These days it seems that originality is something that Hollywood inadvertently misplaced and subsequently forgot about decades ago. With sequels and remakes elbowing each other to get onto theater screens, is it any wonder that Tinseltown looks like a Frankenstein’s monster, stitched together with the decaying body parts of far better films? If this describes your take on the film industry, Hancock may be just the thing you need. To be sure, Hancock mines the superhero mythology and pays homage to the rich folklore on which it feeds and sustains itself, but what it does with the raw materials is thoroughly, refreshingly unique.

What if Superman, instead of being the embodiment of “truth, justice and the American way,” was instead a drunk, womanizing jerk? Such is the premise of Hancock, which finds Will Smith enjoying a role very different than the nice guys he’s usually stuck playing. Hancock isn’t just every criminal’s worst nightmare; he’s the public’s worst nightmare too. The hard-drinking, well-intentioned superhero always gets his man but not before leaving cataclysmic damage in his wake. When the disillusioned residents of Los Angeles have had enough of Hancock’s bull-in-a-china-closet antics, they turn ferociously on their misunderstood do-gooder. The misanthropic Hancock could care less what they think of him and is eternally itching for a fight.

In steps Ray Embrey (the tremendous Jason Bateman), a struggling PR exec who is desperate for a client and sees Hancock’s dilemma as a way to turn both of their troubled lives around. Although Ray’s wife, Mary (Charlize Theron), insists Hancock is a lost cause, Ray is sure that the superhero has a vulnerable side beneath his mask of conflicted, sarcastic resentment. Now if Ray can only make the public see what they’ve thrown away before it’s too late.

Hancock contains a twist which I will not reveal here, but plays such an integral part of the plot, coming mid-way through the film and not in the latter minutes as is usually the case, that the above synopsis is the equivalent of describing the plot of “Hamlet” as a man pretending to be insane but neglecting to mention that man’s ghost of a father or the manner in which he was dispatched. Yet to say more is to incur the sort of public wrath reserved for Hancock. It does, however, severely limit what can be discussed.

I can’t describe why Hancock is ultimately a tragedy about two people who are fated for each other like no one else in history but cannot be together without destroying themselves. I cannot illuminate the way in which Hancock encounters his own version of kryptonite ensconced in human flesh. In many ways, Hancock is like two movies for the price of one — the first being that which you expect based on the trailers and the second being an existential examination of the loneliness a god feels when there is no one else like him with whom to relate.

If all this sounds like an unnecessarily deep, metaphysical killjoy of a film, fear not — there is more than enough high-flying action (with surprisingly mediocre special effects) and uproarious humor to go around. But if you leave the theater and that’s all you come away with, half the film snuck right past you. This unconventional look at the private life of a superhuman crime-fighter is a satire, certainly, but one that takes itself completely seriously. And that’s super original.

© Copyright 2008 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.