My viewing of The Running Man was, honestly, one of the “blindest” I’ve had all year. I wasn’t familiar with the original novel by Stephen King, nor the first 1987 film adaptation. I managed to completely avoid any images, clips, or even reactions to this new release. My expectations, however, were naturally high, given the involvement of undeniable talents both in front of and behind the camera — Edgar Wright (Baby Driver) and Glen Powell (Hit Man). The union of a filmmaker with such a distinctive vision and a rapidly ascending actor promised a memorable dystopian thriller…
The Running Man transports us to a near, grim future where an economically ruined America serves as the backdrop for a televised death spectacle, the nation’s most popular program, which lends its name to the title. In this world of desperation, Ben Richards (Powell) is an ordinary man, forced to enter this life-or-death game, hunted by professional assassins in a 30-day race for a sum of money capable of saving his family. Co-written by Wright and Michael Bacall (Scott Pilgrim vs. the World), the movie isn’t a remake of the original film but a new adaptation of the 1982 book.
The great driving force of the entire project lies, unequivocally, in Powell‘s performance. The actor displays magnetic charisma and a screen presence that firmly positions him in line to become the next great action superstar. He isn’t just a physically capable protagonist — his dedication is notable, performing the vast majority of his stunts with a visceral and convincing delivery. But Powell‘s distinction compared to other similar actors lies in his emotional range. It’s a classic critical mistake to reduce his work solely to the physical aspect; here, the actor exhibits a rare capacity to transition fluidly between the pure anger and indignation of a man wronged by society and the deep, palpable sadness of a father who will do the unthinkable to save his daughter. It’s an interpretation as complete as one could ask for in a high-risk role, serving as the necessary human anchor for the exaggerated premise of The Running Man to work.
Unfortunately, the screenplay by Wright and Bacall commits a fundamental error: repetition and excessive exposition. The narrative is flooded with monologues and dialogues that constantly circle the same themes. The messages are hammered home unsubtly, rather than being implicitly integrated into the action, relying more on what is said than what is shown to establish its point.
That said, the central themes of The Running Man are incredibly relevant to the current time. The topic of class warfare and economic desperation is approached with brutal clarity through the ultimate exploitation of the working class, which is forced to sell its survival as entertainment to gain access to basic necessities. The critique of media in general as a system of social control is also highlighted, obviously linking to the dangers of using AI for creating fake news and how networks feed on propaganda to increase their profits and ratings.
Richards is, therefore, the symbol of resistance for the common citizen. He isn’t a superhero, but an ordinary man with righteous anger who transforms into a beacon of hope against a rigged system. However, the movie’s insistence on verbalizing these messages so explicitly ends up sounding a bit preachy, making it oddly contradictory to the exaggerated and not-too-serious tone the adaptation attempts to strike. This redundancy and the cyclic nature of the story — a new day, a new set piece, a new citizen who helps or betrays, and a new monologue about the falsehood of “The Network” — makes the film’s runtime feel longer than it actually is.
In the supporting cast, actors like Josh Brolin (Dune: Part Two) and Colman Domingo (Rustin) inject a purposely over-the-top entertainment element. They embrace their stereotypical roles with performances that perfectly suit the insane premise of televised death spectacle. On the other side of the coin, it’s disappointing to see Emilia Jones (CODA) so criminally underused by Hollywood. She always demonstrates raw emotional intensity, and in The Running Man, the actress manages once again to make a basic character minimally interesting, but the movie doesn’t offer her the screen time or material needed to match her potential. It’s a wasted talent, lamentably.
Outside of the cast, the technical aspects that stand out are the cinematography by Chung-hoon Chung (Wonka) and, above all, the score by Steven Price (Last Night in Soho). The music is truly the technical engine of The Running Man, with energetic song choices that drive the narrative. The camera work, in turn, shines in the action sequences that, as expected from the title, involve a lot of running, but also some moments of explosions, falls, shootouts, and floods. Surprisingly, the hand-to-hand combat and choreography aren’t particularly impressive…
As for the direction, although stylistic elements of the filmmaker are noticeable — there are occasional visual flourishes and his characteristic pacing — this is, without a doubt, one of Wright‘s most generic films. There’s just enough of his flair to recognize his signature, but it lacks the kinetic energy, the sense of comedic timing, and the narrative inventiveness that defined his previous works.
Another major problem with The Running Man lies in its ending. Throughout the first two acts, the movie builds palpable tension and a promise that everything is escalating toward an impactful and important confrontation that, unfortunately, never arrives. The outcome is decidedly underwhelming, not so much because of what happens (the narrative resolution), but because of how it’s executed. Wright opts for an abrupt, stylized shift in tone through a narrative decision that, being so jarring, takes more weight and impact away from the story than it gives. Ultimately, it’s an overly simple, straightforward experience, failing to deliver the rewarding climax that its build-up deserved.
Final Thoughts on The Running Man
The Running Man falls short of the potential that Edgar Wright and the source material suggested, though it’s an efficient vehicle for the talent and charisma of Glen Powell and presents themes that could and should be incisive. Its narrative repetition, unnecessary exposure of its messages, and unsatisfactory ending prevent it from becoming a memorable dystopian thriller. It’s competent and perfectly acceptable entertainment, but it lacks the impact and significance it promised. We’re left with the echo of an undeniable truth: even in the most rigged and predatory spectacle, the fire of hope and rebellion can’t be televised, bought, or silenced.
Rating: C+
The Running Man is now playing in theaters.
Learn more about the film, including how to buy tickets, at the official website for the title.
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