Outside of The Lawnmower Man (1995), the 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger-starring The Running Man is probably the Stephen King adaptation that strays the farthest from the source material—both narratively and tonally—which is likely why the credits still cited the iconic author's long-since-revealed pen name Richard Bachman. Such is not the case with Edgar Wright's new adaptation, which hews much closer to the dystopian worldview that King originally envisioned in his 1982 novel, the second to last of the original five "Bachman books." The irony, of course, is that the central premise of the film—a massive game show in which three contestants are set loose in the world and have to survive for 30 days while being hunted by both professionals and the general population—is both more attuned to the world of today (particularly all the surveillance options available) and less (who watches game shows anymore?).

Wright, who adapted the novel with Michael Bacall, with whom he previously collaborated on Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010), keeps the primary elements of King's novel firmly in the place: In a future United States (2025 to be exact—scary!) that has descending into economic and political despotism, entertainment is dominated by a government-run entity called "The Network" that primarily broadcasts violent and demeaning game shows that prey on desperate people. A particularly desperate man named Ben Richards (Glen Powell), who can't help his sick young daughter because he has no income and has been blacklisted from his work due to union activity, becomes a contestant on the Network's most popular game, The Running Man, which is hosted by the bombastic Bobby T (Colman Domingo). He and two other contestants are given an 18-hour heard start, after which they are relentlessly pursued by a gang of professional, masked hunters whose goal is to kill them. The general public is encouraged to assist in this endeavor by reporting their whereabouts for money, although there are pockets of resistance who try to help the contestants survive. To date, no one has made it past 29 days, which makes participation on the show pretty much suicidal. Of course, the game is rigged in various ways, as the Network's corruptly grinning chief executive, Dan Killian (Josh Brolin), cares only about ratings and is willing to tilt the balance any way that works.

The result is an extended cat-and-mouse game between Ben and the hunters, who are led by the particularly vicious Evan McCone (Lee Pace). By convenient happenstance Ben knows a forger (William H. Macy) who is able to provide him with phony documents that keep his identity secret for a while. The chase eventually takes Ben through both enormous high-rises and seedy back alleys, before landing him in the country where he is aided by oddball activist Elton Parrakis (Michael Cera). All the time the chase is being broadcast 24 hours a day and commented on endlessly by various online self-appointed experts, one of whom (Daniel Ezra) provides essential help to Ben. Sadly, the film benefits substantially from the current political moment, when actual footage of masked ICE agents smashing car windows, breaking down doors, pulling people from their homes, and in several instances shooting them in cold blood is not the stuff of fevered dystopian sci-fi, but vexed reality (as are TVs that watch you, an increasing grotesque disparity between the rich and the poor, AI-generated deepfakes, and a general lack of concern for one's fellow human beings if they are labeled "not us").

The film does not benefit, however, from its confused sense of character. Much is made of Ben's fiery anger-management issues, which Glen Powell (Twisters), despite being a capable actor, never convincingly wears. He glowers and grimaces and shows off his chiseled abs whenever possible, but the character feels contrived. The focus on his anger, I suppose, is intended to give credence to the idea that Ben could survive so much longer than others, as if anger is a superpower that propels him past the competition. At the same time, though, our sympathies are supposed to be driven by his commitment to his wife (Jayme Lawson) and sick daughter (Alyssa and Sienna Benn), for whom he is willing to sacrifice his life. If Ben had been a more convincing character, The Running Man would have had substantially more emotional impact than it does. This may owe to Wright's long history of sending up cherished genres (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz) and wallowing in cinematic hyperbole (Baby Driver notwithstanding). The Running Man has a sharp visual sensibility and satirical edge, but it doesn't quite grab you the way it should, as the concept does most of the heavy lifting while the characters go through the motions.

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