The Wilderness (2025) | Film Review

Programs for troubled youth have taken off in recent decades, efforts to curtail concerning behavior. There are pros and cons to all of these (this writer even “attended” one in his teen years), and they vary greatly in terms of success based on numerous factors. Either way, there are endless stories to be told from this environment. Written and directed by Spencer King, The Wilderness is the kind of film that wants to draw you in quietly; to make you listen to the wind through the trees and feel the stillness between words. But sometimes that quiet becomes inertia.

At the heart of it all is Ed, played with remarkable restraint by Hunter Doohan. Ed is a young man carrying the invisible weight of a troubled history with his father, a wound that has clearly informed every choice he made to this point. Doohan doesn’t oversell the pain; instead, he lets it linger in his posture, in the hesitant way he speaks, in the half-hearted bravado he uses to mask his uncertainty. It’s a quietly effective performance that gives the film its emotional spine, even as the narrative itself tends to wander.

The premise is simple on the surface: a group of teens are snatched from their home with their parent’s approval and sent on a wilderness program for troubled youth. This particular one is run by James (Sam Jaeger), a man whose calm, controlled demeanor borders on the ominous. Jaeger delivers one of the film’s most intriguing performances – a subtle mix of warmth and menace. His James isn’t a caricature of authority; he’s a man who believes in his methods, perhaps too deeply. The question of whether he’s helping or manipulating these kids hangs over the story like a fog that never lifts.

Spencer King is clearly aiming for something ambitious, a film that balances psychological tension with emotional truth. Yet The Wilderness never fully decides what kind of story it wants to be. It teeters between being a slow-burn thriller and a poignant character study, offering glimpses of both but never committing to either. At its best, it feels like a spiritual cousin to The Kings of Summer or Leave No Trace; at its worst, it risks drifting into narrative aimlessness.

The plot is insightful but lacks focus, circling meaningful themes – redemption, trauma, the illusion of control – without ever finding a satisfying throughline. King’s dialogue can be sharp and introspective, but the pacing blunts much of its impact. The film lingers on long, quiet moments that should feel meditative but too often come across as indulgent. The result is a story that feels as lost as its characters.

One of the film’s oddest choices is its near-total disregard for the actual dangers of the wild. Despite being set in untamed country, the group faces little genuine threat from nature itself; no wild animals, no hunger, no cold that cannot be walked off. The focus is entirely psychological, which could be interpreted as intentional (the real wilderness being of the emotional variety), but it does make the survival aspect ring hollow.

Doohan’s Ed stands out, as I mentioned above, but most of the other kids fade into the background. They’re drawn in broad strokes – archetypes of angst, defiance, or apathy – and the film never spends enough time with them to build individuality. The only exception is Miles (Lamar Johnson), who brings an authenticity and emotional openness that feels natural amid the film’s restraint. His dynamic with Ed provides The Wilderness with its most human moments; flashes of vulnerability and tentative friendship that develop in a movie that can sometimes seem too composed for its own good.

Visually, The Wilderness is striking. The camera captures the woods and vast desert spaces in soft, muted tones, more dreamscape than danger zone. It’s beautiful, yes, but also symptomatic of the film’s core issue: everything is a little too neat, too controlled, too unwilling to truly let the chaos of nature or emotion take over. The result is a film that is lovely to look at but difficult to fully feel.

By the time the credits roll, The Wilderness leaves you reflective but unsatisfied. It has the bones of something powerful. A story about broken young people forced to confront themselves in the absence of comfort – I know this story well – but its own lack of focus undercuts its emotional weight. Hunter Doohan gives a soulful, nuanced performance, and Sam Jaeger lends the film a chilling authority as the quietly domineering leader, but their efforts can’t quite overcome the story’s drifting pace. Too often, this film is simply lost in the wild.