
About this episode
This episode includes AI-generated content.
Get every episode summarized
Each time Adidas Wilson Matrix publishes, we email you a written briefing from the transcript — the topics, who appeared, and any specific claims, with the ad reads skipped.
Email me new episodesFree for 3 shows. No card needed.
Hosts & guests
Transcript ready
595 searchable segments. Every word is indexed and playable.
Full transcript
Adidas Wilson Matrix — John Wick Meets Bigfoot In Development For New Wild Horror. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
Imagine like an 800 pound big foot. Okay. Now put a customized, uh, tactical firearm in his massive hairy hand. Oh, wow. Right. And watch him execute a perfect judo throw on this heavily armed hunter. I mean, that sounds like a ridiculous joke you'd make at a diner at like two in the morning. Exactly. But the crazy thing is the team behind the John Wick franchise just bought this exact script. Seriously. Yeah. And they are, um, they're actively developing it into a feature film right now. That is wild. I mean, it is the ultimate collision of high octane modern action and, you know, campfire mythology and the fact that a major studio entity is treating it with absolute seriousness tells us a massive amount about the current state of the film industry. That is exactly what we are unpacking today. So whether you are, you know, prepping for a pitch meeting or trying to catch up on the mechanics of a modern storytelling or you just want a shortcut to being well informed on the most bizarre Hollywood development of the year.
Um, this deep dive is bill for you. Our mission today is to understand how a project that smashes the highly choreographed action of Keanu Reeves legendary assassin headfirst into like cryptid folklore actually makes it through the studio system. Right. Because it's not an easy journey. Not at all. And we are drawing all our insights today from a September 5, 2026 screen rant article by senior staff writer Ryan Northrup. It's titled John Wick meets Bigfoot in development for new wild horror, which is just a fantastic title. Okay. Let's unpack this because to understand the sheer scale of what this new project is attempting really first have to look at the massive architectural foundation it is building upon. Yeah. Invoking the name John Wick in today's film market is well, it's not something done lightly. Yeah. Very specific structural promise to the audience. Yeah. So before we get into the mechanics of how this unique project actually got bought, we have to look at what the project actually is. Right. We are talking about a script titled Wildman.
It's written by this up and coming totally on the scala screenwriter named Jacob Rainer. And the log line for this script is incredibly stark. It reads and I quote, when his little brother is killed by hunters, Bigfoot goes on a quest to retrieve the body while killing everyone responsible along the way. Wow. What's fascinating here is, well, notice what is missing from that log line. Yeah. What do you mean? There is no complex geopolitical conspiracy. There are no world ending stakes. There is no ticking clock to save a city or whatever. It is just a straight line of pure unadulterated vengeance. Bigfoot, little brother quest for the body. Killing everyone responsible. Exactly. Which is the exact same primal simplicity that launched the Keanu Reeves franchise back in 2014. Yes. I mean, the killed is dog, so he killed everyone. Right. It's that simple. And that tiny inciting incident sparked a franchise that now includes four main cinematic installments, right? Mm-hmm. Plus a spin-off movie and an entire television show.
And as the article points out, a fifth film is still an active development with Reeves and director Chad Stalsky. Although there's no clear release date for that yet. True, true. But taking that exact same narrative engine and strapping it to Bigfoot, I mean, what is the underlying psychology that makes a studio look at that and say, you know, yes, this works. Well, it highlights a fundamental rule of action cinema, specifically the hyper-violent non-stop variety that the WIC franchise basically pioneered. Okay. Tell me more about that. To justify unhinged violence on screen, you need a universal emotional anchor. You know? You have to grant your protagonist what we could call total moral immunity. Moral immunity. I like that. Yeah. Because if a character walks into a room and shoots 30 people because of a political ideology or like a paycheck, the audience eventually recoil. Right. They just seem like a psychopath. Exactly. They start to view the protagonist as a monster. But if you establish that someone took away the one pure innocent thing they loved, puppy
left by a dead wife or in the case of Wild Man, a little brother, the audience suddenly signs a blank check for carnage. They're fully on board. Totally. The violence is no longer just action. It is an expression of profound grief. It's a psychological trick, really. It really is. Because by making the inciting incident so universally unfair, Jacob Reiner is taking a creature that is traditionally feared by humans in folklore, right? And instantly demanding our empathy. Right. He's flipping screen. And just watching a monster rampage, we are actively on the monster's side. It's almost like a reverse horror movie. Oh, that's a great way to put it because historically in pop culture, big foot is elusive. Yeah, the blurry photos and all that. Exactly. He is hiding in the Pacific Northwest. And if he does interact with humans, it's usually portrayed as a tragic misunderstanding or a standard monster in the wood scenario where humans are trying to survive him. Right. And the creature is aggressively systematically hunting you down, but you want him to win.
I mean, I hear that, but I don't know if I fully buy that this concept survives the transition from page to screen though. Really? Why not? Well, the aesthetic we associate with modern elite action films is famously hyper stylized. We expect tailored suits, glowing neon, custom firearms, and like really refined martial arts. Bigfoot is a famously silent lumbering beast hanging out in the mud eating berries. Yeah, he's not exactly known for his tailoring. Right. So if you apply a highly choreographed mathematical action aesthetic to a giant furry cryptid, doesn't it just become fundamentally absurd? Don't we just end up laughing at it? Well, the absurdity is undeniable, sure. But dismissing it as just a joke ignores how tone functions in modern cinema. Okay. How so? Think back to 2014. The idea of a retired hitman coming back to wage a one man war over a beagle sounded like a direct to DVD parody. Yeah, when you say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. Right.
But what made it a masterpiece was this sincere, deadly, serious execution by the filmmakers. The tone. Exactly. If the creators of Wildman lean into goofiness, it becomes a parody and falls apart. But if they treat Bigfoot's grief and his subsequent rampage with the exact same deadly seriousness and physical weight that they treated a human assassin's grief, then the friction actually works for it. Yes. The friction between the absurd premise and the grounded execution create something incredibly compelling. It forces the audience to engage with a ridiculous concept sincerely because the world of the film takes itself seriously. Precisely. You don't wink at the camera because the moment the movie winks, the tension evaporates. I see what you mean. And pulling off that level of sincere execution requires a very specific type of cinematic architecture. Well, if the concept is that high risk, we have to look at why Hollywood feels confident they can build that architecture. Right. Because the potential absurdity of wildman might just work perfectly because the studio
system is spent the last 10 years successfully reverse engineering the exact magic of that 2014 key under Eves film. They really have. They have built an entire ecosystem out of this. They have. So the 2014 film wasn't just a financial success, right? It was a paradigm shift for the entire action genre. It absolutely was. Prior to that, the 2000s were largely dominated by the shaky cam aesthetic popularized by the born film. Oh, yeah, where you couldn't tell what was happening. Yeah, exactly. The camera was always moving. The cuts were frantic. And the action was designed to feel chaotic and disorienting. You rarely saw a full, clear physical movement. It was a blur of elbows and fists. Right. John Wick threw all of that out. It introduced a very specific brand of gun driven action that people termed gunfu, which is heavily inspired by Asian martial arts cinema, right? Yes, very much so. It blends close quarters, hand-to-hand combat, like Judo and Jiu-Jitsu with highly tactical firearm usage. And crucially, it relies on wide shots and long takes.
Right. So you can actually see what they're doing. Exactly. So the audience can watch the actors performing the meticulously choreographed physical routines. You see the reloads, you see the grappling. It is a return to action as physical performance rather than action created in the editing room. It is. And once the industry realized how aggressively audiences hungered for that clarity and competence on screen, they didn't just make direct sequels. What did they do? If we connect this to the bigger picture, they began extracting the core mechanics of that gunfu style and modularizing it. Oh, that makes sense. The article actually lists an incredible roster of successful emulators that have utilized this exact formula since 2014. Yeah, there are quite a few. First, you have atomic blonde in 2017, starring Charlize Theron. The piece notes, this is essentially the formula set during the Cold War. Which is a great setting for it. It is. And it makes perfect sense mechanically because it was directed by David Leitch, who actually served as an uncredited co-director on the very first WIC film alongside Chad Stahelski.
Oh, right. So the genetic material was directly transferred by one of the original architects. Exactly. Leitch took the emphasis on long takes and grueling, exhausting physical choreography and simply mapped it onto an espionage narrative. It worked brilliantly. Then you jump forward a bit to 2021 and you get nobody starring Bob Odin Kirk. Such a great movie. It is. But this is a guy we all know is the slick lawyer from Better Call Saul. He is not exactly a traditional muscular action star. Not at all. But again, it owes a massive debt to the same cinematic universe. And the article points out, it even features a script by the original franchise screenwriter, Derek Colstead. Yeah, that is a perfect example of how the industry tests the elasticity of the formula. Oh, so. Well, Colstead took the exact same narrative engine. You know, a highly lethal individual hiding a dark past is forced out of retirement by an arrogant criminal who underestimates him. But he changed the protagonist aesthetic entirely. Right. Instead of a sleek assassin, you have an unassuming, deeply tired suburban dad.
Exactly. The contrast between Bob Odin Kirk's dad energy and the brutal flawless execution of gunfoo is what makes the film work so well. And the list keeps going. You have extraction in 2020, which leaned into the tactical military side of the formula so successfully that extraction three is currently filming. Yeah, the Hemsworth one. Right. And then maybe the most extreme example before Wildman, you have Violet Knight from 2022. Oh, that one was crazy. It was literally this exact, hyperviolent formula applied to Santa Claus, which sounds insane. But it works so well that Violet Knight, too, is releasing this coming December. Right. What we are witnessing across all these films is the modern modularization of intellectual property. Here's where it gets really interesting because I think it operates exactly like open source software in the tech world. Oh, I like that analogy. Right. Hollywood isn't just copying a narrative. They have distilled the movie down to a repeatable algorithm. The 2014 Kiana Reeves film is the base code.
It is the foundational operating system. Exactly. It proves the mechanics function flawlessly. So these different directors and writers aren't rewriting the core code. They're just applying different cosmetic skins to the software. Yes. You take an unexpected protagonist, add the specific combat style, put them in a unique setting and boom. You download the base code, apply it 1980s cold war skin and you boot up atomic blonde. You apply a discromal dad skin, you get nobody. You apply a Christmas skin, you get Violet Knight. And Jacob Rainer has just come along and said, I'm going to apply a Pacific Northwest cryptid skin to this software. Exactly. The software analogy holds up because the underlying mechanics of the action and the primal revenge structure are so robust. As the audience intuitively understands and trusts how the operating system works, they are willing to accept increasingly outlandish skins on top of it. Okay, but let's follow that logic for a second though. If this is just open source software being re-skinned over and over again, doesn't the base code eventually become completely diluted?
That is the danger. We've had a decade of these clones. At some point, doesn't the audience just suffer from severe action fatigue? They absolutely can. I mean, if you can turn Santa Claus and Bigfoot into hyperlethal martial artists, the novelty wears off. The gun foos style stops being a revelation and starts being background noise. The risk of market saturation is really the existential threat to this entire subgenre. When the extraordinary becomes commonplace, it loses its visceral impact. So how do they fight that? The only way studios can stave off that action fatigue is through relentless bespoke innovation and how the skin actually interacts with the code. Okay, meaning what? Well, if Wildman is just an actor in a monkey suit doing the exact same judo flips as Kiana Reeves, it will fail. It will feel like a tired parody. Yeah, that will look ridiculous. For the film to justify its existence, the action choreography has to fundamentally incorporate Bigfoot's specific anatomy. Right, the choreography has to reflect the biology of the creature. Exactly. How does an 800 pound creature with massive reach, immense brute strength, and an entirely
different center of gravity execute tactical combat? That's a huge challenge. The filmmakers have to invent a new physical vocabulary. If they just copy and paste human choreography onto a monster, the audience will reject it. So the innovation has to come from seeing how the environment and the monster's sheer mass changed the physics of the fight scene. That's nicely. But if the premise requires that level of bespoke innovation, how did a complete outsider convince the heavy hitters in Hollywood to actually trust him with it? It's a great question. Is the business side of how wild man went from a blank page to a major studio development is fascinating? It really pulls back the curtain on how the acquisition pipeline works in the modern entertainment industry. It really does. So let's trace the exact chain of custody here, because this is Jacob Rainer's first ever screenwriting deal. He was not an established player at all. It is a remarkable trajectory. We often talk about Hollywood as a walled garden, you know? Yeah, very exclusive. In this story, illustrates the exact sequence of filters a piece of text must pass through
to actually breach those walls. So he started by entering his script into a screenplay contest called Blood and Ink. This was on a website called Script Shadow. Right. And for listeners outside the industry, Script Shadow has been a well known, albeit sometimes controversial, hub for aspiring writers and industry professionals for years. What does it actually do? It functions as an informal proving ground. The site runner reviews, unpredeced material, and a positive review there can act as a massive megaphone to lower level executives and managers who are constantly scouring the internet for new concepts. And that megaphone effect is exactly what happened here. Rainer enters this contest. Carson Reeves, who runs the Script Shadow website, reads Wildman and is immediately intrigued by the high concept premise. It stands out. Right. There, the script gets passed up the ladder. It lands in the hands of Jake Wagner of Alibi Entertainment, who is a manager. Yes. Wagner likes it enough to actually contact Rainer directly and represent him.
Let's clarify what a manager at a place like Alibi Entertainment actually does in the scenario. Yeah, break that down for us. Because when you are an unknown writer, you are a massive risk. A manager's job is essentially to validate you to the rest of the industry. They act as a filter. Exactly. They establish relationships to say to producers and studios, look, I have vetted this person. I believe in the script. It is worth your time to read it. Suddenly Rainer isn't just a guy on the internet anymore. He has an advocate inside the gates. Right. And the momentum builds. Carson Reeves, the guy who ran the website contest, officially attaches himself to produce the film. Which is great for continuity. But the final destination of this script is the actual kicker here. Ultimately, Wildman was picked up by a production company called Badlands. Okay. And Badlands is not just any random indie production house. It is the newly formed genre arm of Thunder Road. Wow. And Thunder Road is the actual legitimate production company behind the John Wick franchise.
The symmetry there is staggering, isn't it? A script that is essentially a love letter to a highly specific action formula travels from a niche internet contest through a manager all the way to the exact production company that invented the formula in the first place. If we look at this through the lens of business strategy, it is remarkably similar to a tech startup pitching to venture capital firms. Oh, how so? The script shadow contest was the seed round, you know, just proving the idea has merit. Right. Alibi Entertainment coming on board was the angel investor providing legitimacy. And then landing at Thunder Road's genre arm is the series A funding. That's a great way to map it. The script moved through a massive multi-layered filtering process designed to weed out weak concepts. And the article also notes that Badlands is currently gearing up to release its very first feature, a movie called Crawlers on October 16th in the US. Ah, so they are brand new. Yeah. This is a brand new division actively trying to establish its identity as a genre power house. Yeah.
And they chose Bigfoot with a gun to help plant their flag. It makes a statement. It really does. So let me challenge the idea that this is a pure, an unadulterated victory for the writer. Okay, push back on it. Does this story actually prove that Hollywood is a meritocracy where the best, most innovative ideas went out, or does it just prove it's a massive lottery ticket? That's a fair question. Because despite this incredible journey from an internet contest to Thunder Road, the article is very clear about the current status. The project is strictly in, quote, early days development. There are zero big names attached to store. There's no director formally announced and there's absolutely no release date. So is getting bought the actual victory or just the ticket to enter an even longer, more grueling waiting room? Well, that is the sobering reality of the studio system. Yeah. The general public often equates a script being bought with a movie actually being made. In reality, a purchase is rarely a green light for production. What Badlands likely purchased is an option.
Okay, let's unpack what an option actually means for the listener because it's a crucial distinction. In the simplest terms, an option is a contractual agreement where a producer or studio pays a relatively small amount of money to the writer to hold the exclusive rights to the script for a set period. Usually like 12 to 18 months, right? Exactly. It is essentially a layaway plan. The studio is paying to ensure no competitor can buy the script while they figure out if they can actually get the movie made. So they're just buying time. Yes. They have to find a director whose vision matches the script. They have to cast a lead. They have to secure a massive budget. And if they don't... If they fail to do those things before the option period expires, the rights revert back to the writer and the movie never happens. Man. So Jager Brainer is out of the internet contest, but he's essentially transferred into development purgatory. Yes. The studio bought the right to figure out if they want to make it, not the obligation to film it. That is brutal. It is. Countless brilliant scripts are optioned by major companies and then sit on a shelf forever
because the financial math never aligns. Right. However, the context here gives Wildman a distinct advantage. Because it's Badlands. Exactly. Badlands is a newly formed genre arm. As evidenced by their upcoming October 16 release of Crawlers, they are actively trying to build a slate of films to justify their existence. We need product. A massive legacy studio might buy a script and forget about it. A brand new imprint needs product to define their brand in the marketplace. And Wildman defines a brand very loudly and very clearly. It definitely does. And getting picked up by a genre imprint like Badlands also signals something significant about the creative direction. Right. Wildman isn't just trying to be another standard action clone like nobody or extraction. It's making a very aggressive push into a hybrid space. The blending things. Why merge this highly specific action formula with the horror genre right now? Well, this represents the natural evolution of market trends. The article explicitly makes the claim that this specific style of elite action has never
been crossed with the horror genre in quite this way before. Okay. It notes that if Wildman is successful, it could legitimately usher in an entirely new subgenre of action-inspired horror movies. To understand what that might look like, we really have to analyze the current landscape of action horror releases. Yeah. What's out there right now? The author, Ryan Northrip, mentions a few key films that have played in the sandbox. He points to World War Z from 2013, which took traditional zombie horror and blew it up to a massive globe-trying action scale. Right, Brad Pitt running from wave after wave of zombies. Exactly. And he mentions overlords from 2018, which blended gritty World War II combat with supernatural monster horror. Oh, that was a Wildman. And he also highlights prey from 2022 alongside alien, Romulus from just this year, 2024. Yeah, prey is a fantastic example. But the article also speculates something deeply insightful. Based on the logline alone, it suggests that Wildman may not function as a pure horror
movie and will heavily feature impressive action. This raises an important question, though, regarding the fundamental mechanical friction between these two genres. Break that down. How are the mechanics of fear different from the mechanics of an action thriller? Well, cure horror relies entirely on the protagonist's severe vulnerability. The psychological tension comes from the fact that the hero is weak. They are physically outmatched. They lack the appropriate knowledge or weapons. And they're facing an overwhelming, seemingly unstoppable force. Like Michael Myers or Azzina Morph. Right. The audience feels terrified because the protagonist is terrified and powerless. That makes sense. And then, conversely, relies entirely on the protagonist's empowerment. The thrill is derived from watching a highly capable, competent individual systematically dismantle their opponents. So when we watch Keanu Reeves, it is pure empowerment. He is never truly the victim in a scene. Even when he is severely outnumbered, we intrinsically know he is going to win.
The entertainment is watching how he wins. Precisely. So the challenge of the action horror hybrid is managing that friction. Because if you make the protagonist too powerful, you obliterate the horror. Right. The tension evaporates because there is no genuine threat. But if you make them too vulnerable, you lose the action thrill. You lose the competence that audiences crave. Exactly. So what does this all mean for a movie like Prey? How did that film balance those conflicting mechanics so successfully? Prey is a masterclass in this balance. It took a known action entity, the predator, and placed it against a protagonist who was severely disadvantaged in terms of firepower. Right. A Comanche Warrior in the 1700s. Yes. By stripping away modern military weapons and placing the story in that setting, the filmmakers forced the protagonist to start from a place of intense vulnerability. She had to survive a pure horror movie first. But slowly, painstakingly, the film allowed her to earn her empowerment. She didn't win by out shooting the monster.
She won by using geography, primitive traps, and superior intelligence. Shooting the software of the action entirely. But see, Wild Man isn't following the Prey playbook. No, it's not. Based on the premise, it is entirely inverting it. If Bigfoot is the protagonist, and Bigfoot is the one going on a heavily armed quest to execute everyone who shot his little brother. Yes. Is this actually a horror movie for the audience watching it? Because if the monster is basically a furry John Wick dispatching people with ruthless efficiency, we aren't scared for him. We are cheering for him. It completely deconstructs the perspective of the genre. It's an action movie where the bad guys happen to be trapped in a horror movie. Oh, that's exactly what it is. For the human hunters who killed a little brother, they're absolutely living in a pure, terrifying, slash-refilm. They are being stalked through the dark woods by an unstoppable mythic beast. But for the audience sitting in the theater, because our emotional alignment and empathy are firmly with Bigfoot's grief, we are experiencing a high-octane revenge thriller.
That dual perspective is a very difficult tonal balance for a director to strike. I can imagine. You have to manufacture the visceral claustrophobic terror of the human hunters being picked off one by one in the shadows, honoring the horror roots. But simultaneously, you have to frame the action so the audience can pump their fists when Bigfoot executes a mathematically perfect tactical takedown. If Badlands pulls it off, it truly will forge a new subgenre. We can call it sympathetic monster action. It's a completely new way to process folklore. Let's pull all of these threads together and recap the incredible journey we've taken on this deep dive. It's been a ride. We started by looking at a premise that sounds like a late-night joke. Bigfoot seeking vengeance for his brother. And we uncovered the deeply primal universal revenge formula that grants total moral immunity and makes that premise structurally sound. We examined the open source action ecosystem, tracing the decade-long ripple effect of gun-fu.
We saw how that specific cinematic code was successfully applied to Cold War spies, disgruntled dads, and Santa Claus, and debated how bespoke choreography is the only way to stave off action fatigue. And we broke down the immense filtering process of the Hollywood studio system. We followed a first-time screenwriter's journey from a script-shadow internet contest through the validation of a management agency all the way to securing an option deal with the newly formed genre arm of the company that birthed the formula in the first place. And finally, we analyzed the mechanical friction of the action horror hybrid, exploring how wild man seeks to invert traditional horror dynamics by turning the slasher villain into an empowered empathetic action hero. It is a wild story about how modern mythology is built in the studio system. But before we sign off, I want to hand it over to you for a final thought. I want to leave you with something to consider the next time you hear a piece of local folklore, or watch a classic monster movie. OK, what is it? If the industry is now perfectly comfortable taking legendary lumbering cryptids like Bigfoot
and recontextualizing them through a highly stylized hyperviolent lens, what other mythic beasts are ripe for this exact treatment? Oh, the seal is officially broken. It is. If Bigfoot can learn tactical takedowns, the mythic future of cinema is wide open. Imagine the moth man functioning as an elite aerial sniper, utilizing verticality and shadow. Wow, that would actually look amazing. Right. Imagine the Chupacabra utilizing close quarters Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in the deserts of the southwest. I would pay to see that. Once you realize the formula works on anything, the possibilities for mashing up ancient mythology with modern action aesthetics are literally endless. We started this conversation talking about the tailored sleek suit of the modern assassin versus the muddy feral woods of the cryptid. Yeah. But maybe the truth is, the audience just wants to see the monster put on the suit. Exactly. We want the wildness, but we want it delivered with absolute precision. Thank you so much for joining us on this deep dive.
We hope you feel thoroughly well informed and maybe a little inspired to look at storytelling from a completely different, slightly hairier perspective. Well said. So, we're questioning the formula. He is exploring the mechanics behind the stories, and we will catch you on the next deep dive.
More episodes
More from Adidas Wilson Matrix

‘Landman’ Season 3 Casts ‘Lioness’ Star Michael Kelly
Adidas Wilson Matrix

Star Trek Rewrites Captain Kirk's Backstory For Its 60th Anniversary
Adidas Wilson Matrix

How Steven Spielberg Influenced 5-Season Post-Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Thriller
Adidas Wilson Matrix

How to Stream The Drop: A Snowfall Saga Spinoff
Adidas Wilson Matrix