Despite its satirical nature and heavy social commentary, The Running Man drops the ball (or the hockey puck) before the goal and trips into the net, bashes into the goalpost, gets the ball stuck in its facemask, and suffers multiple self-inflicted concussions. Well...at least it didn't murder it's ex-wife and her lover. WHOA!! TOO SOON!

1987's The Running Man is one of those "oh, so close" to being good films, but as we see time and time again, men in ties get in the way and say "We gotta ham this up! We got Arnold so its has to be stupid, right?" There is just enough left of Stephen King's novella in here that you feel like you should be able to see past the caricature of entertainment and find meaning in its messages. Time for some deep reflection, right? Well no. Time to slap your forehead in missed opportunity grief.

Its still a fun stinker, and it's unintended wackiness leaves the viewer with more joy than grief. Do NOT misunderstand though, this is NOT Commando. There is a level of tedium within and for its ridiculous nature is a little empty in content here and there. There is lots of sequences of...well...running. Running, running, running, explosion, new stalker, running, running, running, the resistance, running, running, explosion, repeat.

All and all a good time, but missed opportunities (both in quality and stinkiness) keep this one out of the pantheon of crummy action/sci-fi movies.