Gal Gadot is running out of road. Since rocketing to fame as a steely Amazonian superhero in 2017’s Wonder Woman, the 41-year-old Israeli actor has been unable to wrap that golden lasso of hers around a decent film role for love nor money. There were the despairing Wonder Woman followups – the cacophonously emo Justice League and gaudy scorn-magnet Wonder Woman 1984. There was the dopey Agatha Christie adaptation Death on the Nile (Whodunnit? Whocares!). The turgid espionage thriller Red Notice, which sandwiched Gadot between The Rock and Ryan Reynolds, all fizzing with the sort of wonderful tri-directional chemistry you’d normally only get to see by asking Grok to generate its own remake of The Philadelphia Story.
That was 2021, and who’d have thought there was still some bottom left to this barrel? Last year brought Snow White, with Gadot slumping to new lows as an inhumanly creaky singing witch. Now, she’s hoofing it around London in The Runner, a trashy, garishly colourful piece of nonsense about a jogger blackmailed into committing a murder to save her son. Run, Gal, run!
