"The Running Man" - Reaction

In the not-too-distant future, a once promising filmmaker burnt out by the studio process tackles his greatest challenge yet...

(Credit: Abbeygate Cinema)
It's been a good year for King adaptations, with "Life of Chuck" and "The Long Walk" (a short story and arguably his weakest Bachman novel respectively) being nothing short of a miracle, considering the history of most King adaptations. This could have been a slam dunk (not to tip my hand too early): a filmmaker known for his unique takes, adapting a dystopian satire of showbusiness and updating it for the modern day, with Glen Powell as the lead and the backing and approval of King himself.
Edgar Wright has not been exciting in a long time. His Sparks documentary remains my favourite of his works and the last time he made a great movie: "Baby Driver" left me cold and "Last Night In Soho" was confused right up until its ending utterly shat the bed. This adaptation of the book apparently is an attempt to skew closer to its grittier roots, but the colourful, memorably campy Arnold Schwarzenegger version rears its head frequently whenever the movie thinks we're getting bored and tries to be "fun". The mish mash of tones is the worst of both worlds: none of the pop, or the fun, well edited works of early Wright (in fact there is an atrociously choppy fight sequence in the cockpit of a plane) - and all of the basic story points of the book with none of the grit and way of King's writing. The tonal shifts are not the problem (well, not the main problem) though they are best exemplified by Michael Cera appearing to give a rather good performance as a rebel whose father was slain by the state, then to be "oh-so-wacky" with a water gun as the same goons invade his house and he sips from Monster Energy whilst giving exposition. It would be satirical in more interested hands.
The entire affair is soulless, empty and left me feeling cold and bored. As dumb as the Arnie movie it, it's at least consistent and kind of bonkers in its casting and characters, and knew what it was. Here the film just limps along, committing to neither bit and feeling anonymous in its direction, yo-yoing between tones.
The book has suffered from a "John Carter of Mars" syndrome in that many of its best ideas and themes and images have been pilfered by other works, and "showbiz murder" satire has been done better and more consistently in things such as "Series 7: The Contenders", "The Hunger Games" (alright, I'm not a fan of that one) and the exemplary "Battle Royale" to name a few; but this defence falls away like cardboard when you try to admire the movie on its own merits. Staid, by the numbers and anonymous.
They even pussy out of the book's ending.
I watched "Pool Party Massacre" on DVD after this, having picked it up for 3 quid. That was a far better time: it knew what it was, there was a coherent vision, the characters were more fun, and the movie was never confused about what it was trying to be.