There are a handful of things Glen Powell does in the first three minutes of Hit Man that immediately convey the earnestness, and nerdiness, of the philosophy professor we’ll be following the rest of the movie. Gary Johnson sits so close to the steering wheel of his Honda Civic—so alert and aware of his surroundings—that he has to keep his wrists crooked at a 45-degree angle with his hands at a textbook 10-and-2 position. In his class, Gary gesticulates passionately about Nietzsche and flutters his lips in faux consideration when his students take their time participating.
He tugs at the waist of his jean shorts when he’s uncomfortable, even though the jorts are already held firmly in place by a braided belt. When he walks, he kicks his be-socked, be-sandaled feet out like a golden retriever learning to wear rain shoes for the first time. He rarely furrows his brow.
Because he’s happy. Or, at least, as he says, “content.” There’s a lot of TV out there.
We want to help: Every week, we’ll tell you the best and most urgent shows to stream so you can stay on top of the ever-expanding heap of Peak TV. Then, all at once, he changes. Instead of the philosophy professor we’ve quickly come to know, we see a Nutty Professor–level collection of not -Garys.
Gary has a side hustle working the gadgets on sting operations for the New Orleans Police Department, and things get much more interesting when he’s asked to go undercover as a sting’s fake hit man. As a pret.