In a dystopian future society, income inequality rules all aspects of life. The have-nots live hand- to-mouth in monolithic cement slums, scratching for food and sustenance. Employers are centralized and control who works and who doesn’t. Fluidity within societal strata is restricted to those who have. The primary, perhaps only form of entertainment is reality television, controlled by one network and a tiny hierarchy of producers. It is the kind of “big brother” nightmare envisioned by Ray Bradbury in “Fahrenheit 451” or, more specifically, by Stephen King, who wrote the underlying material.
Ben Richards is a have-not. His baby daughter has a high fever and is dying. He’s out of work and his wife’s job doesn’t provide enough for medicine or a doctor. Burying his pride, Richards returns to his old employer, one that fired him because he made a verbal complaint about leaking radiation at the factory, and begs for his job or at least a small stipend so he can provide for his dying child. Compassion is not a word known by big business, and he is laughed out of the office. He’s run out of options and, in desperation, he joins the throngs auditioning for a spot on one of the endless reality shows.
The network’s crown jewel is “The Running Man,” a deadly competition that pits Runners, the contestants, against Assassins, whose only job is to hunt down the Runners, with an assist from the general public, and kill them. The Runners are tasked with staying alive for 30 days, with a gigantic payout, $1 billion, for the winner. The deck is stacked, much more stacked than the bloodthirsty public knows. But, the stakes for the desperate are worth the risk because it’s not just a payout at the end, no one has ever beaten the odds, but the intermediate bonuses awarded by reaching certain goals that go to the designated survivors. Although Richards had promised his wife that he would choose a non-lethal game, it was not in his hands because his anger-infused personality was just what the producer was looking for. He will be a ratings hit and ratings are what drive the financial gain for all. Richards is the dream come true for producer Dan Killian, who convinces him that, at the very least, the intermediary bonuses will keep his daughter alive and allow them to move up to better accommodations with the promise of increased status.
The race is on, prominently featured on TV and moderated by the network’s very smooth host, Bobby Thompson. The audience is clearly on Richards’ side, keeping him in the game as the hunters begin zeroing in. Richards, now something of a folk hero, is able to tap into his own personal resources, one who provides him with disguises and fake IDs, another who hides and then ferries him to an outlier, discovering that there is an underground network working to undermine the system that holds them back and has destroyed dissension. And the relentless Assassins keep coming while the television audiences are manipulated by the producer, who alters video and events to increase or decrease Richards’ popularity.
The director, humor horror master Edgar Wright (“Shaun of the Dead”), seems to have lost his way in “The Running Man.” One has the distinct impression that he wanted this movie to be a darkly humorous take on present day American society, where the cultural and financial divide is increasing, acceptance of dissent is decreasing, and we are being fed an increasingly stultifying range of reality shows that definitely fall into the category of opiate for the masses. All of these elements are present, along with gratuitous violence, explosions, deafening noise and bazooka shots to the belly. Look for a hilarious sendup of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” called “The Americanos,” the network’s other hit primetime reality show. If you look closely, you’ll see Debi Mazur as the matriarch of this raven-haired coven.
Wright has constructed a movie of scenes, all of which seem to stand alone but never completely mesh into a cohesive unit. Richards runs; Richards hides with or without the help of others; the Assassins chase; collateral damage ensues; quirky characters emerge periodically; Richard runs. Rinse, repeat. Somewhere within this loud, fast movie a plot may lie. Yes, it’s a sendup of reality TV, dark-hatted villains and cartoon violence, but it never comes together. It’s a real head-scratcher.
The failures lie squarely in the hands of the uncooked script by Michael Bacall and Edgar Wright and in Wright’s directorial concept, a concept that I have yet to grasp. The actors, on the other hand, are terrific and do what was on the confusing page.
Michael Cera is one of the bright lights in all of this as he plays Elton, an offbeat, off-kilter farmer with a justifiable grudge against the government and a fetish about hot dogs. Helping Richards along his way is undermined by his nuttier than a fruitcake mother, Victoria, played by Sandra Dickinson. Coleman Domingo is Bobby Thompson, the ultra-suave MC who plays his role without a “wink-wink” but definitely with humor. Domingo always elevates his material. Josh Brolin, as Dan Killian the producer, is a good enough actor that his villain is missing only a “V for Vendetta” mustache. He’s chilling, charming and frightening.
Glen Powell plays Ben Richards. Handsome, angry, vengeful, he is a network’s dream leading man. Range is not something built into the character but he keeps you watching and rooting for him. His role is nevertheless hampered by the lack of development, both of his character and the script. Because Ben Richards’ situation is so dire there is no humor, black or otherwise, built into his character and that is a pity because it’s been a strength he’s shown in other movies.
At an hour and a half, it’s still too long and bloated. Apparently, the filmmakers were of the opinion that more is never enough when it comes to explosions and killing, not realizing that there is a saturation point where the audience becomes inured to everything, even the sound.
Paramount treats reviewers well, in this case hosting the preview on the studio lot in their beautiful theater and providing popcorn. Unfortunately, like the movie, the popcorn was stale.
Now playing at AMC theaters including the Century City 15 as well as the Culver Theater.
Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.
