Running Man
Running time: 133 minutes. Rated R (strong violence, some gore, and language). At the theater.
In a dramatic statement, Josh Brolin, who portrays a power-hungry TV producer in the dystopian action film, remarked, “Critics say The Running Man is a return to the barbarism of the Colosseum in Rome!”
But, really, that feels like a bit of a stretch. I mean, a gladiator versus a lion is definitely more captivating than anything this “Running Man” delivers.
It seems like this reboot of the 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger classic featuring Glen Powell is just another unnecessary revisit of the Hunger Games theme, echoing films from the last decade or so—let’s not even start on “Battle Royale” and “Squid Game.”
It’s all quite reminiscent of reality television gone awry.
Now, what makes this new adaptation, based on Stephen King’s 1982 novel, intriguing is the involvement of writer-director Edgar Wright.
The talented British filmmaker is known for infusing humor and chills into films like Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz.
But his unique touch feels missing here—much like the identity of the masked lead character Ben Richards (played by Powell), who seems just determined to survive instead of showcasing any depth.
Ben is a working-class father whose daughter is unwell, and this pushes him to join a dangerous reality show, hoping to garner some cash. Of course, he finds himself in the perilous “Running Man,” fleeing across the country from armed “hunters” for a month, with no one ultimately emerging victorious.
William H. Macy assists Ben in acquiring a false identity, preparing him for the New York scene. As he competes against two other “runners” (Katie O’Brian and Martin Herlihy, who come off rather unremarkable), Ben dons a mustache and pretends to be an Irish priest—his disguise is laughable and hardly convincing.
The flamboyant host of “Running Man,” Bobby T. (Coleman Domingo), tries to elevate the drama, delivering cringeworthy lines like, “Bloodthirst is our birthright!” He pops up in myriad films lately, pulling off an exaggerated villainous charm.
Sadly, much of the humor, mainly stemming from Bobby T, falls flat, and it might not be entirely the actor’s fault. The writing leaves much to be desired.
The recurring cast of “The Americanos,” akin to “Keeping Up with the Kardashians,” brings little intrigue, merely depicting a bunch of artificial characters.
Despite Powell’s undeniable charisma, he seems more at home in roles like those in Twisters or Top Gun: Maverick. Here, the narrative struggles to paint him as genuinely low-status.
In a particularly striking moment, Ben scolds a woman (played by Emilia Jones), criticizing her expensive scarf while her daughter needs medicine. Yet, it’s hard to overlook Powell’s unnaturally perfect smile, which feels misplaced.
Jones’s over-the-top acting might earn her some attention from the Razzie committee, if we’re being honest.
Then there’s Michael Cera, acting as a former Navy SEAL—well, not really. He’s more of a nerd.
Brolin’s Dan Killian, emerging as the antagonist, delivers a twist that telegraphs the predictable ending we’ve all seen countless times by now.
It’s hard to shake the feeling that we’ve effectively returned to those barbaric days of the Roman Colosseum.
