Richard Linklater’s Hit Man is a minor Linklater but a minor Linklater is still an event. Also, after all those contemplative, existential films (Boyhood, the Before trilogy), who can blame him for letting his hair down with a sexy rom-com thriller that’s not concerned with deep questions. Though the film doesn’t add up to much, it is “based on a somewhat true story” and it is a fun ride — somewhat.
The “somewhat true story” is extraordinary, even if it’s only the starting point. The person it’s based on is Gary Johnson, who died in 2022, just before filming began. He was a Houston college professor (psychology) who also worked part-time for the police as an undercover (fake) hit man. He’d pose as an assassin, meet up with those in search of someone to eliminate their husband/wife/rival/whomever and entrap them. (He was responsible for seventy arrests.)
Prior to the sting, he would research his victims zealously, and invent appropriate characters and disguises for their meeting, hence his reputation as “the Laurence Olivier of his field.” Here, he is played by Glen Powell, who co-wrote the script with Linklater. We first meet this Gary while he is lecturing his students, perhaps a little too conveniently, on the nature of self. Do we each have one authentic, hardwired self? Can we change? If we pretend to be someone else for long enough, can we become that person? You couldn’t accuse Linklater of not setting out his stall.
Gary lives with his two cats (Id and Ego, as per the real Gary) and likes bird-watching. He is a mild-mannered nebbish with bad hair, bad clothes, bad glasses, although you know what? I spotted he was probably hot under all that. Gary helps the police with the technicalities of wire-tapping as he also enjoys electronics, until one day he’s asked to step up and pretend to be the hit man. He discovers he has a gift for it — and likes it. There’s a funny montage of the personas he adopts — a sleazy redneck, a shady Russian, a scarred ex-con — as he happily goes about his entrapping business.
The first act is slow, but then he meets Madison (Adria Arjona) and we lurch into fiction. Madison wants him to “off” her abusive, controlling husband. She is ravishing. His alter ego, on this occasion, is “Ron” who has better hair, cool shades, a leather jacket. The Gary who is Ron is hot. (I knew it!) The pair have sizzling chemistry and start seeing each other and things get steamy. Then it becomes messy in a whole host of ways.
There are some excellent twists and inventive scenes, but the story is played light and frothy throughout, which can get irritating. Are we not meant to care, for instance, that Gary embarks on all this steaminess with Madison while pretending to be someone else? (I cared.) And what is the film saying, exactly? Perhaps that men are destined to be sad losers who can’t get the girl unless they macho up and get a gun? (What might this mean for mild-mannered nebbishes everywhere?) It also doesn’t answer any of the questions it poses. Do we all have a “Ron” inside us that just needs unlocking? It breezily bypasses all of that.
Perhaps I’m asking too much of it. I don’t wish to be a party pooper. It is nicely acted, particularly by Powell who turns in a performance of great charm. Arjona isn’t required to do much more than be ravishing — her part is underwritten; there is a dark side to her character that is never really explored — but she has plenty of charisma. The bottom line is that, chances are, you will like this film. Somewhat.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s UK magazine. Subscribe to the World edition here.
