Runnin’ Reds and Killin’ Peds: Simulation and The Body in Premium Rush

Cinema can be most simply understood as the moving image. The medium therefore has a special relationship with movement in its many different forms. This interest has most prominently manifested itself in the action-thriller genre, with films like Speed and Unstoppable highlighting movement in the form of vehicles and trains, respectively. David Koepp’s 2010 film Premium Rush does something similar with its focus on bicycle messengers in New York City, a particularly unique focal point as it allows for a specific attention to the body as a source of visual pleasure. The film also attempts to position its bike-riding protagonists as the products of a unique subculture, and manipulates various formal elements in this attempt. These manipulations can be best understood through Premium Rush’s connection to video games, as the film ultimately celebrates bicycle messengers by welcoming its audience into moments of interactivity. The film’s treatment of navigation and the body make Rockstar Games’ Grand Theft Auto V a useful comparison. This relationship between cinema and video games as seen through Premium Rush may even highlight a potential for greater media representation of historically underrepresented groups, including minorities and the LGBTQIA+ community.

Premium Rush includes several sequences inspired by route planning technology such as GPS navigational systems. These moments have a complicated relationship with the diegesis of the film. On one hand, they are almost always introduced by zooming in on protagonist Wilee’s phone. In this way, we are actually looking at Wilee’s GPS as he navigates the city. On the other hand, however, these sequences are not meant to be read as attempts to accurately model Wilee’s digitized navigation system. Rather, they act as transitions between scenes, mostly akin to the convention of fast travel seen throughout various video games. At times, these sequences will connect scenes including entirely different characters, but they most commonly bridge Wilee’s travel across New York City, bringing viewers from point A to point B without actually showing the journey. These moments establish New York City as vital to the world of the film. It is not enough for the city writ large to act as the film’s setting; part of the experience of watching Premium Rush is remaining attuned to the specific locations visited and distances traveled throughout the film. British film critic V.F. Perkins notes that these sorts of creative transitions, in which scenes connect not by the traditional cut or dissolve but by a more abstract representation, may often be the result of “the contingencies of production” (26). In a film like Premium Rush, it may not have been logistically possible to film Joseph Gordon-Levitt covering every inch of New York City. But Perkins also ensures the impact of production limitations are ultimately irrelevant: “Since that action did occur in the fictional world, it could have been shown” (26). We can therefore imagine what might occur in between point A and point B, even if it is only ever visually represented as a yellow line tracing a virtual New York City. In a game such as Grand Theft Auto V, fast travel always remains optional. Interestingly, and unlike many other open-world games, GTA ensures fast travel is always diegetic by representing it as an in-game taxi service. The player can wait as the taxi delivers them to their desired destination, but they can also choose to skip this visualization altogether. In such instances, the camera pans out to a bird’s-eye-view over the fictional city of Los Santos and then shifts to the desired destination before zooming back in and returning to the game’s traditional third-person perspective. As with Premium Rush, this representation is not meant to be literal. It also certainly is not in service of any production-related limitation, as the player could manually travel anywhere in the map that they would like. Still, the presence of a map, at least via the onscreen HUD and often blown up in the nondiegetic pause menu of the game, aids the player in their travels. If a player sets a waypoint in GTA, they are automatically provided with the shortest and quickest route needed to arrive at their destination. Of course, players can diverge from this route whenever they would like, and often do as they opt to ignore the confinements of the actual roads. Thus, this assistance from the game may not strip the player of interactivity, but it is important to recognize how the game’s support of players’ travels is not all too different from the representations of travel in a film like Premium Rush. It seems, then, that film may be able to overcome any limitations it may face by taking a cue from video games and welcoming interactivity, albeit of the limited variety.

But the film’s unique modeling of navigation also introduces navigation as a sort of skill, one that bike messengers like Wilee particularly excel in. Whenever he approaches a crowded intersection, time slows down and we get a closeup on Wilee’s face. He then imagines a few different scenarios that may play out depending on what direction he goes in next. In these sequences, Wilee’s surroundings remain in slow motion as he rides through the intersection and faces certain death in varying ways until he runs the successful scenario. Once he discovers the correct move, time returns to normal speed and Wilee proceeds. One might imagine how this convention connects to GTA, in which players almost always ignore the rules of the road altogether. The player’s decision to weave through traffic at a busy intersection or pass a car on the highway is much more immediate, however. Premium Rush suggests that Wilee has the innate ability to evaluate the traffic in front of him and act accordingly, which may also be what players are doing in GTA, albeit subconsciously. The film’s representation of Wilee’s thought process may therefore be read as a simulation in line with media scholar Ian Bogost’s definition of the term: “a simulation is a representation of a source system via a less complex system that informs the user’s understanding of the source system in a subjective way” (98). GTA is a simulation in that it takes reality as its referent, and simulates an approach in which we may entirely reject the established regulations of travel, making it a rebellious, perhaps even anti-institutional, simulation at that. But Premium Rush takes this simulation one step further by taking GTA’s ignorant approach to travel and demonstrating the particular modes of thought and ideology that may underly any such decisions to rebel against the rules of the road. Because bike messengers like Wilee actually exist, and are often regarded as nuisances upon society, a perspective the film addresses to the point of exhaustion, this simulation is less concerned with our own interactivity and more interested in impressing its viewers. The scenarios play out one at a time, and only one ever works out correctly, so there is no invitation to assess the situation independent of Wilee’s own assessment of it. Rather, we are meant to marvel at Wilee’s ability, and gain respect for bicycle messengers as a result.

Our respect for bicycle messengers and their associated skills is even further emphasized by the focus on Wilee’s body during these sequences, as well as at various other points throughout the film. In those imaginary moments where Wilee is unsuccessful, we see him endure some sort of intense physical pain. In one iteration, he is hit by a car and his body flies into the air. In another, he hits a woman walking with her baby in a stroller and kills both himself and the baby in the process. These moments are often over-the-top, treating affected bodies like ragdolls in what we may refer to as a sort of “torture porn.” Because such moments occur in what is a visual representation of Wilee’s mind, they are not meant to be taken literally, but they still serve to satisfy what film scholar Laura Mulvey describes as a “primordial wish for pleasurable looking” (61). But Mulvey also notes that this “wish” in audiences of cinema is something more, referring to it as “scopophilia” (61). When Wilee’s body, or that of any victims of his imagined choices, undergoes dramatic torture or movement, our relationship with the film’s characters is complicated. While we are still meant to appreciate these moments as indicators of Wilee’s physical and mental fortitude, our understanding of what makes these moments impressive is reliant upon the extent of our identification with his pain. Mulvey identifies moments like these as representative of cinema’s uniqueness: “the cinema has structures of fascination strong enough to allow temporary loss of ego while simultaneously reinforcing it” (62). Viewers may be interested in the adrenaline associated with Wilee’s riding, and curious as to what his accidents feel like, but we can entertain these interests and curiosities from a distance, allowing Wilee to act as a vessel for such entertainment. It may also be worth considering this idea in relation to celebrity. During the credits for Premium Rush, it is revealed that Joseph Gordon-Levitt was injured during the filming of a scene in which his character crashes into a car’s windshield. Gordon-Levitt is therefore enduring pain and risking injury for the pleasure and satisfaction of his viewers.

But while Mulvey describes this tendency in regards to film specifically, we can see how this obsession with looking, particularly at the human body, comes about in GTA as well. The game’s ragdoll physics are arguably even more dramatic than that of Premium Rush, as the player’s avatar can tumble down the side of a cliff, tossing and turning with arms flailing, and sometimes even survive such a fall. Perhaps the most appropriate comparison would be getting hit by a car in the game, which looks surprisingly similar to corresponding moments in the film, with the avatar’s body often flying a long distance and flopping onto the ground. As is the case with Premium Rush, the player’s relationship with these moments is rather complicated. It may be easy to assume that the player would have a greater deal of identification with the avatar’s pain, but it may be the exact opposite. Players tend to test the game’s ragdoll physics to see what sorts of over-the-top movements they can derive from the game’s mechanics. In this way, the avatar is very similar to Wilee, simply acting as a vessel for our curiosity. This relationship between player and avatar, viewer and protagonist, poses an interesting dilemma. If we are to suggest how the relationship between cinema and video games may expand representation of underrepresented groups, how does an orientation towards the body figure into this discussion? The body may act as an effective tool for the bike messengers of New York City; after all, Wilee maintains a great deal of pride in putting his body at risk each and every day. Our admiration for this attitude towards the body may alter our perception of these bike messengers, but our relationship with onscreen bodies, rooted in distanciation and objectification, could prove much more problematic in explorations of other subcultures. Mulvey’s text has much to say about cinema’s specific tendency to render female bodies as objects, with men acting as observers. Premium Rush is not exempt from this tendency, as shots of Wilee’s girlfriend Vanessa often focus on her cleavage. The camera also readily moves around Vanessa’s body as she rides, contrasting with the more stationary shots Wilee receives as he rides. Premium Rush therefore does not provide a perfect blueprint for how the conventions of cinema and video games can lead to greater representation, as the film still falls victim to some of cinema’s more problematic tendencies. But recognizing the role our orientation towards the body plays as both viewers and players is still a significant first step in this ongoing shift towards broader representation. We may then, however, begin to prioritize simulation and interactivity in such a shift.

I have so far limited Premium Rush’s interactivity to its more unique visual representations, those that stand out as simulations. But the film’s nonlinear narrative also welcomes interactivity. The film jumps through various points in time, with a clock in the lower right-hand corner of the frame indicating precisely where we are in the day. This approach to storytelling allows viewers to connect pieces of a puzzle. For example, when Wilee picks up a package from Nima—an international student trying to bring her son to the U.S.—the scene ends with Nima being greeted by an anonymous man. It’s not until a few time jumps later that we return to this same scene, at which point the anonymous man is revealed to be Bobby Monday, the antagonist of the film. The realization that it is Monday is pretty obvious by the time it is revealed, but that is more so the product of a flimsy script than anything else. Film scholar Thomas Elsaesser, in his examination of what he refers to as “mind-game films,” notes how these films have rebranded cinema as “a mode of performative agency, as well as a form of thinking” (40). We have already seen how Premium Rush may convey the thought and ideologies of its particular subculture, but this idea of “performative agency” is significant as well, as it moves beyond the traditional definition of performers, taking authorship into account as well. Elsaesser’s perspective on these sorts of interactive films therefore lends itself nicely to our continual push for representation. If an emphasis on the body proves problematic, perhaps there are opportunities in not just narrative, but in narration, that would allow historically underrepresented groups to more explicitly and convincingly convey their respective identities. Elsaesser seems to share in this prioritization of narration over narrative, referring to narrative as “possibly even unsuitable for a whole range of tasks at hand” (23). Premium Rush hints at this notion with its focus not just on bike messengers, but on New York City’s immigrant population. The film sheds light on the experiences of those living in the United States who must go to great lengths to smuggle their loved ones into the country. Our investment in both of the film’s groups is heightened by our interaction with the narration of the film. And when coupled with the film’s GPS-inspired movement throughout the city, this interaction is taken one step further. The nonlinear storytelling may not be as fully developed as it is in similar puzzle films, but the film tasks its viewers with navigating through both time and space, making Premium Rush a rather unique viewing experience. Elsaesser may view the film as preparing us, then, for “modernity and urban life” or, more broadly, the “sensory overload of contemporary life” (32). Of course, such a perspective only works if we are to grant Premium Rush a great deal of interactivity. I have already established the limits of interactivity in both Premium Rush and GTA, with routes ultimately laid out by the film/game. But recall that the visual representations of travel in the film serve as simulations, making both interactivity and the lack of interactivity viable qualities in crafting a model of real-life systems and ideologies. Premium Rush seems to want its viewers to shift from an appreciation for Wilee to an identification with him, one that may deceive viewers into interacting with the film even when such opportunities are feigned. Early shots of Wilee riding his bike are observant, sometimes sitting at his tire and letting the ground glide beneath us. As we move deeper into the film, POV shots become commonplace. In these moments, the viewer and Wilee are one and the same, flying down the streets of New York City. When Wilee is off of his bike, the film looks remarkably similar to GTA and several other third-person video games. One particular shot shows Wilee hiding behind a wall, while a cop stands just around the corner. The relationship here is one of player and avatar. We may not be Wilee, still viewing his body within the frame, but we feel a sense of control over him, particularly because we have the privileged position of seeing the cop around the corner as Wilee continues to hide. Again, in these examples, the events of the film will obviously play out independent of viewers’ supposed interactions, but the film still lures its viewers into considering these moments interactive by manipulating our perspective, and therefore our relationship with the protagonist. But even as we confirm the close relationship between Premium Rush and video games, we cannot be certain that it succeeds completely in its celebration of its particular subcultures. If Wilee is to be considered an avatar for the viewer, do we truly value him or do we simply consider him a vessel for our entertainment? It seems his body has already been surrendered to us as viewers, but perhaps the simulations of his thoughts and decision-making surrender his mind to us as well. Welcoming in viewers as players opens up countless opportunities for understanding of and identification with groups constantly pushing for representation in contemporary society. But a proper next step might be to consider how groups can reveal their own struggles, their own ideologies, without losing agency in the process.

Bogost, Ian. Unit Operations an Approach to Videogame Criticism. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006.

Elsaesser, Thomas. "The Mind-Game Film." in Puzzle Films: Complex Storytelling Contemporary Cinema, edited by Warren Buckland, 2009.

Grand Theft Auto V. Rockstar Games. 2013.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." In Feminist Film Theory: A Reader, edited by Sue Thornham: NYU Press, 1999.

Premium Rush. Dir. David Koepp. Perf. Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Columbia Pictures. 2012.