On the Run — A Senseless Sprint

On the Run: full review

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The multiplex's air conditioning blew like a hospital blizzard while the teenager in row 3 chewed popcorn with the delicacy of a tractor. I, with €9.50 burned in my wallet, sat down to watch Gal Gadot, an action movie goddess, turned into a desperate mother who seems to have received a call from Death itself. The theater was half-empty, a bad omen that would be confirmed in the first ten minutes, where the tension didn't rise, but evaporated like the steam from a cup of cold coffee in an accounting office.

Kevin Macdonald, the director who gifted us "The Last King of Scotland" and "The Iron Lady", returns to the fray with "On the Run" as if it were a confession of his own insecurities. The industrial context is the typical Anglo-American hybrid of Amazon MGM Studios, a production company that seems more interested in padding its catalog than taking risks. Mark Gibson's script, which in theory should be a race against time, feels more like a walk down an office hallway with fluorescent lights. There is no rush, there is narrative bureaucracy.

It is said that the original kidnapping scene was reshot three times because the producer wasn't satisfied with the tension. The result is a series of clumsy cuts that leave the viewer wondering if the editing was done by a YouTube algorithm. It's a movie that feels assembled in a boardroom, not on a set. The first half of the film drags like a poorly preserved 16mm tape. The camera follows Maia (Gadot) running down a London street while the sound of her footsteps mixes with a subglottal sub-shout that sounds like a shark breathing.

Anthony Dod Mantle's cinematography, usually impeccable, here becomes a dirty grain that pretends to be “raw realism” but ends up looking like a bad copy of a low-budget movie. It is a stylistic mistake that screams insecurity.

Direction and mise-en-scène

Macdonald tries to create an atmosphere of paranoia, but his direction remains on the surface. The scene where Maia receives the call is a 15-second static shot, with the actress looking directly into the camera as if it were an Instagram confession. The dialogue, written by Gibson, sounds like a survival manual for mothers who have watched too many Netflix thrillers: "Don't trust anyone" she repeats like a mantra without nuance. There is no subtext, there are instructions. Practical effects are scarce; the only chase sequence showing a car skidding on wet asphalt is full of cheap CGI that is instantly noticeable. The physics of the vehicle are so absurd it looks like a 90s driving video game. The only piece of latex that manages to stand out is the fake scar on Damian Lewis's (The Caller) hand, which looks like it came from a Halloween costume shop. It's a detail that breaks the immersion completely.

Performances and script

Gal Gadot carries the emotional weight with the dignity of a queen, but the script drags her through dialogue that sounds like video game instructions. Her line "What do you want from me?" is repeated twice in the same scene, as if the editor had lost faith in the audience's ability to keep up. Her effort is admirable, but useless against a text that gives her no tools. Damian Lewis, always elegant, plays a villain who seems to have been pulled from a 70s novel. His British accent is so forced it's comical, and his blank stare fails to convey the threat the script demands of him. Rory Wilmot as Noah, the kidnapped son, barely appears on screen, and when he does, his face is covered by a cheap wig that peels off in every shot. It is a production error that cannot be forgiven. Alfred Enoch and Phoenix Di Sebastiani try to bring dynamism, but their characters are mere accessories. The chemistry between them and Gadot is so non-existent that the audience feels the coldness of the air conditioning more than any emotional spark. They are cardboard figures moving across the screen without a soul.

Technical aspects

Tom Hodge's soundtrack tries to be a death drive with subglottal synthesizers, but ends up like a refrigerator hum in an empty room. The sound design, which should be subglottal, becomes background noise competing with the blockbuster trailers projected before the movie. There is no silence, there is noise. The editing, handled by an unnamed editor who seems to have been hired by the hour, cuts between scenes with no logic of time.

The best

Gal Gadot: An imposing presence that tries to rescue the film with her charisma. Anthony Dod Mantle's cinematography: Dirty grain that, at times, achieves a twilight atmosphere. * Sound design: Some subglottal effects that border on discomfort.

The worst

Mark Gibson's script: Recycled dialogue and lack of narrative coherence. Kevin Macdonald's direction: Lack of vision and an excess of clumsy cuts. CGI effects: Cheap, obvious, and out of place. Editing: Impossible continuity and erratic pacing.

The Verdict of Claqueta Ácida

"On the Run" is a marathon of broken promises that leaves the viewer breathless… with boredom. You paid €9.50 and you get an 86-minute film that doesn't run, it drags, and it loses all sense. There is nothing to justify the existence of this movie beyond Amazon MGM Studios' desire to fill their schedule. In short: a race with no finish line, an autopsy of the audience's patience. 💀

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⚔️ Editorial Duel: Second Opinion Odin Lagbert's score: 7.1/10

The rebuttal from Odin Lagbert (Senior Cynicism Academic)

In stark disagreement with the review given by Lúa Ácida.

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Duelo editorial natural entre las visiones antagónicas de Lúa Ácida y el consejo de redacción. "El espectador medio aplaudirá con las orejas; el cinéfilo exigirá una lobotomía."