'The Running Man' Review: Reality TV Meets Dystopia In Edgar Wright’s Bold Adaptation

HOLLYWOOD, CA — With theatrical releases of “The Life of Chuck,” “The Long Walk” and “It: Welcome to Derry,” 2025 is shaping up to be a landmark year for Stephen King adaptations. Now, Edgar Wright’s bold reimagining of “The Running Man” is poised to leave a scorching mark on a slate of films that explore human vulnerability, societal decay and the search for meaning.

Tonally, Wright's sci-fi thriller departs sharply from the 1987 film’s over-the-top bravado, steering the narrative in a more sobering direction. Where the Arnold Schwarzenegger–starrer leaned into gratuitous action spectacle, Wright’s version restores the novel’s original bite. Forget the gladiators. The muscles. The quips. The one-liners. In their place, Wright blends brutality with hope, pairing high-octane action with a deeper dive into economic disparity, class struggle and media culture.

The movie unfolds with unnerving precision. At its center is Glen Powell’s Ben Richards, a desperate, unemployed father trying to save his gravely ill 2-year-old daughter. Blacklisted from work, he turns to “The Running Man,” a televised death game where survival means staying one step ahead of the kill.

Picture “The Hunger Games” with the glossy theatrics of “American Idol.” A billion-dollar prize dangles like bait in a nationwide bloodsport, wrapped in the glitz of modern-day reality TV.

Runners on the run. Hunters in pursuit. At the top of the kill chain: McCone (Lee Pace), a tracker with a flawless record and icy resolve.

The kicker: Viewers, glued to the carnage, are paid to expose the locations of the Runners — Powell, Katy O’Brian and Daniel Ezra — cheer every close call.

Behind the curtain, the Network pulls the strings. Dan Killian (Josh Brolin), its manipulative head, orchestrates the chase with unctuous charm, while Bobby Thompson (Colman Domingo), the show’s honey-tongued host, delivers sadistic commentary with a grin. Together, they package human suffering as prime-time entertainment.

What begins as an act of desperation quickly evolves into a sprawling, emotionally charged fight for existence. The result is a dystopian adventure — unsettling, kinetic and threaded with bleak humor — that feels tailor-made for the current zeitgeist, or perhaps, the one we fear is coming.

Though the clash between Hunters and Runners fuels the film’s relentless tension, its true emotional core lies in Richards’ fight for something far more fragile — his daughter’s life. Glen Powell channels this personal struggle in a career-defining turn, equal parts raw and restrained, without ever tipping into melodrama. We can feel his anguish simmering beneath every glance, every breath, every bruised step.

While Powell commands empathy, Pace counters with a performance marked by coiled intensity. As McCone, his predatory instinct smolders with jagged menace. Their collision — one man clawing toward a lifeline, the other snuffing it out with methodical intent — leaves us bracing for impact.

Wright’s direction amplifies these performances through a structure that’s as ambitious as it is unconventional. His episodic approach reveals vignettes of the horrifying pursuit, initially laced with his signature satire and absurdism — echoes of films like “Shaun of the Dead” and “The World’s End.”

The first half delights in sharp comedic flair, skewering the spectacle with wit and visual verve. But as sardonic humor gives way to solemnity, the film’s tonal balance begins to wobble. The narrative shifts toward heavier themes — political disillusionment, class inequality and the corrosive power of media — a descent into the novel’s dour, nihilistic approach. And while this pivot is bold, it’s not seamless.

The razor-edged satire loses momentum, buckling under the weight of its most provocative commentary — especially in the film’s final moments, when it should be aiming for a crescendo. Yet despite its unevenness, the ambition remains undeniable — a testament to Wright’s bold vision.

As action-adventure escapism, “The Running Man” delivers. But for cinephiles seeking deeper engagement with real-world politics and media culture, it may frustrate more than it fulfills — though it never stops challenging us.

In reclaiming the novel’s political urgency and emotional weight, Wright delivers a piercing critique of media spectacle and institutional brutality. The film’s reach sometimes exceeds its grasp — but its vision lingers, urgent and unforgettable — and perhaps more timely than we’d care to admit.