Edgar Wright’s reimagining of "The Running Man" is a sleek, hyper-kinetic machine that functions exactly as intended, even if it feels like some of the director’s soul was left in the garage. Stepping away from the campy neon of the Schwarzenegger era and leaning closer to Stephen King’s futuristic source material, Wright delivers a film that looks every bit of its massive budget. It's a relentless, propulsive experience that succeeds largely on the back of its leading man, though it struggles to find a pulse beneath its polished chrome exterior.
The film's greatest asset is undoubtedly Glenn Powell. Currently one of the most magnetic forces in cinema, Powell commands the screen with an easy, old-school movie star charisma that keeps the audience tethered to the screen. Even when the script asks him to sprint through increasingly implausible set pieces, he carries the weight of the film with a grit that justifies the price of admission. He is the engine that keeps this vehicle moving, providing a necessary gravity to a world that often feels more like a high-end simulation than a lived-in reality.
However, for a filmmaker defined by his unmistakable stamp, Wright’s work here is surprisingly anonymous. If you placed this film alongside his earliest/best works, Baby Driver, or even Last Night in Soho, you would be hard-pressed to find the same idiosyncratic DNA that usually defines his filmography. The fast-paced action is there, and the technical execution is flawless, but the clever visual storytelling and rhythmic editing choices that made his earlier work feel revolutionary have been traded for a more conventional, albeit expensive, blockbuster sheen. It has the kinetic energy we expect from Wright, but it lacks the creative spark that usually makes his style feel like a genre unto itself.
The most significant hurdle is the film’s emotional vacuum. For a story centered on a man fighting for his life and his family, there is a jarring lack of sentiment. Wright has always excelled at comedy and choreography, but here, when the narrative demands genuine pathos or high-stakes drama, it feels as though the film doesn't quite know how to pivot. The humor often misses the mark, feeling slightly out of step with the grim stakes, and because the characters feel more like archetypes than flesh-and-blood people, it becomes difficult to truly invest in their plight. It’s an exercise in style over substance; the spectacle is undeniable, but it’s like trying to draw blood from a stone when searching for a deeper connection to the protagonist's struggle.
Ultimately, "The Running Man" is a high-octane, thoroughly professional piece of entertainment. It is visually arresting and features a powerhouse performance from Powell that confirms his A-list status. While it may feel shallow compared to the thematic richness of Wright’s past work, and the absence of his signature flourishes is felt, it remains a solid, gripping ride. It’s a film that’s very easy to enjoy in the moment, even if it leaves you wishing for just a little more heart to go along with the heat.
7.7/10
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