Hollywood respects Will Smith because he could make a film about chewing Pringles sell millions; audiences adore him because he comes off it looking so good.
That his fame is a boon for everyone should be obvious. What is also obvious is that a lot of Smith’s films roll less on their own strength than on the inertia derived from his personality. Even when “Hitch” lost its mojo in the second half, audiences left the theaters contented – they had just hung out with the amiable Smith. As “I am Legend” groaned to its wimpy conclusion, Smith was not the only human on Earth – we were stuck with him.
In “Hancock,” Smith exchanges his familiar likability for a game face or what he assumes to be an embrace of the misanthrope within. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a flip on the Smith type, as well as an inversion of comic book superheroes, disappoints in its simplemindedness and reliance on special effects. “Hancock” was a potentially interesting concept that began with promise, but was sabotaged by a director and scenarist who never got to rise above the merely adequate.
Hancock is a hairy, homeless boor living in Los Angeles. Once in a while, he performs certain random acts of kindness, even though he obviously is no altruist. When we first meet him, he is passed out on a bench with a week’s worth of stubble on his face, just waking up from a drunken stupor. Minutes later, he glides through the city skyline brandishing a Johnny Walker in one hand, while the other drags an SUV with several robbers to the apex of the Capitol Records Tower. He eventually leaves the scene, but not before impaling the car on the building’s needle.
This vigilantism generates ill will among the city inhabitants, who would rather see Hancock locked away than roaming free. Luckily for Hancock, a chance encounter with a public relations guy makes him see the error of his ignoble ways. “You deserve better from me,” he tells the people of Los Angeles. “I will be better.”
Smith spares no trick in playing against type. Hancock curses out an aged lady, blows his nose on the camera lens and bullies defenseless kids. These character traits show him to be slightly more emotionally developed than an adolescent, since he fails to take responsibility for his actions or inactions and deludes himself into believing that self-evaluation is all that matters.
“Hancock” huffs into exaggerated insignificance without tackling any of the superhero motifs; which is a pity because the genre is ripe for an autopsy, if not a total deconstruction.
After all, who is a superhero? What specific powers make one super – intellect, brute strength or precognition? What are the obligations of the superhero to his society, and the society to the superhero? Are these creatures born or made? And as can be seen from an assumption above, why do most superheroes have to be men?
“Hancock” actually starts on an intriguing note. Hancock sees no reason to help anyone. “You want a cookie?” he asks when a boy wakes him up to take care of the bad guys. We were told from no less an authority than Spiderman’s uncle that “with great power comes great responsibility.” Does it have to be so? In a society that values the individual’s right to privacy and to each the pursuit of his own happiness, it seems weird that those who are more endowed are made to shoulder a greater part of society’s burden.
But not only was Hancock a bum, he was also amnesiac: A stroke of genius. By denying him his origin, or even an identity, it became easier to appreciate his reluctance to be the good guy. If we expect his powers to be used for good, who gets to determine what the good is?
Instead of moving head-on in this intriguing direction, Hancock makes a sharp left with the appearance of Charlize Theron.
South Africa’s hottest export since Nelson Mandela and Miriam Makeba, Theron acquits herself in this familiar, middling female role. What gets lost once Hancock meets her is the last vestige of surprise. The close ups, the lingering shots that focus on her deliciously attractive features, the firm bronze skin, etc. all these intimate at a twist which could be seen a mile ahead.
From that moment the film quickly disintegrates into a comedy buoyed by green screen effects. So we are left with visual sequences involving a prisoner drawing oxygen from another’s rectum, quantum leaps into the sky, spectacular train wrecks and broken tarmacs.
Like other comic hero films this summer, “Hancock” climaxes on a dull fight with a lackluster villain. From Iron Monger to the Abomination, this year we have been treated to the lower rung of miscreants. The Joker is onto something: This genre “deserves a better class of criminals.”
—-Contact Freke Ette at [email protected]