Hancock, as it turns out, is part of a nearly extinct race of superhuman creatures-folks who are both indestructible and immortal. “Maybe I can’t change the world,” he says. But when he meets Hancock, he sees another opportunity to help. They laugh him out of the room, naturally-we get the sense it happens a lot to Ray. We first meet him in the boardroom of a major pharmaceutical company, as he tries to talk them into giving away a newly developed tuberculosis treatment to the poor and needy. That moniker should actually go to Ray, the PR guy who’s trying to get the corporations he works with to donate-heavily-to charity. Hancock, though, isn’t the film’s real hero. In the end, Hancock-a guy longing for love and human affection-sacrifices his lone chance at love in order to serve humanity better. When he’s released, Hancock’s a different sort of superhero, one who tells the police they’re doing a good job, and-in an instance of political correctness gone astray-asks a wounded female officer whether he has her permission to touch her in order to rescue her, using lines seemingly straight from a litigiously minded human resources textbook. But over time, he (perhaps subconsciously) takes the apology to heart and changes his ways. It’s admittedly a publicity stunt: Hancock’s about as sincerely repentant as your typical turnip. “I can be better,” he reads from note cards. At a press conference, he apologizes, telling citizens they deserve a better protector. He reluctantly follows Ray’s advice and turns himself in to the city of Los Angeles-even though prison walls can’t hold him and no one’s strong enough to forcibly arrest him. Even when citizens openly boo and mock him, Hancock comes back again and again, trying one more time to do the right thing. Sure, he plows through the city like a nuclear wrecking ball, but if it wasn’t for this instinct to save the innocent and apprehend criminals, Hancock would be living a boozy, mopey life of listlessness in his dilapidated trailer. Hancock, for all his faults, seems innately driven to help. Who knew that superheroes needed hugs, too? And Ray believes that’s what Hancock needs more than anything-just a little love. Then, when crime rates inevitably climb after Hancock hits the big house, Ray reasons, the city will beg him to save it again. That last bit of advice is designed to help Hancock prove to folks that he’s not beyond hope. He instructs the would-be superhero on some PR basics, such as:ġ) When you land, don’t crater the street. After Hancock saves Ray’s life (destroying several cars and an entire freight train in the process), Ray decides to help Hancock clean up his public image. Hancock seemingly has just two friends in the world: public relations guru Ray Embrey and Ray’s little boy. He’s been named in more than 600 civil suits, and now the city wants to throw him in jail. Frankly, everybody in Los Angeles wishes he’d find another city to save. Yessir, Hancock’s guilty of multiple costly RUIs-Rescuing Under the Influence-and his surly behavior hasn’t won him very many friends. “I don’t even remember that,” he mumbles, watching the whale-saving video on YouTube. But he tosses the behemoth straight into an unsuspecting sailboat. Sure, he manages to hurl the poor creature back into the Pacific. One has to wonder whether his most fearsome superpower may be his horrific, alcohol-tinged breath.Įven saving a beached whale is problematic for the tipsy L.A. And smashes cars and trains and buildings drunk. He doesn’t just drive drunk, he flies drunk. He guzzles the stuff straight out of the bottle and never seems sober-a definite problem since he’s the most fearsome entity this side of a hydrogen bomb. Bad attitude.įor starters, he’s got this thing for booze. Physically, Hancock’s the biggest deal since Superman-superherodom’s very own Michael Jordan.īut here’s the thing: Hancock pairs his altitude with attitude. If cities drafted superheroes like athletes, Hancock would be a surefire first-rounder.