of those acts being perpetrated by lonely teens whose lives are steeped in and shaped by online environments.

Offers a specific Generation Z analysis while taking a striking aesthetic approach

Premiering in competition at Locarno, Manhunt is the latest in a long line of films to tap into questions of what drives young men to kill, including everything from Gus Van Sant’s Elephant to Matthew Johnson’s The Dirties, Michif filmmaker Wapeemukwa’s film offers a specific Generation Z analysis while taking a striking aesthetic approach to this issue and, as a result, Manhunt is most likely to appeal to arthouse distributors.

Wapeemukwa blended fiction and nonfiction in his debut Luk’Luk’I, which was named Best Canadian First Feature at Toronto Film Festival in 2017. With Manhunt there is an additional layer of fiction – the gaming world in which the two protagonists spend chunks of time together in co-op shooter environments. Joey (played with bruised vulnerability by Harris Lowe) lives with his ailing grandmother, his drug-addicted mother absent, his father Travis (Alan Livingstone) a largely transient alcohol-fuelled presence.

Within the lonely parameters of Joey’s world, one person stands out – his best friend Kit (Landon Tunold, in a compelling and unpredictable turn). The pair evidently spend a lot of their lives gamingl an environment in stark contrast to Manhunt’s opening moments of quiet in the natural landscape, as two indigenous trackers look for these boys who are lost in more ways than one. When we’re suddenly plunged inside their game – developed by Sam Andrews and Yevgeniy Krivdyuk— with the throbbing electro “Get the fuck out my face” chorus of Daegho’s Bludlust, it’s like an unnatural onslaught.

Beyond their shoot ‘em ups, the pair take an active role in forums where they can’t wait to post photos of their latest creation – a 3D printed rifle. Its candy colours may suggest the fun of an arcade, but its ability to fire bullets is very real. Wapeemukwa and co-writer Anna-Lena Theobald show us the contours of Joey’s world, his hesitant smile in school graduation photos versus the way he lights up when Kit takes a photo of him with the gun. Kit is from a wealthier background but is arguably even more disconnected from the real world and a dominating and mercurial influence on Joey, whose reactions to what is going on around him are frequently the focus of the frame.

When a tragedy prompts the pair to head out into the wilds, Jonathan Glendon’s camera literally flips – an indication that we’re entering the boys’ world now. It’s an unsettling sensation that initially manifests in the sound design and blooms in visually surreal and alien ways in the final segment. Before that, they will encounter two Austrian tourists Dani and Becca (Day of a Lion filmmaking twins Dilara and Bianca Foscht) – at the appropriately named Somewhere Else Cafe – who have their own nihilistic game of playing dead for the camera. This new potential connection disrupts the boys’ dynamic and, in addition to sweating out tension, the script also makes room to flesh out the young women so that we care about what could happen. 

For Kit and Joey, the lines between the real world and that of the game are increasingly blurry, as they try to exert control over an environment that offers little to them but dead ends. All the while, Wapeemukwa probes the question of how and why teens like these embrace sociopathy as a perceived escape route, little realising it’s game over before it’s barely begun.