A new ‘Running Man’ for a new age how the 2025 version stacks up to the Stephen king’s novel
Stephen King’s The Running Man has always been one of his most disturbing stories because of how plausible its nightmare feels. Even when King ventured into far-out territory, his sense of realism made the dystopia feel like it could be waiting right around the corner. The 1987 movie adaptation took the broad strokes of King’s idea and turned it into a wild piece of action entertainment. It was loud, neon soaked, and satirical in a way that felt like a carnival ride. It worked for what it was, but it sensationalized the nihilism so much that any sense of grounded terror dissolved into the glow of the set lights. Even so, it became a cult classic.
Almost four decades later, Edgar Wright takes another swing at the material. Was a remake necessary? Maybe not. But is it watchable? Yes, and often very exciting. Wright approaches the story with a more abrasive and grimy aesthetic, leaning closer to King’s original tone than the Schwarzenegger version ever did. The result is a film that sprints with purpose, even if sometimes it moves so fast that it runs out of breath.
The film follows Glen Powell as Ben Richards, a father living in a collapsing America where the government and the only existing television network operate as a single oppressive force. Ben’s life is a loop of unemployment, anger, and frustration. His daughter is sick, his wife Sheila is working degrading shifts at a sleazy club, and basic medicine is so expensive that the idea of treatment feels like a fantasy. Powell brings a bottled-up fury to the character, a constant simmering frustration that gives the film its heartbeat. His Ben is not a charming outlaw. He is a tired man who has been pushed too far and knows the system wants him angry so it can punish him for it.
Ben auditions for several humiliating game shows, all of them designed to exploit desperate people. The big prize is on The Running Man, a televised hunt in which contestants must evade assassins for thirty days. Ben promised Sheila he would never stoop that low, but when his daughter’s life is on the line, he gives in. From there the movie moves at a blistering pace. Wright’s signature style shows up in quick montages, rhythmic visual storytelling, and action scenes that glide with energy. The drones that tail Ben through city alleys give the film a modern sense of paranoia that feels alarmingly familiar.
Colman Domingo is one of the film’s highlights as Bobby T, the flamboyant host of the show who mixes charisma with cruelty. He plays to the crowd with the confidence of a megachurch preacher and the coldness of a man who has signed away his soul for ratings. Watching him warp the audience into a frenzy is both funny and unsettling. Domingo gives the story a spark every time he steps on screen.
Josh Brolin plays Dan Killian, the network executive who manages the show and views Ben as both an opportunity and a threat. Brolin carries an icy confidence that makes his scenes crackle, although the film never gives him quite enough depth to become a truly memorable villain. He is more of a function of the plot than a looming presence, which is one of the film’s weaker points.
Where Wright truly shines is in his world building. The rundown apartment blocks, the endless lines for food, the cheap propaganda plastered across every screen, and the constant reminders that medical care is impossible to access all combine to create a dystopia that feels grim because it feels real. There is very little exaggeration here. America looks like it has simply given up and replaced public services with cheap entertainment designed to numb the pain.
Despite the film’s strengths, the pacing creates problems. Wright keeps the story moving so quickly that character moments rarely have time to settle. Several side characters show up with interesting setups and then disappear before they can make an emotional impact. Michael Cera, William H. Macy, Daniel Ezra, and others all bring color to the journey, yet their arcs rush by so quickly that they leave faint impressions. The same goes for Ben himself. Powell plays him with grit and flashes of humor, but the film rarely slows down long enough to let his inner turmoil breathe. There is a richer emotional core here that never fully emerges.
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Keep readingThe action scenes are energetic but not always inventive. Wright has delivered some of the sharpest movie genres of the past twenty years, but this time the action is more functional than unforgettable. There are standout moments, especially an aerial sequence near the end and a tense chase through a burning building, but the overall impact is not as strong as one might expect from a director known for stylish precision.
The satirical edge of the film also feels uncertain. King’s story was a cautionary tale that painted a chilling picture of media manipulation and economic despair. Wright aims for something similar, but the film’s version of dystopia feels too close to real life to function as sharp satire while also not elevated enough to function as full allegory. Instead, it sits in a middle space that feels slightly unfocused. Some of the jokes land well, especially the deepfake gags and the relentless misinformation the show pushes, but others feel like echoes of things the audience has already seen in the real world.
Still, the movie has powerful moments. The way the public becomes addicted to Ben’s struggle, the mob mentality that grows around the idea of hunting a man for sport, and the complicity of viewers who tune in every night all hit uncomfortably close to home. The film asks the audience to question whether entertainment has become a replacement for empathy. It also questions how far society will go to distract itself from its own decay. Even when the commentary is heavy handed, it is honest about the bleakness of modern life.
The ending delivers a mixture of rebellion, spectacle, and commentary. It mirrors the book in spirit more than the first movie ever did, though it also softens some of King’s darkest ideas. Whether viewers appreciate that will depend on their relationship with the original story.
Edgar Wright’s The Running Man is an uneven but frequently gripping adaptation. It is angrier than the 1987 version, more grounded, and more willing to stare into the darkness of modern society. It is also messy, rushed, and caught between honoring the book and honoring the legacy of a cult classic. Yet when the film hits its stride, it delivers exactly what the premise has always promised. A chase through a world that feels frighteningly familiar, led by a man who becomes a symbol simply because he refuses to die on someone else’s terms. It may not be the definitive version of The Running Man, but it is a fascinating one.
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