Powell co-writes with director Richard Linklater and co-stars with Adria Arjona, a combo that generates potent comedic chemistry.
At long last, we can finally watch Hit Man, the hyped collaboration between It Man in Hollywood Glen Powell and director Richard Linklater. Netflix famously snatched up the film for $20 million after its Toronto International Film Festival debut, and then the streamer made us wait and wait and wait, an annoying strategy for those of us who think Linklater is an underappreciated genius auteur. But it’s a smart one for Netflix, since Powell has wedged himself on the cusp of A-lister status by helping make Anyone But You an across-the-boards big hit, and anchoring upcoming disaster-flick sequel Twisters. The director and actor previously worked together for Everybody Wants Some!! – note: wonderful, wonderful movie – and co-wrote and -produced Hit Man together, basing it loosely on a real-life story written by journalist Skip Hollandsworth (who co-wrote 2011’s Bernie with Linklater), about an unassuming man who worked undercover for the cops, pretending to be a hired killer so they can bust people looking to off their exes or whoever. Juicy. But what if that guy fell in love with one of his marks? That’s how this thriller becomes a sexy romantic comedy whose charms we can’t deny.
The Gist: We meet Gary Johnson (Powell) in the middle of delivering a lecture on Nietzsche. He’s a college philosophy prof at the University of New Orleans with a side gig developing electronics for undercover cops – if you’re wearing a wire, Gary soldered one thing to another thing and made it work. But when Jasper (Austin Amelio) gets suspended for being an asshole, it’s on Gary to take his place as the cop who pretends to be a hitman and snare unsuspecting lawbreakers. Is this entrapment? I don’t know. Maybe. Do I look like a legal scholar? Maybe you should shut up and stop poking holes in the plot and keep watching this ruthlessly charming movie, thanks.
Anyway, Gary does not at all seem suited to this job. He’s a dorkus malorkus. Bad hair, bad glasses, lives alone, has two cats, is best friends with his ex-wife who’s now remarried and pregnant, gets really excited when talking about pileated woodpeckers. This guy is the human equivalent of fat-free butter substitute on white bread. I mean, the first time he does the subterfuge thing, a fellow cop lends him his pants, because, you know Gary, you’re not going to convince anyone you’re a cold-blooded killer if you’re wearing those jorts. And guess what? He shows a real knack for playing the game. He gets so into the gig, he starts creating characters and wearing elaborate disguises, and he snares every perp – and then he goes back to college where all the students thinks he’s the dweebiest dweeb from Dweebtown as he lectures about, of course, the nature of perception and reality, and how humans create and adopt their identities. Tidy!
For this next gig, Gary becomes “Ron.
