So I walk into a screening of Hancock, hoping for something along the black-humoured lines of Bad Santa. Despite a lacklustre opening salvo, with some crummy CGI, it seems to be heading in the right direction. “McDonalds fucked you up,” says Hancock to a fat man. He’s drunk, he’s careless, he’s an asshole. It’s an interesting role for Will Smith. And then PR enthusiast Jason Bateman (a favourite of mine since Arrested Development) turns up and takes Hancock under his wing. There are plenty of humourous moments. So far, so good. I’m laughing out loud. I’m enjoying myself.
Then Hancock turns over a new leaf, dons an X-men costume and takes to the skies as a cartoony special effect. And suddenly an unusual twist hits us, a massive action climax (poorly choreographed) comes out of nowhere, and the whole film derails into some odd dramatic tragedy. I didn’t pay money to see this! Where have the laughs gone?
As the credits roll, I walk out into the cold winter night, considering whether or not there was a good idea buried somewhere beneath that weird genre mash-up. It’s a definite misfire.
