Imagine a world where entertainment has become so extreme that being hunted for sport is primetime TV. Sounds far-fetched? Think again. Edgar Wright’s The Running Man dives headfirst into this chilling concept, but does it hit the mark or miss the target entirely?
In a desperate bid for survival, Ben Richards (Glen Powell) volunteers for The Running Man, a brutal game show where he’s the prey in a nationwide manhunt. The twist? Viewers can cash in by betraying him to the network. It’s a premise that’s equal parts thrilling and unsettling, and Wright’s take on it is nothing short of ambitious.
But here’s where it gets controversial... As a child of the ’80s, I grew up idolizing the 1987 version of The Running Man. So, when I heard Wright was adapting it, I was both excited and skeptical. Unlike the ’80s film, which barely scratched the surface of Stephen King’s (aka Richard Bachman’s) novel, Wright’s version stays remarkably faithful to the source material. However, it’s been polished with a modern action-movie sheen, losing some of the book’s raw, incendiary edge. Wright’s direction is, as always, dazzling—a testament to his skill as a filmmaker. Yet, the film isn’t without its flaws.
And this is the part most people miss... While the ’80s version brilliantly skewered its era’s pop culture and cheesy game shows, Wright’s Running Man struggles to feel relevant. Its dystopian vision feels more like a relic of ’80s anxieties than a commentary on today’s world. Where’s the biting satire on AI, social media, or tech oligarchs? Instead, the film’s attempts at humor often fall flat, leaving the satire toothless.
Josh Brolin’s portrayal of Killian, the film’s antagonist, is smooth but underutilized. We never truly despise him because he’s barely there. The episodic structure, with Richards hopping from one ally to the next, feels disjointed. Even big-name actors like William H. Macy are relegated to minor roles, making it clear this is Glen Powell’s show.
Powell’s debut as an action star is impressive—his wiry frame and reliance on wit over brute strength make him a refreshing hero. Yet, his tough-guy persona feels forced, with scowls and one-liners that try too hard. Ironically, it’s his lack of traditional action-hero qualities that makes him compelling.
Despite its shortcomings, The Running Man delivers unforgettable moments. A car chase scene, with Powell trapped in a trunk, is creatively executed, and the finale aboard a network jet is both violent and exhilarating. Lee Pace shines as the main Hunter, exuding gravitas that could easily carry his own film. Michael Cera also stands out as a zine publisher who seems to grasp the film’s satirical tone better than anyone else.
But here’s the real question: Does it stick the landing? For many, the final act will feel rushed. Emilia Jones’s character undergoes a jarring transformation in the last 30 minutes, suggesting her role was significantly cut. The finale, though action-packed, feels anticlimactic—almost as if it were tacked on in post-production.
While this review might sound critical, I genuinely enjoyed The Running Man. Wright’s films often feel overwhelming on first watch, and this one is no exception. It took me multiple viewings to appreciate Scott Pilgrim, and perhaps the same will be true here. The flaws are noticeable, but the craftsmanship and spectacle outweigh them. It may not have met all my expectations, but it’s still a must-see—a film that will divide opinions but leave no one indifferent.
I watched it with six others: three loved it, three shared my mixed feelings, and not a single person hated it. What does that tell you? Is The Running Man a masterpiece or a missed opportunity? Let’s debate it in the comments!
