In a world where reality TV has long since devoured the line between entertainment and execution, Edgar Wright’s The Running Man bursts onto screens like a glitch in the matrix of modern blockbusters. Adapting Stephen King’s 1982 novella Riddle of the Sands (published under his Richard Bachman pseudonym), Wright delivers a high-octane chase that feels eerily tailored to our feed-scrolling era. Glen Powell stars as Ben Richards, a desperate everyman thrust into a global game show where contestants are hunted by elite killers for the amusement of billions. What could have been a mindless remake of the 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger cult classic, is instead a vibrant, vein-throbbing tribute to King’s original vision—fiercely satirical, unapologetically thrilling, and laced with Wright’s trademark wit.
Wright, ever the maestro of rhythm, syncs his direction to the pulse of a ticking clock. His signature editing—those impeccably timed cuts that make music out of mayhem—elevates every pursuit into a symphony of survival. At the heart of the hunt is Glen Powell, whose charisma turns Ben Richards from a zero into a action hero. His Ben isn’t just a stoic action hero; he’s a man fraying at the edges, his every sprint laced with the weight of lost dignity.
Powell’s physicality shines in the stunt work—leaps that defy gravity and brawls that leave bruises you can feel. Colman Domingo, as the slick game show host Bobby T, oozes malevolent charm. Michael Cera, in a gleefully unhinged turn as a tech-savvy rebel ally, brings Wright’s comedic DNA to the fore.
Ultimately, The Running Man is Edgar Wright’s most crowd-pleasing triumph yet—a blockbuster that honors its roots while sprinting toward the future. The Running Man is out now.
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