Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Hit Man’ on Netflix, a Fizzy Rom-Com/Thriller Cementing Glen Powell’s Superstar Charms

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.

HIT MAN: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

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.” “Ron” gobs on a little pomade, dons mirrored shades and unbuttons the top few buttons on his button-down. “Ron” is hot. Very confident. You could flick water at his face and the droplets would evaporate before they touch skin. He’s parked in a booth and in character when She Walks Into The Pancake Hut, practically shimmering. Now, this one isn’t one of the nasty yokels or desperate sleazebags Gary normally sends to the clink. No, Maddy Masters (Adria Arjona) has the looks of a fatale but the earnest desperation of a woman stuck in a marriage to a controlling POS of a husband who makes her feel trapped. I’d say they have a conversation, but that’d be a lie. They banter, italicization absolutely necessary. Their personalities fizz like one chemical was dumped into another chemical and the two chemicals end up having amazing sex. She goes to give him the money, which is the fatal maneuver for hirers-of-hitmen, and he talks her into reconsidering. And she does. And there she goes, Gary’s first failure as a professional pretend hitman. 

It’s not the last time he sees her, though. This would be a llllllllame movie if that happened. No, she texts “Ron” to meet her at a got damn puppy adoption powwow in the park, so we get to see a puppy lick him all over the face before Maddy and “Ron” lick each other all over the place. This is not a spoiler. This was inevitable, that things would get complicated as Gary reinvents himself and finds a way to wriggle between his fellow cops and wriggle between the sheets with Maddy and still give id/ego/superego lessons to students who start wondering why, when and how their prof got so hot, as the plot twists pile up. There’s the inevitable moment where Maddy thinks “Ron” is too thoughtful and conscientious to be a hitman, and he suavely replies, “Chivalry may be dead, but I didn’t kill it.” You are hereby free to throw your panties at the screen at will.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Big time Jennifer-Lopez-and-George-Clooney-in-Out of Sight sizzle here; exhibit B is the chemical wit between John Cusack and Minnie Driver in Grosse Pointe Blank. On the Linklater spectrum, Hit Man is more School of Rock-style crackling entertainment than his big-thinkers like Boyhood or the Before trilogy.

Performance Worth Watching: You’ve seen Anyone But You and Top Gun: Maverick and Everybody Wants Some!! (but not The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, because for f—’s sake, who has?) so we know Powell has It in significant abundance. So the key player in Hit Man is Arjona (also great in Star Wars TV series Andor), who generates a near-blinding spark across that booth from Powell, and without that inspired interplay, the movie might fall flat on its face. 

Memorable Dialogue: The classic exchange:

Maddy: How’s the pie?

“Ron”: All pie is good pie.

Sex and Skin: No visible bits, but a couple of sex scenes might find you shedding a layer to cool off.

Our Take: The real-life Gary Johnson wasn’t a philosophy professor, and I suspect that fictional riff might’ve been Linklater’s idea, since he’s the philosophy professor among his generation of directors. Most filmmakers would’ve been content to let Hit Man be a flimsy-but-entertaining crowdpleaser banking on Powell and Arjona’s two-great-tastes-that-taste-great-together charisma. But Linklater and Powell’s screenplay has enough of an intelligent undercurrent to render this story a slightly-heavier-than-whimsical rumination on notions of identity and self-reinvention, with a sneaky nihilistic streak that absolutely validates the scene with the Nietzsche lecture. 

Not that this is a dead-serious film, mind you. Hit Man hits like a fluffy confection with a couple of surprising flavor notes on the tail end, and cultivates inspired interactions among its main and supporting players – as Gary’s cop associates, Amelio, Retta and Sanjay Rao give Powell a few more opportunities to be slick and witty. It also gives the plot an opportunity to stack up a few layers of clever subterfuge, as Gary’s ego and alter-ego (and id – can’t forget the id, since it drives the primal urge to get naughty when your ladyfriend dons sexy-stewardess garb). This isn’t easy or simple material, but Linklater’s masterful grip on tone and pacing makes the film go down smooth like a poolside gin and tonic. 

Linklater occasionally dips a toe in Nola-noir vibes, but pulls back before the darkness fully creeps in; his goal is to make us laugh, not disturb us, and he succeeds, whether trafficking in satirical caricature or coyly toying with irony. There’s the sense that a harder-hitting movie could’ve emerged from this screenplay, one that lingers longer on its bigger ideas instead of pulling some punches and being a bit of a sugary buzz (and it might still, as Linklater’s films tend to reveal themselves more fully and deeply as time passes). But, as “Ron” might say, even a pie that’s a little mooshy around the edges is good pie.

Our Call: There’s no doubt in my mind that Hit Man is going to be a hit. STREAM IT. 

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.