By Steve Erickson

Breezy as Hit Man is, there’s a sting to this romance’s tail. 

Hit Man, directed by Richard Linklater. Screening at the Coolidge Corner Theatre. Streaming on Netflix on June 7.

(L-R) Glen Powell as Gary Johnson and Adria Arjona as Madison in Hit Man. Photo: Brian Roedel/Netflix

In the guise of a lighthearted rom-com, Hit Man ponders what it means to be an actor, and speculates that infusing artistic fantasy into real life is dangerous but perhaps inevitable. Co-written by Linklater and star Glen Powell (who’ve been working together since the latter was a teenager), it’s likely to mark the latest step in the performer’s steady climb toward fame. Last year, the commercial success of Anyone But You, which followed his 2022 role in Top Gun: Maverick, cemented him as a star. Here he plays Gary Johnson, a real-life college professor who posed as a hit man as part of undercover police stings. Powell tailored the film to be a vehicle for his versatility. He pulls off impersonations of Tilda Swinton and American Psycho’s Patrick Bateman and, far more challengingly, a deft mixture of the more aggressive man that Gary wants to become as well as the nerdy facade he presents to his students and coworkers. The film departs (considerably) from the facts presented in its inspiration: a 2001 Texas Monthly article detailing Johnson’s similar experiences.

Gary’s classroom lectures underline Hit Man‘s subtext: we all contain multitudes, and recognizing that ambiguity is key to living a fulfilling life. Powell’s performance is a commentary on that point: it takes him through a series of subtle modulations, a succession of “selves.” It’s one thing for Gary — disguised in a getup that includes a wig and fake tattoo — to grimace and swear at a stranger for half an hour. As long as that person never takes him for a cop, they will never have to interact again outside of a courthouse. After working on the side as a techie for the New Orleans police department, Gary is pressed to portray a hit man when undercover cop Jasper (Austin Amelio) is hastily suspended from the force after a video of him abusing teenagers goes viral. Gary ends up loving the masquerade: he much prefers living out this faux life to spending his time at home with his cats Ego and Id. Gary meets Madison (Adria Arjona), a sympathetic woman who wants to hire him to kill her abusive husband, and he begins to realize that he’s been living out a stereotype of the nerdy intellectual. Their initial flirtation leads into a serious relationship, which he keeps up while still posing as a hit man named Ron. Netflix’s closed captions label Powell’s dialogue “(Gary/’Ron’),” which emphasizes the dual nature of his character at that point.

The notion that men become sexier by proximity to violence runs through Hit Man, although the trope is complicated by the fact that Gary would never have thought of himself that way before taking on his undercover work. Gary starts to synthesize his own personality with Ron’s, even when he’s not with Madison. There are noticeable differences: he becomes far more confident in his lectures, takes his glasses off, and combs his hair differently.

The idea that ordinary life requires everyone to adopt different personae was accepted way before the rise of social media. Sociologist Erving Goffman’s The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, a key text behind Hit Man, was published in 1956. That said, it takes place in the present — a demoted cop complains about cancel culture — and explores possibilities generated by current high technology without hammering on too many direct references. Gary explains that Hollywood created the myth of the freelance hit man; accordingly, Gary tailors his look to fit the cinematic image each client has in mind. In turn, Hit Man plays the same game with its images of criminals. It is easy to picture a man with a ponytail, purple bags under his eyes, and days worth of stubble requesting to hire a contract killer. How can Gary be certain that all the people who want to hire a hit man are just murderous scumbags? Maybe they have good reason to believe that violence is the best of a set of bad options.

In the film’s most memorable scene, Gary becomes both director and actor. (Powell has said “one of the things that drew me to Gary Johnson is that he reminded me of the best parts of Rick Linklater.… he’s so many things that seem conflicting, but they exist in one man.”) Using his newly acquired gift for improvisation, he guides Madison through a phone call where she must pretend she’s addressing him as Ron. He gives her instructions by typing out text on a screen. Linklater’s direction captures the tension of this moment, a pressure point when Gary and Ron are forced to exist in the same space.

Linklater’s films refrain from judging their characters, and Hit Man is no exception. Still, Gary’s pretense of being a violent man, not just playing one, is eventually tested. The psychological shift is unmistakable, but the movie and performances pull it off extremely smoothly. No one would take Hit Man for an ACAB manifesto — Linklater’s recent documentary Hometown Prison  (Arts Fuse review) is much more explicitly political — but the disturbing aspects of Gary’s line of work are probed. Miraculously, this critique dovetails with the film’s comic tone because Gary’s manipulations slide so deftly into the narrative’s impish ambiguity. Breezy as Hit Man is, there’s a sting to this romance’s tail.

Steve Erickson writes about film and music for Gay City News, Slant Magazine, the Nashville Scene, Trouser Press, and other outlets. He also produces electronic music under the tag callinamagician. His latest album, Bells and Whistles, was released in January 2024, and is available to stream here.