Words by JANE CROWTHER
Having pretended to be a murderer in Richard Linklaker’s breezy romp, Hit Man, Glen Powell takes to offing people for real in this loose remake of the Alec Guinness starrer Kind Hearts and Coronets – with mixed results. Telling his tale from the clink, Becket (Powell) relays all the ways in which he crawled his way closer to a family inheritance, denied to him by his mom being unceremoniously disowned by her unyielding dad (Ed Harris).
The Redfellows are an American East Coast dynasty of huge wealth and influence, Becket a long-lost impoverished relative consigned to New Jersey who suddenly pitches up at the family pile as ‘accidents’ start to happen. Straight out the gate, audiences are asked to accept that this is a universe where no one asks questions about the motivation of a mysterious family member who appears at funerals, inveigles his way into his cousin’s stock market firm and is slowly creeping up the family ladder to a multi-million dollar windfall. A hefty suspension of disbelief is required, despite the real-world tone of proceedings.
Get past the first killing – of Rafferty Law’s party boy financier – and spending time with Becket is an amusing distraction as he pines for a rich-bitch childhood friend (Margaret Qualley in conspicuous Chanel and channelling ’40s femme fatales), smartens up, has a minor crisis of conscience and thinks up wild ways to permanently relegate his relatives, most of which wouldn’t past muster with CSI. There’s the manner of dispatch of a pretentious, entitled wannabe artist, of a spa-loving matriarch, of a TV evangelist… all in service to getting to the big fish, Harris’ unhinged Whitelaw Redfellow. Snuffing out people in his family tree is framed as justified and comical simply by virtue of them being rich, so no real time is spent on their characterisation or Becket’s morality. It’s a step-change from the complicated money troubles and desperation that breeds illegality in writer/director John Patton Ford’s excellent precursor Emily the Criminal.
Of course there’s a reckoning of sorts, but one so signposted that audiences might expect a double bluff, and once the credits roll How to Make a Killing will either prompt questions of logic which will collapse it like a house of cards, or never be thought of again. But in the moment, Powell floats the action along with considerable charm, providing a 100-minute diversion from reality that is entertaining enough.
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Pictures courtesy of StudioCanal
How to Make a Killing is in cinemas now
