The Running Man

Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway

[mr_rating_result]

“The Running Man” is a dystopian novel by Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman. In 1987, it was adapted first by Paul Michael Glaser with kitsch starring Arnold Schwarzenegger in the title role and real life gameshow host Richard Dawson as the master of ceremonies.

Now in 2025, Edgar Wright (“Baby Driver”) directs, starring Glen Powell as “The Running Man” and Josh Brolin as Killian, the authoritarian head of the show. The film is closer to the original material then the 1987 outing with solid action sequences headed by current popular superstar Powell. The only drawback is some lethargic pacing and repetitive segments with an intermittently confusing narrative flow. Even though this version could have used more charge and pathos, Glen Powell has enough matinee star power to hold it all together.

Powell is Ben Richards, a blue collar energy employee down on his luck, during a totalitarian regime. The foreman has blacklisted him for causing trouble with public relations. He can’t find work. His three year old daughter is frightfully ill with a virulent influenza and needs exclusive medicine.

Richards is out of options. He feels that he can join the premier game show, survive, and win the billion dollar payout. Ben’s wife Sheila (Jayme Lawson) is terrified at the thought of Ben being a contestant: to lose means capture and death.

After some reluctance, Richards consents to the game. He is whisked away to sign the contract. If Richards can survive 14 days without getting detected and caught on the run he will be awarded $1 billion. If he is sighted and captured, he will be killed on camera. Any civilian or professional can be a hunter.

Though one can well predict the sequence of events, the action scenes are satisfying and very thrilling especially near the end. Powell has a likable handsome charm that almost single-handedly erases the muddled confusion in the middle of the film, full of staccato noise narrative lulls.

Josh Brolin is ably entertaining as the narcissistic master in control of the game. Coleman Domingo plays against type as the master of ceremonies in the manner of Nick Cannon on “Dancing with the Stars.”

Micheal Cera delivers a fine role as a rebellious ally, but more vivid is Sandra Dickinson who is frightful and madcap on the level of Piper Laurie in “Carrie” (1976).

The scenario might be a little too familiar here given that we were here in the 80s. Richard Dawson as the totalitarian ringleader might have proved a bit more entertaining in his smarminess than the self satisfied Brolin incarnation. Still, it is a hoot to see Arnold Schwarzenegger’s face on future paper money, a surreal oneupmanship perhaps to the President via Stephen King as executive producer.

The golden glare of Glen Powell and brisk finale action is what carries this nostalgic and somewhat film that oddly still speaks of the 1980s. Going retro makes for fun, but others might pine for some added spirit and more patience. All the better to take a stand against sensation and Might.

Write Ian at ianfree11@yahoo.com