“To live is to die. To die is to live. To avoid death is to avoid living.” — Sunday Adelaj.
Michael Bay’s debut documentary, “We Are Storror,” is a pulse-pounding immersion into extreme thrills (I know, so out of character). The focus? A UK parkour troupe known as Storror with 10+ million subscribers on YouTube. Storror collaborated with Bay on Netflix’s “6 Underground” to stunt on famous landmarks, and now Bay’s bringing their insane story to South by Southwest. You’ll test your fear of heights, marvel at parkour precision, and learn why Storror wages their lives while bleeding passion. It’s an adrenaline ride to remember, cracking the psyche of professional daredevils.
“We Are Storror” examines the poster children for “living on the edge.” Seven individuals—two pairs of brothers and three mates—globetrot to exotic destinations and film death-defying parkour brilliance. Bay doesn’t ignore the Peter Pan Syndrome of it all, charting the boys’ rise well into their vulnerable 30s, but stays focused on one-of-a-kind attitudes. The gang never wanted to grow up, so they didn’t—they turned StorrorBlog into a golden ticket. Bay doesn’t disregard the naïveté and foolhardiness of actions, but storytelling remains inspirational. You either get busy living or get busy dying, which Storror strives to speedrun.
The docu-thriller grants parkour novices a glimpse into X-Games-flavored experiences. Camaraderie remains paramount while Storror’s members chase heavenly highs, battle burnout, heal from injuries, and contemplate a life without parkour. They’re self-made niche celebrities with smiles plastered on their faces 24/7, but more interestingly, Storror’s togetherness is rock-solid. “We Are Storror” plays like a road-trip bro comedy and their compatibility is infectious. Hollywood’s conditioned us to wait for an inevitable breakup or nasty divorce, yet a single recorded argument leaves no scar. Bay stays enamored of their supportive, sibling-like bond, as if he’s chasing the ultimate key to happiness through Storror’s community.
Visually, “We Are Storror” permits unprecedented access to ludicrous parkour feats. Cinematography leans on first-person handheld footage and drone shots that see what Storror sees, all shot by them. Bay didn’t shoot the footage himself for fear of liability given the dangerous nature of the stunts, so he assembled the captured footage from afar. We scale skyscrapers in Hong Kong, rock fixtures in Malta, and rubble buildings in Bulgaria alongside the perpetual gamblers. Your heart skips a beat every time a member backflips rooftop to rooftop and profits off unnecessary risks—the rush is real. Storror brags about the euphoria of surviving another stunt, that weightless millisecond when coasting through the air with no bottom in sight. Camerawork replicates first-person-shooter movies like “Hardcore Henry” or “Afflicted,” except this is real. The sweaty palms, windy sound effects, the vertigo, it’s all there—along with unbelievable (possibly illegal) views, however many stories high.
“We Are Storror” won’t sugarcoat the sport’s dangers, and acknowledges how parkour doesn’t have to be on Storror’s level. You’ll witness gnarly injuries, including a scene where, for a split second, you’re convinced the film recorded someone’s death. Storror’s athletes are always one misstep from eternal retirement, making their precision technique more impressive. They’re not simply pirouetting over concrete obstacles—Storror brings synchronized choreography to their intricate, multi-person videos. Artistry and physical fitness unite as the iron-willed performers find rhythms while flipping off poles, stairs, ramps, and other architecture like acrobats. It’s fluid, practiced to perfection, and in their minds, worth every hospital trip.
As a philosophical exercise, “We Are Storror” isn’t saying anything new. Bay’s documentary investigates the fine line between paralyzing terror and pure bliss. Storror defines their practices as liberating, not rebellious. They’re trespassing, but only because they think some rules are silly. Why can’t they chance their lives hopping over grates and sleeping on helicopter pads with no safety net below? There’s a manchildness to antics that are respectful yet still self-endangering. Bay’s focus is overbearingly positive and enamored of the visual splendor, which can undersell emotional throughlines. The looming question of what comes next haunts most members, but it’s a fleeting theme.
At its peak, “We Are Storror” lets the lads be unapologetically themselves. They acknowledge how lucky they are while acting like bare-ass naked buffoons. Bay highlights their indomitable spirits and inner fearlessness as traits of successful individuals. No one was clamoring for parkour YouTube celebrities, yet they built a following during the site’s unmoderated Wild West and pivoted to “safer” stunts once the demonetization era hit. Storror’s refusal to quit is their message, and Bay’s documentary is a celebratory reflection.
Think of “We Are Storror” as “Man on a Wire” sponsored by Mountain Dew. Michael Bay treats the gents as more than online personalities with a death wish. Storror is a family that rises and falls together who happen to be parkour ninjas. There’s no argument about action sequences stealing the show, but Bay finds a story worth telling about the urban playground specialists. Its platitudes don’t stretch farther than pushing life to its limits, and that’s fine. “We Are Storror” boasts a unique spin on documentaries about exceptionally driven persons—just don’t look down.
“We Are Storror” is currently seeking distribution.