Dystopian movies often carry a sense of superiority. It’s easy to point out flaws in our world and assume they will escalate. However, when filmmakers present bleak future scenarios, we often distance ourselves, admiring their creativity rather than acknowledging the potential for such realities. The idea of an authoritarian government using a brutal reality show where desperate people compete for money for medical care is disturbing, but in 2025, it’s plausible and requires a compelling and thrilling narrative.
The Running Man, directed by Edgar Wright and based on the 1982 novel, is certainly dark and overtly obvious. Despite attempts at humor, it lacks genuine wit. Glen Powell portrays Ben Richards, a hardworking man struggling to support his family in a bleak, futuristic dystopia. Recently laid off from his factory job—hinted at being a sacrifice for his colleagues, despite his temper—his baby is severely ill. His wife, Sheila (Jayme Lawson), toils long hours as a waitress in a seedy club for wealthy men, barely earning enough for the necessary “real” medication to save their daughter. In this grim future, only ineffective, fake drugs are accessible to the poor, while genuine healthcare remains unattainable.
Ben, left with no other choice, decides to compete in a violent, government-sponsored game show. His fitness, looks, and rage secure him a spot on The Running Man, a deadly competition where contestants, portrayed as violent criminals, must evade ruthless hunters. The public is also involved, encouraged to report sightings of the contestants. (“Record-Report-Reward” is a slogan of the show.) If Ben avoids the hunters for 30 days, he wins enough “new dollars” to place him in the top 1% of global wealth, according to the show’s producer, Josh Brolin’s Dan Killian, who believes Ben’s physique and temper will be great for ratings.
Ben is deceived, and the game is rigged. Though aware, he believes he can still win. Powell portrays Ben’s determination through strong expressions: squinting, glaring, and jutting his chin. After visiting an old friend (William H. Macy) for disguises, he attempts to disappear, moving from New York City to Boston, and finally to rural Maine. Everyone, from the show’s flashy host (Colman Domingo) to a woman whose car he tries to steal (Emilia Jones), and the most brutal hunter (Lee Pace in a stretchy mask), wants to see him fail. Ben runs, a lot. He grimaces, and runs more. The action is poorly choreographed and feels cartoonish.
The Running Man aims to be both entertaining and meaningful, addressing the importance of family superficially (Ben’s wife and daughter are briefly introduced and then reduced to symbols). It touches on the horrors of authoritarianism, where the government spies on its citizens and deliberately causes suffering and death. However, Wright treats these themes as mere background. This is the second adaptation of Stephen King’s novel (written under the name Richard Bachman). While the 1987 version with Arnold Schwarzenegger featured cheesy futuristic dancers, it had energy. Despite its synth-heavy goofiness, it felt more relevant than this new version. In the earlier film, Richard Dawson’s showrunner’s line, “Get me the Justice Department—Entertainment Division!” seemed prophetic. Plus, it’s a memorable line.
Wright’s previous work includes the zombie comedy Shaun of the Dead, from 2004, and the 2021 documentary , about the band Sparks. However, he is also capable of mean-spiritedness, evident in The Running Man. (A harmless contestant played by Martin Herlihy faces a humiliating death that is supposed to be funny, but isn’t). Moreover, The Running Man is tedious. Powell’s Ben runs and runs, barely breaking a sweat, and there’s no sense of urgency. He doesn’t come across as the angry everyman he’s meant to be; he’s simply running on empty, in a film that’s going nowhere.
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