‘Hit Man’ Deserves to Be in Theaters. Netflix Should Be Ashamed.

PARK CITY, Utah—Two of the biggest film industry developments of the 21st century have been the rise of streaming and the concurrent end of the movie-star era, and both those trends come crashing into each other with Hit Man. Richard Linklater’s big, funny, steamy crime comedy is both co-written and headlined by Glen Powell in a performance that—on the heels of his Top Gun: Maverick and Anyone But You—seems guaranteed to earn him his A-list credentials. Showing at this year’s Sundance Film Festival following screenings at last fall’s prestige Venice, Toronto, and New York fests, it’s a movie that delivers precisely what the multiplex has sorely needed: namely, legitimate marquee charisma.

Too bad most will enjoy it on their televisions, tablets, and phones.

This is because the independently produced Hit Man was purchased for a whopping $20 million by Netflix, which plans to give it one of the company’s trademark token theatrical runs before debuting it on their bread-and-butter online platform on Jun. 7, 2024. In this day and age of multimedia overload, anything that attracts eyeballs, much less on a stellar new Richard Linklater effort, can’t be wholly bad. Yet rarely has a film deserved an unlimited-ad-budget, all-hands-on-deck nationwide campaign like the director’s latest, not only because it’s great but because it was custom built for a crowd—and, also, a floor-to-ceiling, Dolby-boosted screen big enough to contain the outsized charm, sexiness and humor of its leading man.

Powell, whose collaborative partnership with Linklater began with Fast Food Nation, Everybody Wants Some!!, and Apollo 10 1⁄2: A Space Age Childhood, is a commanding presence from the start of Hit Man, a “somewhat true story” about Gary Johnson (Powell), a psychology and philosophy professor at the University of New Orleans who encourages his students to ditch their comfort zones, get out into the world, and seize the day—a message at odds with his mild-mannered, Honda Civic-driving self. Gary is a dork who lives with his birds and two cats (named, per their food bowls, Id and Ego) and is best friends with his ex-wife, who left him because he was woefully short on passion. Nonetheless, Gary isn’t a total loser—in his free time, he works with local police as a technical assistant on wiretapping stings in which officer Jasper (Austin Amelio) poses as a hitman and elicits confessions of homicidal intent on the record.

Gary is the guy in the van, but that changes when Jasper is suspended for inappropriate behavior and, at the very last second, he’s enlisted to take his colleague’s place. Untrained and unprepared, civilian Gary proves a natural, doling out off-the-cuff details that astonish his colleagues (Retta and Sanjay Rao) and earn him a longer stint in the position. Going undercover excites and inspires Gary, who soon begins devising specific contract-killer characters for each target, from a heavily tattooed redneck and facially scarred loner to a red-haired British psychopath. He's an actor embodying roles specifically designed to please his diverse audiences, and if that lends the material a meta twist—since it’s basically a showcase for Powell playing Gary playing various other fictional creations—it additionally transforms it into a rowdy and riotous variation on Fletch.

Powell is a scruffy blonde-haired hunk but he expertly sells both Gary’s initial meekness and gung-go disguise-loving goofiness. Those facets come together in the persona of Ron, a dashing, uber-confident badass in a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses whom he concocts for a meeting with Madison (Adria Arjona). The sparks fly from the moment they get together, convincing Gary (as Ron) to dissuade Madison from hiring him to kill her loutish husband Ray (Evan Holtzman). When she subsequently invites him to a puppy adoption event and, later a drink at a hole-in-the-wall bar, a scorching affair is born, with Madison transparently excited by the idea that this perfect man (who adores kids and dogs!) also earns a living as a cold-blooded murderer. Together, Powell and Arjona share blazing chemistry, such that the film’s temperature spikes every time the two of them look into each other’s eyes, much less head to her place for fiery (and sometimes role-playing-enhanced) carnality.

Highlighted by a fantastic Notes app-facilitated ruse that Gary and Madison pull off to save their necks, Hit Man is hot and hilarious, a winning combination amplified by a story that gets knottier at every turn, especially once Madison’s not-quite-ex-husband enters the picture and, following a fateful encounter at a nightclub, decides that maybe he’d like Madison dead. Gary’s increasingly tricky juggling act includes dealing with Jasper, who knows enough about the professor’s ruse to cause trouble, as well as Madison’s growing willingness to break the terms of their no-strings-attached relationship “contract.” Linklater directs all of it with blockbuster-grade flair while simultaneously adding small punctuations (such as street signs which humorously comment upon the action) that contribute to its distinctive personality. Sharp and punchy, the movie buzzes with electricity, a good bit of which is attributable to Arjona and Amelio, she a knockout whose true motivations are difficult to read and he a shady cop on the perpetual prowl for a self-serving angle.

It's Powell, however, that makes Hit Man a blast, such that the proceedings transform into a platform for his megawatt magnetism. In doing so, the film suggests that, contrary to premature reports, movie stardom is alive and well. The problem is that Hollywood has lately been so infatuated with churning out streaming “content” and striving to replicate Marvel’s serialized-franchise formula that it’s forgotten where to look for it and, just as crucially, what to do with it once it lands in its lap. Hit Man is proof of that fact, given that major distribution players all whiffed in their attempts to land the feature, allowing it to wind up with Netflix and, thus, dooming it to a largely at-home fate. Considering that it’s played like absolute gangbusters during its few festival bows, this feels criminally wrong. Powell shines so brightly throughout that it’s easy to imagine him preventing Linklater’s gem from disappearing down an algorithmic black hole. Still, if the industry truly wants to reverse course and return the spotlight to larger-than-life stars, he and Hit Man belong in a theater.