 |
| You
really ought to dial it back a bit: (l-r) Bateman and
Smith in Hancock. |
The
Anti-Superhero
By
Laura Leon
Hancock
Directed
by Peter Berg
What
a great idea: a superhero who possesses neither the looks,
the dignity, the modesty nor powers of, say, Superman or Batman,
but who instead is a repulsive alcoholic with an acid tongue.
When this guy—Hancock (Will Smith)—sets out to save the world
(or at least rid the L.A. freeway of some gang-bangers), he
gets the job done to the tune of millions of dollars in property
damage and personal-injury lawsuits. He’s the kind of hero
who, when you’re trapped in a car on a railroad track as a
train comes hauling toward you, you pray will be able to save
you without killing you. Such is the concern of PR guy Ray
(Jason Bateman), who, having brushed off the debris and crossed
himself, has the presence of mind to thank his rescuer when
everybody else is lambasting him for, once again, having wrought
havoc. Ray is so thankful, in fact, that he brings Hancock
home to supper, much to wife Mary’s (Charlize Theron) considerable
annoyance, and, for dessert, he maps out a marketing campaign
to salvage the detested superhero’s image.
So far, so good. Watching Ray coach the snarly Hancock on
how to say “Thank you” and “Good job,” even to those who might
not deserve it, is almost as hilarious as watching Hancock,
in a tight rubber suit, try to put the lesson into action.
Hollywood has long showed delight in mocking the very image-mongering
industry that, of course, is its bread and butter. For brief
early stretches of the movie, this works to its advantage.
Unfortunately, writers Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan veer
off course, injecting weird vibes between Mary and Hancock,
and, worse, introducing very farfetched (even for this kind
of movie) supernatural backstories that caused my 12-year-old,
10-year-old and me to wonder what in the world they
were talking about. At some point, we just gave up and gave
in to to the second half of the movie, which is a grand series
of pavement-crunching fights between Hancock and some warped
inmates bent on revenge.
Smith is very good in a role that is a huge stretch from his
usual highly likeable persona. In fact, he seems to embrace
the opportunity to play something other than noble and charismatic,
and he shows his considerable skill—up to the point that the
movie gets lost in weirdness. Theron, too, is wonderful, even
though, at first, she seems mere window dressing, the angelic
wife and helpmate. It’s nice to see her once again showing
off her considerable sex appeal, in such a way as to strengthen
her performance. And Bateman is typically droll and engaging,
ultimately an empathetic character who seems just as much
at a loss to explain what’s happening as we in the audience
are. As summer entertainment, Hancock will have a hard
time competing against more straightforward crash-and-burns
such as the upcoming Hellboy 2, and it’s unfortunate
that the filmmakers couldn’t stick to the original premise
and just see where it took them. If anything, it’s further
proof, if any were needed, that Will Smith is more than the
sum of his parts. Too bad it’s not much else.
 |
Petty
Larceny
Flawless
Directed
by Michael Radford
Director Michael Radford is an odd duck. Though his films
have, on occasion, been nominated for a gang of Oscars—remember
the almost-too-sweet romantic comedy Il Postino?—critics
mostly ignore him. He has moved from genre to genre with a
journeyman’s curiosity, making small art-house films that
usually attract audiences but not much notice: White Mischief
was a sly look at British colonialism; 1984 was a decent
adaptation of Orwell’s novel, as notable for its use of contemporary
London as its fine performances by John Hurt and Richard Burton;
and Il Postino, though hindered by the obvious fact
that the lead actor was very ill (and died right after filming),
was an interesting meditation on the way art informs a “good”
life.
Since Radford is usually more interested in character than
plot, he’s an odd choice to direct a caper film like Flawless.
Set in 1960 London, the story is about Laura Quinn (Demi Moore),
an unfairly passed-over diamond-cartel executive, and the
criminal alliance she makes with a canny janitor, Mr. Hobbs
(Michael Caine).
The first part of the film is right up Radford’s alley, as
we see the slights, large and small, that Laura endures. Ignored
in meetings, passed over for promotion, Moore tends to signal
her character’s frustration almost exclusively in clouds of
cigarette smoke and a very angry walk. (She’s not as hopeless
an actress as she used to be, but she hasn’t exactly become
Meryl Streep, either.) As Hobbs, Caine plays up an ingratiating
old-coot persona that “his betters” accept without blinking,
masking a rage that will prove their undoing—and provide the
film with its central mystery.
The caper scenes are handled efficiently. First, Moore must
retrieve some info from her boss’ palatial home; then, Caine
must complete the theft. What’s really pleasing is that when
the big twist arrives (you know that a caper film needs a
head-shaking twist to be really enjoyable), it’s completely
satisfying.
Less satisfying is the motivation for the theft. (The dramatic
effect is also blunted by the film’s clumsy framing device,
which presents Moore in old-age makeup, telling the story
in flashback.) It seems small for such an outrageous crime,
though, come to think of it, it fits perfectly into Radford’s
personal, smaller-scale cinematic outlook.
—Shawn
Stone
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