Movie Review: Hitman

We remember our first thought upon learning that Timothy Olyphant had been cast as the bald assassin Agent 47 for the upcoming adaptation of the videogame Hitman.

“Great,” squeaked the little part of our brain that was still awake. After all, this is a man after whom J.R.R. Tolkien named those giant elephant-like beasts in Lord Of The Rings. Olyphant is one of those actors who slips in and out of roles without the narcissistic brouhaha afterwards. He is never typecast, playing goodies and baddies, but forever with an air of mystery. Could Hitman be the videogame adaptation that bucks the trend of turdiness usually associated with this specific sub-genre? (Although, to be honest, Doom was pretty great. Seriously.)

And then there was the Big Bad Bald Omen. A picture of a shaven-headed Olyphant (look Mr. Frodo!) on the set of Hitman leaked its way onto the web. Horror. Some men are just not meant to be bald. 

Anyway, we saw Hitman at the weekend, but we're not going to review it. Instead, we're going to review a fictitious film entitled Shitman, which may or may not share striking resemblances to the aforementioned videogame adaptation. In a completely unrelated matter, the fun of Hitman - the game - was planning silent assassinations, hence the subtitle of the sequel, Hitman 2: Silent Assassin. Keep that in mind.

In Shitman, a bald toilet cleaner working for a secret organisation of toilet cleaners, so secret they have their own branded logo and presumably their own slogan, something like 'Slapheads who clean shit.' Anyway, this particular toilet cleaner, Cleaner 47 (they aren’t given names or emotions) becomes embroiled in a plot to clean the toilet of the Russian President. 47 cleans the toilet, but then it is reportedly not clean, but then it is, but then it isn’t again… who gives a shit? Shitman, that’s who. Suddenly developing a conscious, and because the screenwriter needs the main character to talk to someone, Shitman hooks up with a Russian tart who gets her tits out at every opportunity to try and justify the price of the cinema ticket (it doesn’t).

Then there’s a random swordfight between more bald toilet cleaners, followed by a bloodbath / shitstorm featuring the Scottish guy from Lost pretending to be the Russian guy from Lost, while a Scottish Interpol Health Agent rushes around stating the bloody obvious. The toilet finally gets cleaned. The End.

It’s as if someone, presumably screenwriter Skip Shithouse (from the Old English, meaning House of Shit) watched the Bourne trilogy and had the following epiphany: “What if I rewrite this, but make everything shit?” A friend of ours, after gouging his eyes out with his ticket stub, said that the best bits had been the previously mentioned tits. And to be honest, even they weren’t great. Do yourself a favour – pop one of the Bourne films into your DVD player, and every ten minutes or so pause it, go online, and look at some Russian porn. Or drink your own piss. Either will be slightly more enjoyable.

[review by AJ Rainnie]