Edgar Wright’s 2025 remount of Stephen King’s novel The Running Man was pitched as a more accurate adaptation of the book than the 1987 film. While that may be true, this new version lacks the pace, energy, and – perplexingly – the satirical value of Paul Michael Glaser’s Shwarzenegger-starring original.

In a near-future America, society and government is dominated by an authoritarian “Network”. Working class Ben Richards (Glen Powell) has been blacklisted from his job after a whistleblowing incident, and – facing poverty – lacks the money to purchase medication for his six two-year-old daughter. In desperation he accepts an offer to star in The Running Man, a popular reality series where he can win a billion dollars if he evades capture by the Network for 30 days.

Wright’s remake restores the broader scope of King’s novel, letting its “runners” loose on the entire continental USA rather than a restricted arena space. It is essentially a decent idea: it allows the film to more broadly explore the near-future world that Richards inhabits. In practice it winds up working hard against the film’s best interests. The more open setting leaves the film exposed to logical holes and questions that come with the uncontrolled environment. It deflates the tension that drove the original film. Wright also fails to sufficiently exploit the opportunity for world-building: what he shows has been seen many times before, and any glimmers of originality are unconvincing.

Much of Richards’ adventure only functions because of a constant string of unlikely and often farcical coincidences. In a tighter, more suspenseful narrative, the audience would be less likely to notice. Sadly a slow, leaden pace and an unnecessary running time draws them into sharp relief. A major plot revelation midway through the film goes so far as to render almost the entire work meaningless.

What is more, there are challenging tone problems. The film feels as if it is caught between rival creative and commercial demands, with some scenes pushing an over-the-top satirical agenda and others aiming for a much more mainstream action-adventure narrative. That is an consistently tricky needle to thread, and the bottom line is that The Running Man fails to do it. Edgar Wright has directed a number of tremendous and distinctive films in his time, including Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and Last Night in Soho. From what is presented on screen, one would not guess he was involved in The Running Man without seeing his name in the credits. Its inconsistent mixture of tones does not make it uneven so much as woefully generic.

Glen Powell is serviceable but uninspiring in the lead role. He is evidently Hollywood’s current “star-du-jour”, pushed aggressively onto the market by an industry that still thinks it can manufacture personal success. The sooner Powell is left to find his own niche and roles the better for him and the audience. It worked for Colin Farrell, and I have no doubt it will work for Powell.

The rest of the key cast comprises some outstanding talent, including Josh Brolin, Colman Domingo, and Katy O’Brian. Not one of them needs to be in the film; their roles could have been played by anyone.

Crushingly ordinary where it should be exciting, and derivative where it should be socially relevant, The Running Man joins a long, never-ending conveyor belt of banal, by-the-numbers product. King’s book, the cast, and indeed the audience all deserved better.