HITMAN: A REVIEW

HITMAN (2007)

When I went to the theatre where this was playing, my impression was it was a “black gangster” flick. Big surprise!

This film stars a young actor named Timothy Olyphant. Although his character is a veritable killing machine, he, nevertheless, is the protagonist and the closest thing the film has to an admirable hero. Why? Cherchez la femme!

I would definitely classify this film as a male film, as it is overwhelmingly involved in fighting. This happens to be just about fantasy number one amongst adolescent males, that is , “The Conguering Hero.” Male kids believe that all things that are good come to such heros, so why seek to be anything else? Since most men fight a long but losing battle with nature’s nudges to “grow up,” the fantasy lives on well past boyhood. It can even inform “global strategy.” For those men who fight nature most fiercely, they take their “conquering hero” fantasy to the grave.

This film also involves spies, intelligence, global gun-dealing, political body doubles,crime syndicates, international police, hightech, athleticism and the like. All of these are male draws and, when bundled, advance the percentage better than merely geometrically.

The fighting scenes weren’t stinted. They involved various weapons. Some scenes involved use of two or more weapons. There were sapper rifles and various explosives. You get the picture–Male Stuff.

The film had enough humor to cause me to laugh aloud. Not everyone else at the theatre I attended (5:10 pm, Wed.) did. Few there were. I laughed alone. I’m that kind of guy. In this film we have baldheaded assassins with sales-code type tattoos on the back of their heads going unnoticed ["Doesn't everyone have a tattoo, now?"]. There exists an “Association” which is composed of assassins who “hire out” to governments to eliminate “problems” but whose organizational structure and leadership are totally unknown to INTERPOL, etc., [their payoffs are to banks located in some nation or other]. Is this not absurdists fare? There is also a droll “C.I.A.” intrusion into an INTERPOL arrest inside Russia late in the flick.

One of the surprising little discoveries about this film is that the script had some very, very clever colloquies. The best of these were between a new (to me) actress named Olga Kurylewska (?) and Timothy Olyphant. Besides liking her “looks,” she was a scene-stealing presence. The director had the sense to “work” this asset. She is really the only female that has any significant film time, but she makes sure her sex’s film moments are well-remembered. She has an engaging, attractive, charming way. Oh! Did I mention that she plays a prostitute? However, Olga is a Russian “girl-next-door” who has been away on a world tour “being footloose and body free,” so to speak.

Her problems are three: she is considered a chattel slave; she is forced to provide sexual services, generally for money; and finally, powerful governmental authorities intend to kill her. What does a cute, clever Russian girl do under these circumstances? For her to hope to be saved by a suddenly appearing Murdering Machine probably was not her first thought. It’s dumb luck! Hollywood’s deus ex machina comes to the rescue in the person of–of–well, #47.

The film opens with an ethereal “slideshow” of baldheaded images from babes to teen-boys to monks, wedded to a suitable soundtrack. The purpose of this preamble is to suggest a monklike order, dedicated to certain principles, such as: The Order is supreme, the kill must be perfect, the assignment voluntary, and the loot for the job in the bank account. The preamble progresses to a grainy, news-documentary style depicting of the training of globally-rejected children who are deemed likely “fits” for Association Assassin.  All this is meant to make creditable the extraordinary danger created by #47, aka, “our man,” “shadow,” “ghost,” etc.

There is postulated to the moviegoer the existence of a faintly visible, international association of assassins who form ad hoc “working relationships” with governments [& large corporations?] to “get rid of problems.” This narrator is a high official of INTERPOL, which seems to be based in The Hague. He has a constant companion to aid him, who appears to be of West African origin. This narrator is constantly smoking cigarettes (and he’s not the only one), suggesting tobacco industry financing may be involved. By his accent the moviegoer takes him to be HRM’s representative to INTERPOL. The moviegoer hears the usual references to some article or other of international law. The purpose seems to try to send this fantasy trip off in a realistic way, so that no one will suddenly blurt out: “It’s only a paper moon!”

“Our” INTERPOL man is shown in action with his crew, as a local war-lord is about to be “de-problemed.” Setting: Central Africa? Assassination rating: AAA+. INTERPOL relationship with local authorities is, as seems to be typical, not so good. Hence, they don’t believe in “the shadow” nor “the Association.” Result: Another success for #47 and the Association.

This narrator/INTERPOL chieftain worries “big time” about “our guy” (the shadow). He an his sidekick sweat the big drops about this dude. So, who is he?

He’s Timothy Olyphant. This is not anyone’s notion of a Killing Machine. He doesn’t look all that big, for one. I’m not talking Shaq-big or Hulk-big. When the moviegoer sees him next to Olga, he seems only marginally bigger. Still, Olyphant plays the role with a Calvin Coolidge-like economy of words [credit the scriptwriter here], a striking coldness, credible athleticism, and a sort of implacable quality that might well scare most anyone. HE IS A STONE COLD KILLER–TRAINED FROM BOYHOOD. He rarely expresses much facially, other than what must be obliged under extreme exertion. And that’s not his way. He doesn’t like to give a victim “extreme exertion.” 

The storyline: Star (#47) of international assassination organization, notching at least his hundreth kill, is free to take an assignment to assassinate the head of Russia, Comrade Mr. Belikov. Agreeing to deed, he does. Preparing to leave, he’s advised of “witness” and the need to to eliminate this witness. He agrees. The Return initiates the moviegoer to a plot wrinkle, political doubles, brothers, other assassins, jurisdictional conflicts between National agencies and INTERPOL, and not least, the intriguing Olga, who brings into this film almost all the fun and humor there is to be found. Incredibly, #47, having nearly assassinated her, shang-hais her, uses her as lure, keeps her as assistant, he finds that his cold has chilled a bit, due to her wondrous influence. At last sunshine! He makes the decision to carry forward to an end which will mean a good ending for Olga. And, all’s well that’s Olga’s well.

This movie is related by means of a “flashback,” generated when #47 surprises the Narrator one night at the INTERPOL chieftains home. The chief is asked a question by #47. “Should a good man ever kill?” The mass of the movie transpires. Then the moviegoer resurfaces at this very point for the Narrator’s answer. Some folks want to be left alone; others feel obliged to bother someone. Can there be a modus vivendi?

There is an epilog. The moviegoer sees that Olga’s well and watched over [wonder who? hmmmmmn].

Anything else? This is a movie that ends where the imagination decides it should. I see sunshine. What about you?

All rights reserved. Gobigfoot, 2007.

MEXICANS DEVELOP NEW COMMUNICATION?

For many years various intelligence agencies within the U.S.A., as well as elsewhere, have puzzled over the development of a new code, used to communicate unknown data. This code originally was sensed by 24/7 hightech scanners, covering the lower border of the U.S.A. Interest has definitely been peaking as these odd communication codes spread to all states and every urban area. What are these?

An indian “wiseman” named Jeon Mountain Cat Cougar had voluntarily informed the Federal Bureau of Communication Management ["FBCM"] that to a well-trained indian, these communications were much like “talking clouds.” He ventured that the possible source might be a “radical, hightech, breakaway band of indians.” He ended his comment: “Where’s there’s smoke, there’s clouds. Done right, they’re ‘talking clouds.’”

This letter, unhappily, got “misplaced” into a “Weather Communications” category.

Meanwhile, the welling spread across the southern tier of states engendered several other proposed theories. Of these the most promising one was that of the “talking drums.” A southern professor at a historically black college (himself the great-grandson of slaves), recounting tales told within his family for many generations, wrote to the FBCM that “in my family we have spoken of the communication of my ancestral homeland, Africa, by means of the ‘talking log’ or ‘talking sticks.’” The professor went on to suggest that this strange communication, spreading from the southern borders may be of African origin. He inquired if there had been any effort to find an “escaped slave” colony–one somehow lost over the generations and now, armed and, perhaps, militarily trained, possessed with technical prowess, might attempt a revolt against Colonialist Bondage?

This was a very interesting suggestion. There was, as it turned out, a –shall we say–”fermentation” process between this proposed theoretical model and the actual one, but men have won Nobel Prizes for less innovative ideations. Still, the leadership of the FBCM continued to be “at a loss” at the origin of this coded communication (they now spoke firmly that it WAS coded).

By one of those wildly improbable series of events that historians blush to mention for fear that it, not being strictly scientific historiography, might be ascribed to a miracle, the mysterious code’s secret “cloud” was lifted.

One late winter week-end (a long one) in Kansas, at a “Conference of All Minority-Peoples of the Southern-Tier States of America,” the aging professor, Dr. Latrell Bebee, and the indian seer, Jeon Mountain Cat Cougar, met. They found a congeniality of personalties and interests and became almost “instant” friends.

Against all odds, that same day, The Commerce Department announced “booming” beer sells being reported by all major beer manufacturers. The sharpest rises in beer sales were being reported at each state adjacent to the U.S border with Mexico.

As it happened Dr. Bebee and Mr. Cougar were walking by a television at the hotel they both lodged at for this convention, when this report occurred. This announcement “kick-started” thoughts each held about the strange “coded” communications from the very same border areas. Neither had yet broached to the other his insights. Now, gingerly, the doctor urged the subject for consideration. Jeon Mountain Cat quickly agreed. By sharing their thoughts and integrating their theoretical models, they were able to announce at a Special Symposium at the Convention’s Ad Hoc Conference Room that they believe thay have discovered the answer to the origin of the strange “coded” communication.

Before a SRO audience the two cultural pioneers addressed the issue. On those parts of their model theory most fully dependent on African origins, Dr. Bebee took the podium. On those dependent on Indian culture, the shaman Jeon Mountain Cat Cougar. Dr. Bebee brought the two lines into an intellectually beautiful structure, harmonizing them, and then turned to his new–and already dear–friend, Jeon Mountain Cat, to conclude.

This aged, rugged-looking wiseman recalled to the audience’s attention the recent announcement by the Commerce Department. He then said: “Spurred by this ’strike of the flint,’ a spot of light flew by our eyes. We “knew” that a secret “code”–the very thing that might have engendered burning at the stake in superstitious times–was actually not really a coded communication. It may have been a message, however. It’s meaning:  ’Amigo! I just stepped in cow sh…’”

In conclusion Dr. Latrell Bebee, the courtly professor, said, taking the podium, “Jeon and I believe that missteps taken in the night by guilty feet, and not things that go ‘boo’ in the night, were the real origins of the ’strange sounds’ recorded. In our considered opinion, excessive beer consumption fueled the force and magnitude of these communications. Lastly, we want to recall to your attention the words of a nineteenth-century savant, George, Lord Byron, ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’”

All rights reserved. Gobigfoot, 2007.