Dystopian action reboot starring Glen Powell limps along

Playing an all-powerful TV producer in the dystopian action film “The Running Man,” Josh Brolin dramatically proclaims, “Critics say ‘The Running Man’ represents a return to the barbarism of the Roman Colosseum!” 

I wouldn’t go that far. Gladiators battling lions is way cooler than anything in run-of-the-mill “Running Man.” 

But I would say that the reboot of the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, now starring Glen Powell, marks an unnecessary return to 1987 and to the last 13 years of “Hunger Games” films. Not to mention “Battle Royale” and “Squid Game.”

It’s death by reality TV. Again.

What makes this new film, based on Stephen King’s 1982 novel set in a futuristic authoritarian America, theoretically enticing is its writer and director, Edgar Wright. 

The sharp Brit has tickled and terrified before with “Shaun of the Dead,” “Hot Fuzz” and the sexy horror time-travel movie “Last Night in Soho.”

Yet Wright’s signature identity here becomes as anonymous as its disguised main character Ben Richards (Powell), the hunky guy who’s trying to avoid being killed for 30 days in order to win $1 billion. 

Where is Wright’s mastery of tone and zany-but-unnerving quick-cut style? Replaced by a cacophony of assembly-line sci-fi noise in a blah “Blade Runner” that, depending on the scene, is either stupidly serious or seriously stupid.

Our hero, Ben (Powell), is a meathead who’s all determination, no personality.

Working-class Ben’s little daughter is sick. She has a fever, and the family has no money. So, Ben heads to the monolithic Network and signs up to be a reality TV contestant to rake in some dough. He winds up on the most dangerous and popular show of all — “The Running Man,” where he’s chased around the country by gun-toting “hunters” for a month in a race to survive. 

No one ever wins.

Least of all the audience. 

William H. Macy gives Ben a fake ID and he trains to New York. Competing with two other “runners” (Katy O’Brian and Martin Herlihy, who there is nothing to say about), he dons a mustache and, later, pretends to be an Irish priest — accent and all. That Ben could deceive even a single person is absolutely impossible.

The Ryan Seacrest of “The Running Man” is Bobby T. (Colman Domingo), a flashy host who makes grandiose statements with the kerplunk of an anvil such as “Bloodlust is our birthright!”

Domingo, who is suddenly in every movie, gives his usual sinister-with-a-smile performance that’s fast becoming shtick.

A lot of the comedy, such as it is, falls to Bobby T., and it’s all lame, which is not entirely the actor’s fault. The jokes are just as bad everywhere else.  

A recurring bit with a “Keeping Up With the Kardashians”-like show called “The Americanos” is spray-tan fake and an unfunny clunker.

Even as a vanilla sprinter, Powell radiates movie-star energy. Although he was better in “Twisters” and “Top Gun: Maverick,” he’s highly watchable here. Though, Wright might have gone a tad further to make the actor believably low-caste.  

At one point, poor Ben shouts at a woman played by Emilia Jones, saying that her scarf costs more than his ailing daughter’s meds. This is conspicuous, however, as Powell’s perfect, blinding teeth look like they were ripped off a Steinway grand piano. 

Jones’ shrieking and extreme overacting, by the way, should get some notice from the Razzie committee.

We arrive at the final violent confrontation via the assistance of Michael Cera, who plays an ex-Navy SEAL. Just kidding! He’s a nerd.

Onboard a jet, Brolin’s Dan Killian, who’s the sort of villain who stares out the window as he whispers to you, forces in some requisite twists that the viewer is way ahead of. The “duh” ending is a poorly handled let-down you have seen in a thousand other movies.

If only, you leave thinking, we had returned to the barbarism of the Roman Colosseum.