Movie Review: Hancock
I’ll rate the movie, just for you, against my will: 3.5/10. I won’t tell you why. That’s for you to find out.
*** WARNING SPOILERS ***
The movie starts with this guy sleeping on a sidewalk bench, snoring, drunk out of his stocking cap, macho-ising big-ass, Burger King’s burger-sized sunglasses. Suddenly, some cops are shot at from a van on the interstate. This awakens the badass superhero and taunts him to save this fucked up world — fucked up at least for me. The superhero clutches a bottle of I-have-no-clue-what and begs his pardon and lets the cutie know to mind his sweet, little ass business. At least, he doesn’t shoot him on an intergalactic trip, as he does later. Now, I could write the whole storyline and bore everyone to chronic constipation, but I know better.
The movie raises many questions. I enjoy questions. There is a delinquent superhero. Fantastic. Many bagfuls of points to the writer. The writers create a superhero, but with a twist. This time the superhero is fighting himself more than any bad guy. The first question is whether he can fight himself better than fighting anyone else. Good. Over this fuming cauldron, they add Charlize Theron and make the superhero like this goddess. He does. He likes her. To connect all this up, they make the goddess’s husband want to change our delinquent superhero’s image and add a little heart shape on his chest. So the story kicks in. Superhero. Goddess. Public Relations Expert.
Flying, bullet ricocheting, wolverine flying suit. All that nonsense. Then, the meat of the story. The superhero gets back with the fucked up world. Truce. Clap clap. He saves people, police officers. He says Goo…d Jaaaab to everyone, several times. Cool. Before that he goes to jail, where he sticks someone’s head up someone else’s ass. Good stuff. There is some cute humor, too, which I liked, at the very beginning of the story, when the Public Relations Expert brings the superhero home, after the superhero saves his life from a fast-moving train.
The first part of the story ends here. Go get some popcorn.
The Goddess is a superheroine. She had lived through ages. 4 BC, too. People came after her with swords, and our superhero saved her, so he did in Miami, the last time around. Confused? Hehe. Ok. The superhero and superheroine are…I won’t tell you, go find it out. They are immortals. They were not alone, once. There were others of their kind, but they all died…because…because they became human. They died because they fell in love, just as humans do, and became mortals. Sorry shit. They were made in pairs. They were love bluebirds, cooing somewhere in the desert. So the deal is to choose between a normal, loving life and wife, and a life full of frolicking, drinking, flying, immortality, over that a superhero status, badass image, and droves of Los Angeles bitches, and truck and whale hurling, and finally a chance of being an asshole. Ooooh. Ooooh. Ooooh.
The second part ends. The fucked up writers of this fucked up world weren’t happy with just one story. I hate it.
Now, the big question. Would our superhero worry about the second part of his name or would he like to stay alive (staying close to the superheroine means death, remember?) and jump in out of the planet and hurl whales and trucks everywhere in the atmosphere? That, my friend, is the question that touched my heart. It has a direct relationship to human life. God fucked this world up by giving two things to men (women bear a similar analogy. Please sit down and keep your gun away, feminists of this world. OK. Write an article and publish it — you know where). First: Brain. Second: Something Hancock has, a man has, the name “Hancock” has, and the husband of a hen has, however small. That’s a fucked up mixture. Right? Why do I have to go after this half-species called women? Why? I spend so much of my time around the two things, of course, only when they work in tandem, not as separate entities, because separately at least one is endearing, I mean the brain is.
So our superhero has to make a choice, which is the climax. The movie starts with our superhero being lonely and shit pained with his bad image and ends with making the choice between “ahem ahem” and flying in the Los Angeles sky. And he makes the choice, as we all make at some point in our lives. Booty or Boom Boom? I say booty. Oh yeah?
Movie Review: Hancock
- » Published on July 03, 2008
- » Type: Review
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