24 HOURS TO LIVE (2017) **

Ethan Hawke stars as a grieving husband and father.  He also happens to be an unemployed hitman struggling with addiction issues.  He gets killed while trying to pull one last job and is brought back to life temporarily by his employer to finish the hit.  One catch:  He’s only given 24 hours to live, but at least they fit him with a handy countdown clock embedded in his wrist so he can keep track of how much time he has left.  Instead of going after his target, Hawke joins forces with them to bring down the corpse rejuvenation program.

I’m a sucker for a good Hawkesploitation movie.  (Violent, sci-fi, and/or pulpy flicks Ethan Hawke makes when he isn’t busy doing indie films.)  Most of them are a cut above the rest.  They look like B pictures, but they have more depth or heart to them than what lies on the surface.  Take a look at Predestination, Assault on Precinct 13, or In a Valley of Violence.  This is one of the rare missteps for the genre.  

24 Hours to Live wastes a good idea, which is kind of what makes it frustrating.  It sort of plays like a more dramatic, less imaginative version of Dead Heat.  After a decent set-up, it shits the bed in short order and the Spray n’ Wash is nowhere to be found.  

I liked the nonchalant way Hawke dispatched a couple of goons in a strip club.  That little touch is more memorable and compelling than the generic car chases, shoot outs, and various action bits that populate the rest of the film.  (Some of which contain far too much slow motion.)  The final raid on the villain’s lair has some coldblooded moments, but it’s ultimately too little too late.

Hawke is fun to watch as usual.  Even when the funky plot is stumbling over itself, he keeps you marginally involved.  There’s also a nice turn by Rutger Hauer as Hawke’s beach bum dad.  He isn’t in it very much, and you’ll wish he had more to do, but he does get one great moment dispatching some mofos with a shotgun.

AKA:  24H Limit.