The library sale classic The Bachman Books contains four novellas by Stephen King who, at the time, would occasionally write under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. Within this collection we find stories that all share a similar anti-authoritarian thread, which is sadly proving to be evergreen thematic material (I go into it in more detail in my review of the excellent The Long Walk)
The Running Man, which tells of a future society where the have-nots can fight their way out of poverty by partaking in a deadly game show, is a sort of sci-fi gladiator fable depicting the trials of the one man who just might be able to win this unwinnable game. His plight lights a fire among the oppressed viewing audience while also providing a boost in the network’s ratings. His name is Ben Richards, and he’s an Everyman with a good heart and a bad temper. Back in the ‘80s he was played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, who is anything but an Everyman, but here he’s played by the endlessly charming Glen Powell.
Richards has fallen upon tough times: his baby daughter is sick, his wife (Jayme Lawson) is working a dangerous job, and a Richards himself just can’t stay employed on account of his willingness to help out fellow workers at the expense of the company’s bottom line. He makes a last ditch effort for cash by auditioning for one of the less dangerous game shows on the fascistic television network, but the brass, represented here by Dan Killian (Josh Brolin and a set of blinding white veneers), sees potential in Richards and makes an offer: join the cast of The Running Man (see The Most Dangerous Game) and receive your ticket out of poverty.
Unlike the Schwarzenegger vehicle where the contest occurs within an arena of sorts, this shiny new version places the game out in the real world (as it was in the novel). After a 12 hour head start, competitors are not just hunted by the network’s brigade of Hunters™️, but also by civilians who are eligible receive a payout for their assistance.
This framing gives the film a breakneck pace where the viewer doesn’t have to wait long for something interesting to happen. I had to hold my pee for the last hour because I didn’t want to miss a thing, and had I left for even 45 seconds, I’d have missed many things. Yet despite the near constant onslaught of plot, it’s hard to feel as if Richards is ever really in danger. Despite being more of an Everyman than his cinematic predecessor, the film reaches a point where it feels like bullets go out of their way to bypass our hero, lest they slow the proceedings down. Granted, we’re not here for documentary realism, but this lapse in stakes serves to highlight the film’s biggest and most glaring problem: nothing about it feels specifically as if it were directed by Edgar Wright. The Wright I was expecting would have had much more fun behind the camera, allowing the cartoonish nature of the action to lead the way. Instead, it’s a meat-and-potatoes action flick that calls attention to its inherent falsity specifically by not calling attention to it. If you told me it were made by Louis Leterrier, I’d believe you. If you told me it were directed by pretty much anyone, I’d believe you. There’s a playful dynamism that Wright typically brings to his projects that simply isn’t there this time around, and it’s the first of his films that feels as if producerial meddling may have played a part in the production.
That said, The Running Man is still head and shoulders above films of its ilk. The action is clean, the humor lands, and the cathartic “eat the rich” violence satisfies. The supporting cast includes Colman Domingo, Katy O’Brian, Michael Cera, William H. Macy, and Lee Pace, each bringing their own brand of superstar sizzle to the heightened world to grand effect. It’s a film where all of the bells and whistles of the setting are in full display, and it’s a credit to Wright that the massive ensemble and sprawling plot never feel unwieldy. I just wish that he risked some behind-the-camera unwieldiness — this is an uncharacteristically safe movie.
Perhaps the evergreen nature of the thematics is what leaves the climax feeling slightly anticlimactic, or perhaps it’s the fact that I can turn on Newsmax and see that the levels of propaganda put forth by the in-movie network aren’t even a little bit exaggerated (I’ll say it loud and clear: Newsmax is pure distilled evil packaged to stoke the prejudices of intellectually lazy rubes). But maybe it’s my own cynicism to blame rather than the movie itself. It’s clear as day that the government uses the media to keep the 99% fighting over scraps while the 1% rob us blind, and it’s even clearer that we’re all too tired to do anything about it. At the end of The Running Man I wanted to feel that revolutionary spirit, and I only kinda sorta did. I can’t figure out why it didn’t quite get all the way to a proper catharsis. All the pieces are there, and it does indeed function, but I expected more. Given the pedigree at hand, I think it’s a fair expectation.
Yet these issues may dissolve upon second viewing (which, as a card-carrying Powell Ranger, I will indulge), when I’m not in a chatty theater where a man walked in midway through the film to argue that I was in his seat even though he was in the wrong theater and was too stupid to realize that the movie on screen was very clearly not Predator: Badlands.
At the end of the day, The Running Man is mostly fantastic, and an absolute blast from beginning to end. It’s a great adaptation of a great novel, and a wonderful showcase for an eclectic cast and a leading man whose star is on the rise.
Directed by Edgar Wright
Written by Michael Bacall, Edgar Wright, based on the novella by Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman
Starring Glen Powell, Colman Domingo, Jayme Lawson, Katy O’Brian, Josh Brolin
Rated R, 133 minutes
