Nearly four decades after Arnold Schwarzenegger’s muscle-bound version sprinted across screens, The Running Man returns to cinemas. In Edgar Wright’s hands, this adaptation is a sharper, smarter reflection of a culture that still can’t look away from spectacle.
Following The Long Walk, this is the second film adaptation in 2025 of a Stephen King novel originally published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. Both films are set in a near-future America under a totalitarian regime whose oppressed population glue themselves to violent televised contests.
Schwarzenegger’s dreadful version of The Running Man in 1987 used the title of King’s novel and the concept of deadly game shows in a future America – but the similarities ended there. Director Edgar Wright’s hugely entertaining new adaptation is more faithful to the plot of King’s book, if not the tone.
In The Running Man, America is effectively run by television syndicate The Network. They keep the population entertained and obedient through life-and-death TV game shows. Participants in the most popular show play a game of hide-and-seek against a team of armed hunters. The public are promised cash rewards if they report a sighting of the contestant that leads to their capture and killing.
Ben Richards (Glenn Powell) is a blue-collar worker who wants to compete to win money for his sick daughter’s medication. The film follows Richards as he encounters eccentric citizens (with cameos by Michael Cera, William H Macy and an unhinged Sandra Dickinson) who are either keen to help or hinder him as he flees north from New York City along the east coast of America.
The Running Man’s opening scenes vividly show a stratified America, a vast poverty gap dividing the complacent ultra rich from a working class without basic comfort and sustenance. Richards, like many of King’s Bachman book protagonists (and King himself when writing the first draft of this novel in 1972) is driven by a deep-seated rage at the injustices in the American system.
The Network’s oily executive Dan Killian (a typically brilliant Josh Brolin) knows Richards will make great cathartic TV for an impotent, rage-filled population – he’s “the angriest man he’s ever seen”. The overarching theme is that the populace likes it this way and can’t imagine an alternative. The Network’s programming offers a satisfying pound of flesh to their frenzied viewers, whose primal urges are kept at bay by the spectacle of violence. As Killian hammily asserts, for Americans: “Bloodlust is our birthright!”
Tuning into current debates, The Network heavily edits its programmes with use of seamless AI. The film suggests the population is uninterested in whether their entertainment and news are authentic or faked. As clearly doctored footage of Richards is screened, the crowd bays aggressively for his blood. In the film’s final act, there is the suggestion that this fervour could be redirected with hostility towards the hand that feeds.
The film’s early depiction of the technology saturated sprawl of New York City is a superbly realised absurdist vision of an oppressive media-run state. It strongly evokes the style and tone of influential weekly British Science Fiction comic 2000 AD (1977-present), with its towering, neon-lit concrete structures. The overpowered and excessively violent police force particularly resembles the futuristic satire of the comic’s most famous character, Judge Dredd.
Wright and frequent collaborator Simon Pegg have expressed their admiration for the comic and its amplified visions of contemporary politics and society. Like 2000 AD, The Running Man is social commentary that delivers its message through aggressive, fast-paced action and explosive violence.
Edgar Wright and genre cinema
This is a great year for King adaptations, and while The Long Walk’s publicity campaign promoted his name heavily, The Running Man features Wright’s name and rising star Powell with no mention of the writer. This choice is likely to avoid misconceptions that this could be a horror film. Rather this is a breathless, hyper-kinetic action film that, like the smaller scale Baby Driver (2017) showcases Wright’s ability to beautifully direct explosive car chases and gun battles.
At the heart of Wright’s films is a love of genre cinema. In his last film, Last Night in Soho (2021), he paid tribute to gothic London films and to the cinematic myth of the swinging 60s. Here he shifts gears and celebrates the uncomplicated pleasures of the high-speed thrills of 1980s and 1990s action films in the vein of Die Hard (1988). It is an interpretation of King’s work that replaces the dour, bitter tragedy of the source material with a satirical, cartoonish absurdism.
This comedic approach works superbly in the film’s first half but can’t quite sustain the more serious critiques of American politics and media culture that the script tries to deliver in the final act.
The Running Man loses tension and nuance in its second half, especially with the late introduction of poorly conceived character Amelia Williams (Emilia Jones). She’s a young woman and member of society’s comfortable class who is embroiled in Richards’ escape plans. Her encounter with Richards leads her unconvincingly to reflect on her privilege and the injustices of her society.
The film wants viewers to imagine that there is potential for the entitled and complacent to reflect and for resistance against totalitarian control to blossom with the right catalyst. This is a deliberate choice to run counter to King’s original nihilistic vision. But it does not ring true in the face of what we’ve been shown about the film’s grim world. The final act messaging feels rote and unearned. Richards delivers a clunky, didactic dialogue that sits at odds with the film’s more interesting questions around the nature of violent spectacle and human nature – and our own enjoyment of the film’s violence.
Taken as a feather-light, fugitive-on-the-run film, this is an extraordinarily entertaining piece of mainstream action cinema. If you overlook messy plotting in the final act, it’s the most fun you are likely to have in the cinema this year. As a more focused and coherent critique of the threat of totalitarianism and media dominance, however, The Long Walk has the distinct edge over this film. Those looking for a more revealing social commentary may be left disappointed.
Written by Matt Jacobsen, Senior Lecturer in Film History in the School of Society and Environment, Queen Mary University of London
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
