Director: Peter Berg
We were willing to overlook the fact that the film has the unfortunate title of Hancock. And, we thought, why should a superhero, alone of his kind in the world, called upon to save it from all kinds of scum at any given time of the day or night, not feel the need for a drink or two to get him through the day?
And, given that he stays alone, who cares if he shaves, wears clean clothes or keeps a neat home? Of course, we agreed, somebody must account for the collateral damage a superhero act leaves behind — like when they blaze off on roads and leave cars on fire.
However, here’s a problem: why cast Will Smith and not let Will Smith be Will Smith? Through the 100 minutes of a grumpy, grungy, rude and crude Hancock, not even five minutes of the legendary Smith charm?
Hancock isn’t confused only in that department. Even as you are getting used to and falling for this rather gentle portrayal of a superhero as a lonely man, it takes a huge leap and becomes a theory about angels in LA and a strange love story spanning centuries.
The other victim of this mish-mash, of course, is Charlize Theron, who is something or someone you better discover for yourself. Her “outing” is the best moment of Hancock, but nothing really comes off it.
As for Bateman, he definitely knows his place: he is the poor, good-hearted third angle of the triangle.
