Autobiopic: The Running Man

‘Tis the season to be jolly – jolly broke! All month long here at The ‘Bin, we’re gonna do a bit of counter-programming in the form of

BUY & SELL: CONSUMERISM GONE WILD! MONTH

 

We have a hot one this week. Let’s go straight to the review!

 

 
Directed by Paul Michell Glaser, 1987, 100 minutes, Rated R
“Don’t touch that dial!”

 

I am very much a child of the ‘80s. As such, I had a lot of the same cultural role models as many of the other boys my age: the too-cool-for-school Han Solo, the all-business powerhouse of the Boston Red Sox, Jim Rice, and the dashing good ol’ boy Bo Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard. Yes, I know The Dukes of Hazzard hasn’t aged well, but it had car chases and whatnot, and that was more than enough to impress me as a wee lad.

But there was one man I found particularly fascinating. He was a beloved television personality, and because of him I learned the meaning of such words as “suave” and “droll” because he fully embodied those concepts. And the women loved him – loved him. That man, of course, was Richard Dawson, host of The Family Feud.

 

Yes, I know this take hasn’t aged well, but Dawson was effortlessly charming and funny and stylish, and that was more than enough to impress me as a wee lad. Other kids wanted to be astronauts or firemen or baseball players, but I wanted to be Richard Dawson. So it shouldn’t be any surprise that I was very, very, very excited for Mr. Dawson’s star turn as the villainous game show host in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s The Running Man. 

I can’t help but feel that The Running Man is the neglected film in Schwarzenegger’s filmography. I get that it falls in a truly epic run of Ahnold movies (Predator, The Running Man, Red Heat, Twins, Total Recall, Kindergarten Cop, Terminator 2 – how’s that for a five-year run?), but that’s not to love about The Running Man? It has Ahnold in his career prime and most quippiest, it’s (very loosely) based on a Stephen King story, it has Richard freakin’ Dawson!

Know what else it has? An opening scroll in a font that screams “The Future Circa 1982.” I’ll spare you the full transcription, but we’re in the distant future of 2017 and we’re either in the world of The Hunger Games or North Korea. Also, the general public has become enamored with a “sadistic game show” featuring “high-tech gladiators.” Maybe someday someone can explain how gladiator fights appease unhappy masses.

Hey, it’s Ahnold (or “Ben Richads,” as the film insists on calling him), and he’s flying a choppah! He and his fellow soldiers have been ordered to fire on a “food riot” consisting of unarmed, starving people. Ahnold refuses, and he brothers-in-arms are strangely happy to beat the snot out of him. This not only gets him thrown in a workcamp with Yaphet Kotto and a Nerdy Tech Guy that takes at least seven minutes to break out of, but it also gets Ahnold framed as “The Butcher of Bakersfield” for firing on unarmed citizens.

Enough of that, let’s talk about The Dawson! Check out how we meet his character, famed game show host Damon Killian: Dawson is pedeconferencing with his assistant about ratings when he physically bumps into an old janitor. The janitor is immediately apologetic, but Dawson blows it off. Dawson draws him in, asks the old guy for his name, complements him. And then, alone in the elevator with his assistant, Dawson makes it clear that the janitor is to be fired post-haste.

It’s the kind of “evil corporate guy” scene we’ve scene a million times, but Richard Dawson sells the hell out of it. It’s the most convincing instance of someone being warm and folksy and then a cutthroat bastard on the flip of a switch. It makes me wish Richard Dawson did more movies.

Meanwhile, Yaphet Kotto and Nerdy Tech Guy want Ahnold to join their Resistance to Fight the Power and Rise Against the Machine and whatnot, but Ahnold wants nothing to do with it. Instead, he goes to his brother’s apartment to find a Lovely Latina Lady doing aerobics in lingerie to a workout show hosted by Jesse “The Body” Ventura. I know that sentence reads like a fever dream, but that’s what happens. Ahnold comes up with a terrible plan to force the Lovely Latina Lady to go to Hawaii with him, and it’s a bit depressing to see that even in this fascist dystopian future, airport security isn’t as strict or invasive as it is in our real life. Yada yada yada, Ahnold has “volunteered” to be the next contestant on The Running Man.

There’s some great satire here. In addition to the stuff we’d expect about studios doing anything for ratings, we get fun little moments like a “court-appointed theatrical agent” and members of the studio audience winning “The Running Man home game.” The televised experience of The Running Man itself is frightening like today’s Big Brother: a large studio audience applauds the host, and together they all watch beefy idiots do stuff via a giant TV screen.

(Side Note: Big Brother might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever watched – and that’s coming from someone who chooses to watch and review bad movies. Yet, as of this writing, Big Brother has been on the air for 22 years and is still hosted by the robot known as “Julie Chen.” The has just been renewed for a 25^th season. The world is indeed full of mystery.)

Right before Ahnold is sent into the game on some kind of hydraulic bobsled, we get the Greatest Use of Ahnold’s Catchphrase Ever. “I’ll be back,” Ahnold gravely informs Richard Dawson. The Dawson takes a beat, intimidated, then recovers and glibly retorts, “Only in a rerun.” Ha!

Have I really gone 900 words without talking about the actual game within The Running Man? That’s because it’s kind of half-baked. Contestants have to make their way through unused sets from The Warriors while “Stalkers” – assassins outfitted like rejected Mortal Kombat characters who are selected by members of the studio audience – hunt them down and kill them. Of course, they’ve never met a contestant like Ahnold, and soon enough, the studio audience starts pulling for the underdog.

I could happily write another 900 words talking about the Stalkers. Hell, I could write 900 words about the ridiculous Dynamo – what with his opera singing and Lite Brite uniform and goofy little go-cart – but I’d just assume not spoil the experience for you. Yes, as Kurt Fuller grumbles in a particularly self-aware moment, The Running Man does have some third act problems, but it’s the helluva lot of fun and deserving of more attention than it gets.

 

This is the great and terrible Dynamo. Now go watch this movie.

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