Minnie’s Musings

Glen Powell in Running Man. My new not-so-secret thumping crush.

Well not that new. Thumping crush developed in Guernsey Literary Potato Peal thing (though leading man gave him run for money). And got a big boost the Maverick. Bad haircut in Hitman was a blip, but nope, he is here to stay.

He has the chiseled jaw and physicality of a boy brought up on the football field (though mildly obliterated by a strange rolling gate and then funny short, constipated steps as he gains momentum in his running about).

I do like an American boy. The bloke Siorsha Ronan marries in Brooklyn is a case in point. Just lovely. Charm, manners, loves his Ma. Would that one of my girls would bring him home for Sunday lunch.

Anyway, Running Man itself is another state of the nation peaon (sp?) imagining the US descent into existential nihilism (or something along those lines in lots of these things ). And there are lots of these films coming out at the moment.

Hollywood’s liberal elite is sending out their best guns to try and drum some sense into the US electorate on such a regular basis Netflix is starting to resemble a school hall when someone has set off the fire alarm more than once in a week.

And Powell is achingly good and wholesome as a working man who stands up for his team and for whom family is everything (wife and kid are equally beautiful and wholesome). He saves lives and then sets about killing lots of nasty men with big knives.

Anyway, I recommend it as long as you remember that I got there first on the whole Glen crush thing. Rather like I had a Wee Pash for Hamish before everyone else jumped on the Robert Carlisle bandwagon 30 years ago. Finders keepers.