From the opening moments, you can
just feel that Hangman is going to suck. Before you catch a single lousy performance, or a sampling of
overwrought directing, the sense of mediocrity to come is innately palpable.
You could call this snap reaction either snobbish elitism, preconceived notion,
or uncanny intuition. I don’t care — whatever. Regardless, it’s not going to
turn Hangman into anything other
than the tired, silly, and twenty-years-late ripoff of Se7en that it’s obviously vying to be.
Not a single name in the cast
gives you that hope of, “Hey, this could be good!” Karl Urban’s name is not
synonymous with quality. Nor is that of Brittany Snow, who Prom-Night-remaked
herself into the mainstream before ending up in almost exclusively quiet VOD
releases (unless it’s a Pitch Perfect
sequel) because she’s simply not a strong performer. And then, of course,
there’s Al Pacino. Ironically, he and his counterpart, Robert De Niro, have
been considered kindred spirits throughout their entire time in Hollywood: the
actors (both of whom appeared in The
Godfather II) became linked not just because of their cultural lineage and
tough mafia guy personas, but because of their brooding intensities and
dedications to their craft. (That Heat
came along later and brought them together yet again, resulting in simply one
of the all time greats, solidified this bond between them.) But, like De Niro,
Pacino has been rubber stamping everything that’s come his way.
Hangman is no exception, and it’s really odd to see Pacino slumming it in this particular flick, being that it offers zero intrigue or uniqueness; there’s no obvious draw for him, and offers him absolutely nothing new. Was it the chance to play a cop, even though he’s already played a cop seven times before? The chance to play a homicide detective who regrets his past choices while hunting a serial killer? He did that in Insomnia. Another homicide detective chasing down a gimmicky serial killer? He did that too, in 88 Minutes. So why return to this well? The chance to, what, work with the venerable Karl Urban — the guy from Red? Or maybe he just wanted to vacation in beautiful Atlanta. No, wait — I’ve got it: it was the chance for Pacino to try on a southern accent that doesn’t sound at all convincing. And speaking of unconvincing, Pacino is flat-out bad here. Obviously, he’s made bad films in the past — name me one actor who hasn’t — but even in any of those bad films you can conjure, at least Pacino was good in them. In Hangman, he’s bad. It’s like he knew right off the bat that Hangman was doomed — in the hands of a workman director eager to show off every film school trick, and being released by a studio who needed to fill their February slot in the Redbox at the local ACME — so why bother putting in a good performance?
Hangman is no exception, and it’s really odd to see Pacino slumming it in this particular flick, being that it offers zero intrigue or uniqueness; there’s no obvious draw for him, and offers him absolutely nothing new. Was it the chance to play a cop, even though he’s already played a cop seven times before? The chance to play a homicide detective who regrets his past choices while hunting a serial killer? He did that in Insomnia. Another homicide detective chasing down a gimmicky serial killer? He did that too, in 88 Minutes. So why return to this well? The chance to, what, work with the venerable Karl Urban — the guy from Red? Or maybe he just wanted to vacation in beautiful Atlanta. No, wait — I’ve got it: it was the chance for Pacino to try on a southern accent that doesn’t sound at all convincing. And speaking of unconvincing, Pacino is flat-out bad here. Obviously, he’s made bad films in the past — name me one actor who hasn’t — but even in any of those bad films you can conjure, at least Pacino was good in them. In Hangman, he’s bad. It’s like he knew right off the bat that Hangman was doomed — in the hands of a workman director eager to show off every film school trick, and being released by a studio who needed to fill their February slot in the Redbox at the local ACME — so why bother putting in a good performance?
Hangman is every bit cop movie that you’ve come to expect. And if
you’re hoping that it has that scene where a homicide detective shows up to a
crime scene and asks the coroner examining the body, “Whaddya got?,” well,
you’re in luck. Everything about Hangman
is dull, and generic, and simply uninteresting. The only thing it tries to do
that’s the least bit different is add a journalist into the mix who basically
rides along with our detectives from crime scene to crime scene to obtain
research and insights for an article she wants to write. And that I’ll totally
buy. What I won’t buy is that this journalist follows the detectives directly
into danger — into houses where suspects are hiding, where blood was spilled
and where her ignorance could very well contaminate evidence, and where she
actually puts herself in harm’s way to help catch a suspect. There’s nothing
believable about this — and if this does actually
go on in the real world of law enforcement, we have major problems.
The film only momentarily comes to
life when the killer is prominently introduced in the last act (and to give Hangman credit, it at least takes
another page out of Se7en and introduces a new character instead of hamfistedly
and impossibly revealing the killer had been a main member of the cast). The
killer, as played by the underrated Joe Anderson (The Grey), has awful motivations and his link to one of the main
characters is hazy and unconvincing, but Anderson still manages to shine
through all that and bring to the table something resembling an actual
performance — which is more than can be said for anyone else in this garbage.
Potential viewers, you’ve seen Hangman a hundred times already — all
of them, even the worst of them, much better than this.
In fact:
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