‘The Runner’ Review: Gal Gadot in a Race-Against-the-Clock Thriller

If your idea of a good time at the movies — or, in this case, a good time at the streaming services — is to spend 80 minutes watching Gal Gadot sprinting around central London in spandex, then The Runner is clearly for you. Otherwise, this watchable if disposable high-concept thriller mostly feels like an exercise in CrossFit filmmaking, hitting the ground jogging and then dashing ahead from location to location, rarely letting up to justify its crazy logic or overcooked characters.

Directed by Kevin MacDonald, who has a solid, um, track record helming suspensers of all varieties, from the somewhat basic (Black Sea, The Eagle) to the more sophisticated (State of Play, The Mauritanian), The Runner is surely his most streamlined and dumbed-down effort thus far, eschewing narrative complexity for pure adrenaline. Using a ticking-clock scenario that starts after the very first scene, the film, which was written by Mark Gibson (Snow Dogs), brings to mind Larry Cohen-penned flicks like Cellular or Phone Booth in which the main character has to do lots of daring, impossible things while staying on the line with a certified psychopath.

In this case, the unlucky protag is Maia (Gadot), a single mother and high-octane solicitor (or lawyer, for those of you outside the UK) who’s about to prosecute a murder trial with the help of a key witness under state protection. When she drops her son, Noah (Rory Wilmot), off at school and heads out for her daily morning run through one of London’s many charming parks, she gets a call from an anonymous assailant (Damian Lewis, phoning it in because that’s the role) who’s kidnapped Noah and threatens to kill him — with an overdose of insulin since the kid is a diabetic — unless Maia agrees to murder her star witness within the next hour.

The setup is so over-the-top, and Gadot’s performance shaky enough in the opening scenes, that it looks like The Runner might belly flop the moment it leaves the starting blocks. But as the thriller begins to gain momentum, racing around town after Maia is obliged to head on foot to the hotel where her target is being heavily guarded, you manage to just sit back and go with the flow, enjoying a feat of directing-on-the-run that never lets up until its big final twist.

DP Anthony Dod Mantle (28 Years Later), a master of visceral, off-the-cuff digital cinematography, sticks closely by Gadot’s side (and front and backside) as she scampers through an array of London neighborhoods, which are captured in quick and colorful sequences revealing flashes of local flavor. Although geographic continuity isn’t always respected, MacDonald and his team do a good job making the trajectory seem fluid and real, including a mad dash that Maia makes to catch up with a train heading from one tube station to the next.

Where the film is less convincing is in its attempts at characterization, divulging Maia’s past as both a pentathlon champion (which explains her ability to run like Florence Griffith Joyner and handle firearms like Rambo) and a victim of childhood trauma (which explains her drive and quest for justice). This info is conveniently dished out during the (literally) running conversation she has with the evil phone guy, who psychologically tortures Maia while also holding her son hostage. The logic behind his diabolical scheme seems especially flawed when he reveals a plan B involving a bomb, making us question why he bothers calling up Maia in the first place.

But movies such as these are all about suspension of disbelief, and The Runner keeps a fast enough pace that we don’t wind up asking too many questions. It also helps that the race-against-the-clock scenario is particularly tailored toward Gadot’s tall, athletic and striking screen presence, turning her into an alien figure among all the ordinary Londoners she rushes by en route to her destiny. Even if this frivolous film trips up from time to time, it eventually reaches the finish line through its pure combination of speed and sweaty appeal.