Early into the Running Man game, Glen Powell’s Ben Richards while receiving assistance from a friend played by William H. Macy insists he had no choice in entering the game. Macy’s character responds very bluntly that he did. And indeed he wasn’t forced to enter the game, he was persuaded to by the notion of setting up his struggling family for life. It is something he has reckoned with later in the story after some devastating consequences, and he responds to an alternate statement with an affirmation of his choice.
But on some level, he didn’t have that choice did he? The society he exists within did force him to the point of desperation: the tactic that feeds The Running Man as well as other briefly glimpsed game shows where the lives of the poor and disenfranchised -a larger (but not that much so) proportion of the population in this dystopian world- are sacrificed for the amusement of the general public as a distraction from their own woes. Stephen King’s novel came out in 1982 and was perhaps the first work of fiction to depict this type of dystopia where corporate media and violent reality entertainment act as a pacifier of control. It has of course exploded into its own subgenre since.
Edgar Wright never quite reconciles Ben’s autonomy in his choice with how it tied into the pressures of the world around him, and doesn’t seem particularly interested in that -Ben’s ownership coming as mostly out of his specific choice to sign onto this particular harrowing show and in ultimately understanding the repercussions of that. It follows a pattern of Wright often alluding to wider contexts, commentary, or implications, but ultimately narrowing focus to just the immediate priorities of his protagonist.
Like the book, the movie is set in 2025 -a slightly different dystopia than the one we are living through in which an unambiguous police state, constant public surveillance, and a corporate tech oligarchy ruling America also happens to feature Arnold Schwarzeneggar on the one-hundred dollar bill. Powell's Ben, a blacklisted labourer living in a slum, struggles to afford necessary medication for his daughter Cathy. As with many in such a desperate situation, he auditions for one of a slate of cruel game shows produced by the regime and imposed on the public; persuaded by opportunistic producer Dan Killian (Josh Brolin) onto the most popular and deadly show, The Running Man, due to his rage and physical stamina. Over the course of thirty days he will have to survive a vicious manhunt from both a network militia and civilians for the chance to win a billion dollars -something few have ever managed.
It is very interesting and fitting that this movie comes out the same year as an adaptation of The Long Walk, another King novel that is in some way the perfect mirror of this one. They are each dystopias that aesthetically resemble our own reality to a degree but with sharp differences in the style of their authoritarian violence. The world of The Running Man is perhaps more shrewd -apart from the contrasting dankness of Ben's slum and the flashiness of the game show studios, it resembles the real 2025 pretty starkly, perhaps to drive home a message of how close its reality supposedly is.
Specifically on the subject of media manipulation and the corporate control of public narratives, Wright is unequivocal in emphasizing the dangerous political power of mass media -something especially pertinent with regard to the worrying sights of his own studio here, Paramount. The movie does well to showcase the weaponization of personality, from the charismatic Running Man host played by Colman Domingo down to Ben himself -required to film a short video for broadcast every day thus giving platform for dissent; albeit only as far as the all-encompassing network will allow. One of the most daunting points is how his script will periodically be adjusted via A.I. to craft a different narrative around him -one of the biggest dangers the technology currently poses. It is something that haunts Wright as, through the deepening political radicalism of Ben along this harrowing journey, he carves out a critical message of action and activism over the placating comforts of escapism. It is the most politically explicit movie he has made.
But it is a shame that it often doesn't feel like one of his movies. Wright appears to have a complex relationship to his own filmmaking reputation; having cultivated one of the most recognizable cinematic styles in the modern era, he has taken to downplaying his signatures in recent years as he strives to expand the parameters of his artistry. It began with Last Night in Soho, but is much more apparent here -a film devoid of almost any whip-pans, smash cuts, witty compositions, or any of the visual stylistic traits he's known for. These things relinquished, his directing is still proficient, his action scenes still shot with tact, clarity, and a certain degree of versatility -but the film is noticeably more mundane in execution next to the usual quality of his work, it's not so exciting or energized. The first time one of Wright's movies feels like it might have been directed by anyone else.
In the absence of either his customary techniques or enticing new ones, the film is more dependent on factors of narrative and character. More of its effect rests on the shoulders of Ben's journey specifically. And to a degree that is engaging on its own merits, but Powell feels notably miscast at the centre of it. He delivers his charm and his action beats well, but it is his motivations that aren’t communicated with a requisite conviction, however hard Powell tries to maintain that sense of grounded sincerity. There’s a battle between the priorities for the character and his star persona and they don’t quite mesh. The lack of chemistry seen in the few scenes between him and his wife, played by Jayme Lawson, don’t help matters. And on a fundamental level he just doesn’t come across as an average man or blue-collar worker -at least not in this context- let alone a potential revolutionary. It is a bit of a conundrum -the calibre of movie demands a traditional Hollywood leading man but the story does not. A braver choice by Wright might have been to cast Michael Cera in this part, but that would simply not have been allowed.
He does get that Scott Pilgrim reunion though. Ben’s evasion of the hunt is split into episodes, and one of the late-appearing ones features Cera as a conspiracist and political radical who shelters Ben for a time in Derry, Maine (yes, that Derry). On either side of his chapter is a kindly black father and son in the slums who take Ben in and an upper class believer in the propaganda played by Emilia Jones who Ben takes hostage in the final stretch. We get a series of different class and political perspectives off of these characters: quiet rebels, an accelerationist, and a willfully ignorant conservative whose image of the world starts to break by Ben’s mere character intruding on it. Each of these figures is implied to play a critical part in the dismantling of oppression -the wealth class is the enemy of all. It’s a curious statement on big-tent political philosophy that as alluded to is diminished by a granular interest on merely Ben’s tangible concerns with it, especially in the ending, which is quite rough.
The Running Man is Wright’s first movie that doesn’t warrant a ringing endorsement, in spite of some good qualities it does have in the specificity and resonance of its messaging. While it is enjoyable through stretches in its action and tension, it is not to the par of Wright’s usual tendencies (and features relatively few of his signature needle-drops), as he disappears into a more generic directorial anonymity. And while Powell is an engaging presence he is ill-suited for carrying this kind of film as this kind of character. A decently entertaining movie, sharp in some convictions, yet lacking in its necessary spark.
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