thegodfather 
In this new trailer for The Running Man, the camera promises danger, neon smoke, and a hunt watched by millions. We meet Ben Richards (Glen Powell), a good man pushed into a bad game, chased across a shiny, broken future. The idea is strong: a TV bloodsport where ratings eat mercy. The cut is slick, the city glows, and the suits smile with sharp teeth. Yet, after two minutes, the pulse feels more teased than taken. The knife never twists.
Edgar Wright’s touch shows in the quick frames and rhythm. Shots pop, screens crackle, crowds roar. But the menace feels safe. The trailer hints at heart-a father, a promise, a price-but keeps it at arm’s length. Powell looks the part, lean and stubborn, but we don’t feel his fear or guilt sink in. Josh Brolin’s producer smiles like a wolf, though even that grin lands soft, more TV villain than true devil. The world should smell of sweat and cables and bad choices; here it smells like a clean set.
The action beats are clear, but familiar: rooftop run, masked hunters, blackout corridors. The lines poke at media addiction and a hungry crowd, yet the words float past without weight. The trailer wants to be a deal you can’t refuse; instead it’s a handshake-firm, but forgettable.
Will the full film go deeper-show us blood under the neon, truth under the show? Maybe. For now, this feels like a safe bet on a risky story. It runs fast, but not far. It shines, but does not scare. I wanted a grave whisper and a chill in the bone. I got a glossy promise.
Verdict: Stylish surface, thin bite. I’m curious, not convinced. (In theatres November 2025.)
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