The Running Man Review: Glen Powell Anchors Edgar Wright’s High-Velocity Dystopian Thrill Ride

Edgar Wright’s adaptation of the bleak Stephen King novel is a kinetic, visually arresting satire that trades the camp of the 1987 classic for sharp cultural critique, but its breathless pace risks blurring its own powerful anti-media message.

November 14, 2025: Edgar Wright’s The Running Man, a second adaptation of the 1982 Stephen King (Richard Bachman) novel, arrives not as a remake of the Arnold Schwarzenegger classic, but as a sleek, hyperactive spectacle perfectly tailored for the surveillance-saturated age.

The film, which premiered on November 5 and was released in the US on November 14, plunges viewers into a near-future America crippled by wealth disparity, where the ultimate reality show is a deadly game of survival called The Running Man. The prize for enduring 30 days against professional assassins is a billion-dollar bounty—or rather, the chance to expose the system that created the game.

Satire Versus Speed

Wright, working with a script he co-wrote with Michael Bacall, delivers his most somber and overtly political film yet. He manages a frantic blend of slick satire and action spectacle, using his signature kinetic cuts and pop rhythm to critique how media turns rebellion into ratings and dissent into “digestible drama.”

The aesthetic is a dazzling neon noir, a fusion of Blade Runner grit and influencer-era gloss. The world is rendered as a beautifully branded despair where screens never blink and drones hum like mosquitoes.

However, the relentless velocity of the second act, packed with inventive chases and intellectual ideas about deepfakes and manipulated consent, occasionally overwhelms the narrative. The film, in its dizzying sprint, is thrilling and clever, but sometimes forgets to pause, leaving the audience more exhilarated by the craft than disturbed by the core message.

Glen Powell Anchors the Chaos

The chaos is grounded by a star-making turn from Glen Powell as Ben Richards, the construction worker turned reluctant gladiator. Trading in his usual charm for grit and a simmering anger, Powell delivers an action hero who is both vulnerable and fueled by vengeance.

Powell is supported by a stacked ensemble that perfectly embodies the dystopian cynicism:

• Josh Brolin chews through the corporate scenery as Dan Killian, the Machiavellian showrunner whose grin is weaponized for ratings.
• Colman Domingo is a flamboyant delight as the game’s charismatic host, Bobby T, gliding through moral decay in a bedazzled tux.
• Michael Cera and William H. Macy provide textured, if fleeting, supporting turns as underground rebels who aid Richards in his desperate flight.

Final Verdict

The Running Man is an ambitious film that hurtles forward on adrenaline and ambition. It is technically stunning, with a propulsive score by Steven Price and Wright’s visually unmistakable vocabulary. While the film may be too enamored with its own machinery, it remains a stylish, self-aware dystopia. It ultimately dazzles more than it truly disturbs, but succeeds as a pointed, breakneck cinematic experience.