A couple of weeks ago I randomly threw on The Running Man (1987) while riding a stationary bike in the morning. That was necessary because riding a stationary bike is inherently boring. This may sound crazy but I would 100% rather run on a treadmill. Unfortunately, ours is broke-ish and pushing it beyond 3.5 speed is a formula for the kind of disaster you see on America’s Funniest, Totally Not Staged, Home Videos.
I could run outside but it’s November in Michigan and cold air and I do not get along. I’ve tried wearing a gator mask but that fogs up my glasses. Also: trying to breathe through a fabric that’s meant to be semi-impervious to air is not a good time. It’s a whole thing.
So: The Running Man.
It was only afterwards that I realized my accidental timing was impeccable—the Glen Powell-helmed remake hits theaters this week. I plan on going to see it eventually. It looks fun, and I’m a fan of Powell. Though I didn’t love his two most recent high-profile films.
The remake keeps the basic premise but jettisons the dystopian trappings. Or maybe it just masks them in a way that feels familiar and not futuristic. Powell competes because he needs money for his sick daughter. I don’t know if it’s supposed to occur in America 2025, but it could. The new The Running Man is less like a deadly version of American Gladiators and more like if John Wick was a newb who was being hunted across the globe. Cool idea. Can’t wait to see it.
If you’re tempted to rewatch the 1987 film before you check out the new hotness, let me stop you at the door. It’s not a good movie. At all. It’s schlocky and goofy. Arnold Schwarzenegger has never met a pun he doesn’t like; the only knock against Predator is his terrible one-liners. (At one point, he impales a dude to a wooden post with a knife and tells him to stick around. C’mon.) In The Running Man, his dialogue is almost all puns. (Not really. I’m exaggerating for effect. The point stands.)
The gladiators who hunt Arnold are an assortment of dime store villains. WWF by way of Mad Max and Saturday morning cartoons. The most ridiculous comic book villain ever is a guy named Codpiece, who uses an enormous phallic barrel to further his evil aims. His backstory is that a girl in his school told him he was too small, which he took as a slight against his manhood. Ridiculous, but Codpiece has more pathos than any of the dudes chasing Arnold.
