THE RUNNING MAN: Blu-ray (Columbia, 1963) Arrow Academy
“Time is running
out for the running man,” poster art publicity for Carol Reed’s The Running
Man (1963) proclaimed. Mercifully, the same cannot be said of the picture’s
long-overdue reputation, much maligned in its day, but since rife for
rediscovery, thanks partly to its forced absence from public view for far too
long. Indeed, The Running Man is one of those movies most have probably
never seen. Certainly, it never made the rounds as late-night TV fodder. And,
if the picture made money theatrically – and it did – Reed was to never
speak of it during any of the many interviews and retrospectives on his career.
Reed’s first picture after being unceremoniously deposed from the set of Mutiny
on the Bounty (1962) due to clashing creative differences with its star,
Marlon Brando, The Running Man is based on a novel by Shelly Smith –
little known to all but the crime cognoscenti these days, and adapted with expert
wit and dialogue by screenwriter, John Mortimer, who stayed fairly close to its
source material – with alterations made only to placate the reigning code of
censorship. Mortimer’s rare skill for writing idiomatic dialogue had augmented
many a great and ghoulish thriller, including 1961’s The Innocents, and
1965’s Bunny Lake Is Missing. For The Running Man, Mortimer’s
skills are working overtime. Think it is easy to write dialogue that doesn’t
sound as though it’s rehearsed? Try it sometime.
Ironically, after
The Ballad of the Running Man (the novel’s full name), Smith would never
again enjoy such renown as an author. And even more curiously, despite its many
virtues to be discussed shortly herein, The Running Man has been
shamelessly overlooked as a valid part of Reed’s canon, and this, despite a
cast featuring three of the decade’s most bankable and handsome stars; Laurence
Harvey, Lee Remick and Alan Bates. Shot on location, almost entirely in Spain (Algeciras,
Cádiz, and, Andalucía), also Gibraltar, with interiors at Ardmore Studios in
Ireland (to accommodate Harvey, who could not shoot in England due to its tax
laws), The Running Man is gorgeously lit and luminously photographed by
cinematographer extraordinaire, Robert Krasker. That the resultant movie somehow feels less of
a valiant successor to Reed’s memorable spate of thrillers – ironically, all of
them with the word ‘man’ in their title (Odd Man Out, 1947, The Third
Man, 1949, The Man Between, 1953, and, Our Man in Havana,
1958), is unfortunate, as, in retrospect, The Running Man has a great
deal to offer the first-time viewer and, on the whole, is a nimble and
occasionally nail-biting and suspenseful tale of human folly.
Something of a prima
donna, Laurence Harvey tested everyone’s patience on the set; particularly
Carol Reed, with whom he chronically clashed, and co-star, Lee Remick, whom he toggled
between mistreating or avoiding altogether between takes, leaving Remick
feeling abused and deflated. Miraculously, none of this insolence creeps into either
performance. Remick, at the top of her game, looks utterly ravishing besides; Krasker’s
camera, transparently in love with her impossibly crystal-blue and sparkling
eyes. It ought to be said: Lee Remick was not only a radiant beauty but an even
rarer talent. In The Running Man she manages to channel a guileless
guilt, inner torment, self-loathing and wounded pride. We get a sincerely sad
woman whose affections are unexpectedly transferred from one man to another. Reed’s acceptance to make The Running Man
for Columbia Pictures was one he would quickly come to regret, mostly due to the
conflicts incurred between him and Harvey – shades of the Brando debacle on ‘Bounty’
that had given him the old heave-ho at MGM and left Reed with a lot of proverbial
baggage and ‘egg’ on his face. Suffering a crisis of confidence, Reed might
have retreated from the picture-making biz altogether, as his contemporary,
David Lean would later do after the disastrous New York critic’s reception to Ryan’s
Daughter (1970). Except that Reed needed a movie to firmly re-cement his legacy
in Hollywood. Alas, the critical response to The Running Man only seemed
to suggest Reed had not only lost his nerve, but equally, his unique storytelling
sense of style.
Perhaps as
assurance, on The Running Man Reed chose to surround himself with
long-time behind-the-scenes collaborators whom he implicitly trusted: Krasker –
his favorite cinematographer, composer, William Alwyn - to write the score, and
editor, Bert Bates. Interestingly, The Running Man would put a period to
all these time-honored alliances; Krasker and Bates, never again to work for
Reed, and Alwyn, in fact, never to write for film – concentrating the rest of
his career on composing five symphonies, four operas, and, a handful of
concertos and string quartets – a very prolific artist. Relatively speaking, pre-production
on The Running Man went smoothly. Lee Remick almost did not do the
picture; considered as a last-minute replacement for Marilyn Monroe on the
chronically delayed Something’s Gotta Give (1962) over at Fox before
that movie’s co-star, Dean Martin, refused to budge unless the studio re-hired
Monroe. So, Remick, who had gone as far as fittings and screen tests to fill
the part, was plucked from its roster to rejoin The Running Man’s cast.
As for Alan Bates, he accepted the role of the mercurial Stephen with some
trepidation. “That’s the only time I worked on a film for commercial reasons,”
Bates later recalled, “…it seemed a good thing to be with a famous director
and a famous actor and a famous actress.”
And in 1962, Laurence
Harvey’s star had risen to incalculable heights. Harvey, whose hedonistic abuse
of cigarettes and alcohol would eventually usher him into an early grave (he
was only 45 years old in 1973 when stomach cancer claimed him), was one of the most
driven personalities working in pictures then; slavishly committed to his
career and, in an era when stars made one or two pictures a year, pushing
through a production slate of 5 major roles in under twelve months, leading one
anonymous actor to quip, “Larry demands at least a half hour between films.”
While no one could challenge Harvey’s
work ethic, his attitude towards fellow co-workers was often intolerable. He
could be counted upon to be abrasive and egotistical to a fault. And Harvey’s
verve to succeed was not above a little on-off ‘courtship of Columbia Pictures’
former president, Harry Cohn’s widow, Joan Perry Cohn – the uber-socialite
whose connections in Hollywood arguably served Harvey well. One has to truly
wonder about Laurence Harvey – a man who, in retrospect, seemed poised to
self-destruct on his own ego, despite being afforded every opportunity to
succeed without it. And Harvey also had grave contempt for Hollywood’s
corporate influencers. “The people
who run the companies today are no longer interested in films, but only in
greed, lining their pockets and destroying what was once a great field of entertainment
and sometimes even an art. In order to survive, one has to be continually
fighting their negativity and stupidity. Where one time, we could spend all our
efforts and energies on performance, we now have to watch every other aspect of
the business…”
It is perhaps
difficult to fault Laurence Harvey for his swelled head, as critical acclaim
and success seemed to come too easy to him. Either that, or he was, in fact,
just that damn good. However, if, as it has been suggested, some people are
just born to be wrecked – or rather, wreck themselves – then Harvey decidedly
was a poster child for such self-destructive behaviors. “Someone once asked me, ‘Why is it so many
people hate you?’” Harvey once mused, “…and I said, ‘Do they? How super!
I'm really quite pleased about it.’” And, even if Harvey’s glibness was a
ruse, or if only half the rumors about his bluntness are true, he had his share
of passionate friends too, including no less Hollywood glitterati then Elizabeth
Taylor, with whom he made two movies. Taylor remained steadfast and true to
their friendship, visiting Harvey just weeks before he died. Upon learning of
his death, Taylor issued a heartfelt statement, in part reading, “He was one
of the people I really loved in this world. He was part of the sun. For
everyone who loved him, the sun is a bit dimmer today.”
Because Laurence
Harvey had made so much money working in Hollywood, he absolutely refused to
return to his native England, where he would have had to pay an exorbitant
amount in taxable earnings. So, production was switched from Shepperton Studios
to Ireland and then, of course to all those sun-lit Spanish vistas. If Harvey
was ultimately disillusioned by The Running Man, he could at least revel
in the circus troupe-like atmosphere that transformed the production into one
on-going fiesta, nightly populated by more than 2500 locals and an intercontinental
mix of English and Spanish crew. Frequently, Reed shot all night, in San Roque
alone, from 9pm until 5am. While in Spain two minor tragedies occurred, the
first involving Lee Remick, whose limousine was sideswiped by a truck along a
stretch of narrow coastal highway. The limo was totaled, but Remick – who managed
to escape with only minor shock – was back on the set barely an hour later. The
other ‘incident’ involved stunt pilot, John Crewdson and camera operator, John
Harris, whose 2-seater plane took a nose-dive off the Rock of Gibraltar. Again,
and even more miraculously this time, the men escaped with relatively minor
injuries, treated at the nearby military hospital.
The Running Man begins with a
prologue in Croydon, England. Stella Black (Lee Remick) has just returned to the
modest flat she once shared with her seemingly late husband, Rex (Laurence
Harvey) who apparently died in a freak gliding accident over the Channel. As Rex’s
body was never recovered, the mourners attending the widow now encourage her to
look to the future and perhaps even plan a vacation getaway. The wrinkle: Rex did
not die and Stella damn well knows it. In fact, he has been hiding out under an
assumed name at a seaside boarding house for nearly three months. The couple has
staged everything to perpetrate a fraud of £50,000 against the Excelsior
Insurance Company, whom Rex blames for ruining his business by previously
failing to pay out a legitimate claim. Rex narrowly avoids being spotted by
Excelsior agent, Stephen Maddox (Alan Bates) who arrives at the flat to discuss
payout details with Stella and confirm that Rex’s ‘death’ was not suicide – for
which Excelsior would not have to shell out one dime. Convinced of her sincerity,
Stephen releases the funds. Stella and
Rex now plot their next move: Rex, to fly to Paris at once, and Stella, to
collect the insurance payout and hightail it to Málaga, Spain for their
pre-arranged rendezvous.
In Málaga, Rex steals
the passport of Jim Jerome (John Meillon), an Australian sheep farmer, whose
identity he successfully adopts, dying both his pencil-moustache and pate
blonde. When Stella arrives in Málaga, she
finds her husband greatly changed, having adopted a rather laissez faire
attitude towards life with an international sect of fair-weather friends who believe
Stella is Jerome’s casual girlfriend. At the bank, Rex and Stella convert the
insurance money into a draft that can be cashed anywhere in the world – a
process that will take one week. Rex encourages his wife to play along; a front
Stella finds annoying, since ‘Jerome’s’ friends include some fairly attractive
women who are constantly lingering around him with dishonorable romantic
intentions. Now, Rex reveals an even more insidious plot – to have ‘Jerome’ die
so they can collect even more insurance money. It all seems perfect, or rather,
perfectly diabolical; except that Stephen Maddox has resurfaced, claiming
coincidentally to be in Málaga on a holiday. Stephen asks Stella out for dinner.
She declines. However, Stella finds Stephen more genuine and affectionate than
her own husband. Rex is possessive and jealous. But does he really love Stella?
Believing Stephen’s arrival in town is
too convenient, a ploy by Excelsior to investigate their payout further, Rex
encourages Stella to placate Stephen’s ‘interests’ and befriend him long enough
for the bank draft to go through.
The decision to
keep Stephen close leads to unexpected complications. Stella begins to fall for
Stephen and he for her. Now, Rex
deliberately places more obstacles between him and Stella, who just wants to be
with her husband, using Stella as bait to reel Stephen in. Rex notices Stephen
is frequently scribbling things down in a small notebook he carries with him
everywhere. Rex instructs Stella to get closer to Stephen to learn its contents.
At the beach, Rex deliberately ruins Stephen’s camera with which he had photographed
them earlier. Now, Rex orders Stella to sneak into Stephen’s room and obtain
his notebook. Discovering her in his bedroom, Stella feigns an invitation to go
to bed. They do, and Stella realizes how much she cares for Stephen. She also
learns since their last meeting; Stephen has quit the insurance racket to work
for a paint company. In fact, his arrival in town is purely coincidental
– a luxury getaway paid for by his future employers as a bonus. The booklet he
has been writing in is merely a personal diary of all the best restaurants and
hotels to stay in while he is on holiday. Inadvertently, Stella lets it slip
that ‘Jerome’ is Rex, but then manages to cover up the slip. However, when Rex
returns from Málaga, Stephen plays a percentage and calls him by his real name.
Although Rex cleverly avoids acknowledging it, he now believes Stephen knows
all about their scam. His new plan is to ditch Stephen and cross the border
into Gibraltar. Relieved, Stella does not tell Rex what she has found out about
Stephen.
The next
morning, Stephen awakens to find one of Stella’s expensive earrings in his bed,
left after their previous afternoon of love-making. Hearing Rex and Stella’s
car drive off, Stephen pursues the couple in his own car, determined to return
the earring. Once again, his motives are misperceived by Rex, who invites Stephen
to follow them high into the mountains for a drink, but then proceeds to run
Stephen’s car off the road along a narrow precipice. Mercifully, the wreck is
witnessed by a pair of local road workers who rescue Stephen moments before his
car plummets down a steep ravine. Unknowing Stephen has survived the wreck,
Stella is terrorized by the murder she believes Rex has just committed. His
greed, now insatiable, takes over. Rex leads authorities on a spirited car
chase. At some point, Stella manages to get out of the car and flee into the
city on foot, briefly ducking into a church, only to be rediscovered by Rex and,
this time, taken hostage to keep his secret. Unable to cross into Gibraltar, Rex learns the
truth from Stella – everything, including the night she spent in Stephen’s bedroom.
Incensed, Rex tries to strangle Stella, but is prevented from killing her by
the police. Now, Rex makes a daring attempt at escape, driving past security
guards at the aerodrome to a single-engine Cessna on the tarmac. The plane, alas, suffers from a leaky fuel
line, something Rex does not realize until shortly after takeoff. The engine
fails and Rex crashes into the sea. He is rescued by the coast guard, but dies
on a stretcher at the docks as Stella looks on. Reunited with Stephen at the police
station, Stella keeps up appearances, insisting Rex is Jerome, a man she barely
knew and only just casually met while on holiday. Stephen goes along with her
story as Stella watches the harbor patrol with Rex’s body aboard, pull away –
all their careful plotting come to not.
Although The
Running Man turned a profit, it was not the bell-ringer Columbia had hoped
for; nor, did it exonerate Reed of the stigma of being considered past his
prime. Certainly, this was not the
picture for which Reed would prefer to be remembered. So, in subsequent
interviews, even after his wildly successful musical adaptation of Oliver!
(1968) swept the Academy Awards and re-cemented Reed as a director of choice, he
continued to remain silent about The Running Man, as though to justify
the critics’ backlash with his own shame.
Yet, in hindsight, The Running Man is a fine film. If not
top-tier Reed, then at least it is certainly far from the turkey status most
critics ascribed it in 1964. In fact, The Running Man is a fairly absorbing
thriller, despite its decidedly more laid-back approach. In hindsight, the one
let down here is Laurence Harvey. True confession: personally, I have never
found Harvey a particularly compelling actor. Even in The Manchurian
Candidate (1962), arguably his finest hour, he just seems to be bringing up
the rear, over-shown by Sinatra and Angela Lansbury’s titanic performances. Despite
his star-billing here as the eponymous ‘running man’, the one essential Harvey
cannot convey is Rex’s inexplicable sense of self-entrapment. And, in the grand
finale, Rex’s inability to remain level-headed, or even true to himself, results
in a man quite unable to regain his moral compass, spinning wildly out of
control.
After shooting
was completed, Carol Reed went off to Ardmore Studios with his editor, Bert
Bates to begin the arduous process of cutting the movie. Alas, in poor health,
Reed’s concentration repeatedly failed him. For the first time in his career,
he seemed to wallow in self-pity and increasingly was incapable of making the
sort of executive decisions necessary to get the job done on time and under
budget. Bates was patient for a time, but became exacerbated by Reed’s stalemate.
This created a rift in their professional working relationship. And Reed, allowing
anxiety to overtake him, could not shake the feeling The Running Man was
becoming yet another cringe-worthy reason for the critics to snap at his heels.
Most of them did after The Running Man had its world premiere; labeling it
‘pedestrian’ and ‘old-fashioned.’ Reed was heavily criticized for his inability
to remain relevant with the times. The
picture relies heavily on its glorious sun-filtered vistas and exotic locales
to inform and inspire the audience to stay tuned for what comes next and this
seems to be the biggest complaint critics had when it premiered; the lack of
mounting suspense, though hardly mounting dread that permeates virtually every
frame in the movie’s third act. Better still, the performances of Lee Remick
and Alan Bates are exceedingly well-informed, despite Bates later claiming he
was completely unaware of his character’s true motivations and spent every
take, firmly believing he had somehow failed his director. Miraculously, this
insecurity translates into a cagey quality that makes the audience hang on with
baited anticipation for Stephen’s next move, wondering, along with Stella and
Rex, whether or not he is actually in search of the truth or just a casual
bystander.
I find my once
galvanized and unanimous praise for Sony Pictures Home Entertainment on the
wane these days. While the studio continues to excel at releasing both back
catalog and current movies in near to pristine condition, on Blu-ray and in 4K,
of late, they appear to be cherry-picking which catalog titles get the 5-star treatment,
especially when farming out movies to third-party distributors like Arrow Academy.
The Running Man is an uneven offering; first, as it has never been made
available on any home video format, it therefore, should have been afforded a
stellar debut, and second, that the remastering efforts herein completely skirt
even basic digital clean-up that would have rendered it otherwise, almost perfect.
Much of the image yields exquisite color,
showing off cinematographer, Robert Krasker’s gorgeous work in its very best
light. Colors are rich and vibrant, and contrast is excellent. However, right
from the beginning, something is remiss; the Columbia logo, faded and
exceptionally grainy, followed by a main title sequence – designed by Maurice Binder – riddled in heavy age-related dirt and speckling.
From here, we segue
into the first optical dissolve, depicting Rex’s funeral service. Opticals are
always problematic, although with proper care applied, they can be brought ‘almost’
in check with current viewing standards and expectations. Herein, however, the
opticals are a dirty/grainy mess. The grain is so thick it distorts the image,
and colors here lean toward vinegar syndrome with ruddy flesh tones and a
decided rosy push. It’s Pathe color, which doesn’t help. And even as the image
thereafter continues to steadily improve, it still suffers from sporadic color
density issues and chronic age-related artifacts. In some scenes, the speckling
almost vanishes. But in others, it distracts. The 2.0 PCM audio is passable, though just,
and gives a good ‘vintage’ representation of the theatrical experience, albeit
with minor hiss and pop. For an Arrow
release, extras are thin. We get an informative audio commentary from Carol
Reed biographer, Peter William Evans, and a nearly half-hour featurette, rather
slapdash in its assemblage of new and vintage interview clips. Lee Remick’s
appearance at the National Film Theatre, appears as a badly worn audio-only offering
accessed over the main feature. There is also another track showcasing William
Alwyn’s score, plus an image gallery and a collector’s booklet with new essays
by Barry Forshaw. Bottom line: The Running Man is a movie rife for
rediscovery. If you’ve seen it before, I promise you, it is far better than you
remember it. And if you have never seen it, then you are in for a sincere
treat. The Blu-ray is a bit of a disappointment – imperfect and not up to Sony’s
usually high standards. Regrets.
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
3
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