The Running Man
Writers: Michael Bacall, Edgar Wright; Based on the Novel by Stephen King
Director: Edgar Wright
Cast: Glen Powell, William H. Macy, Lee Pace, Michael Cera, Emilia Jones, Daniel Ezra, Jayme Lawson, Katy O'Brian, Sean Hayes, Colman Domingo, Josh Brolin
It’s Bachman’s World; We Just Live In It
Under his pen name, Richard Bachman, a young Stephen King presaged much of the day-to-day horror we contend with now, from school shootings in Rage (1977) to the gamification of end stage capitalism in The Long Walk (1979) and The Running Man (1982).
It’s fitting that we got new adaptations of those last two this year, especially since The Running Man novel is set in the grim dystopia of 2025. In the time since, reality has dovetailed with King’s vision of an American autocracy whose ruling class pits the have-nots against one another.
The Running Man has a pretty simple premise: call it “The Most Dangerous Game…Show.” Ben Richards, in a bid to lift his wife and infant daughter out of poverty, accepts a spot in a billion-dollar contest, to outrun a team of assassins and outlast his two fellow contestants. He must submit daily video recordings of himself by mail or forfeit his daily winnings. At the end of 30 days, the hunt ends. It’s all televised for the hungry masses, with real incentive to tune in and snitch on the runners.
Of course, the source material isn’t the only point of comparison. The Running Man was first adapted for the screen by Paul Michael Glaser in 1987. Though it’s really more of an Arnold Schwarzenegger action vehicle, playing fast and loose with the plot of the novel, it goes to show how the intervening Reagan years only accelerated our pace toward the Bachman future. If the existing concept weren’t lurid enough, Arnold’s version of Ben is a disgraced military captain and the assassins are Saturday morning cartoon villains with names like Buzzsaw and SubZero. Laconic and perpetually handsy real-life game show host Richard Dawson dazzles in the role of Killion, a killer game show host. It’s not only awesome to watch, but arguably closer to the meatheadedness of our current societal collapse.
Wright of Way
Now that we’ve reached actual-2025, it only makes sense to revisit the concept. Given that the 1987 film takes such massive liberties, it makes sense for filmmakers to adhere closer to the book. Except, I think that may have been a mistake, at least with this director at the helm. This may be the one instance where I wish Edgar Wright had dialed it up.
To be sure, we’ve got some thrilling action sequences and rare instances of crafty camera work, but those moments feel like they’re too often held in reserve while our new Ben, Glen Powell, power-walks through an otherwise conventional thriller. Powell’s fine, by the way. He makes a good angry face, though his teeth are probably too perfect for his tax bracket. The dystopia itself is sufficiently grungy, straddling that fine “near-future” line. We get a fun mix of gleaming orb drones, self-driving cars, and (VHS) tape sharing. But it lags behind the bombast (and lean runtime) of the original as well as Wright’s typical confident gait.
No lack of confidence from Lee Pace as our lead assassin. Dude’s wearing a body sock and the swagger is on.
Things get more heightened (and fun) when we shift focus to fellow contestant Jenni (a decidedly underused Katy O’Brian), who opts to live Más with the limited time and ample purse she has. Wright does hit his stride with the everyday revolutionaries who help Ben along the way, especially when we slip into the underground broadcasts of Bradley Throckmorton (Ezra) or hunker down with fellow anarchist Elton “This Man’s Zine Kills Fascists” Parrakis (Cera) in his booby-trapped estate. The real saving grace tying it all together is Colman Domingo as Bobby T., our ravishing emcee. Bread and circus has never sounded so good.
And still it lags, limping into the third act with the late introduction of Emilia Jones’s Amelia and the Network’s deep fake technology calling everything into question. I gotta say, the sophistication of this tech isn’t just a frightening reality, but a real can of worms for the script. I know Ben raises the question himself, but why even bother with real contestants if they can fake their videos so seamlessly?
It feels as though Wright is holding himself back both tonally and stylistically, only allowing for sporadic bursts of frenetic abandon. The punchy end credits sequence, designed to look like pages from Elton’s zine, struck me as a celebration of the movie Wright should’ve made, much more in line with the ‘87 film. Only because he was wriggling out of the necktie right at the end there. I don’t know if he felt that tug-of-war while making it, but it’s the nagging charley horse I felt as I exited the theater.
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