There are movies that lift your soul. There are movies that twist your gut. And then there’s Hero, a film that sort of fiddles with your sense of ethics for two hours, then sheepishly backs away like a kid caught drawing mustaches on a church portrait. It’s not a bad movie. In fact, it’s almost a good one. But like its central character Bernie LaPlante, it can’t decide if it wants to be noble or just swipe your wallet while telling you a story about morals. This is a film about the accidental burden of being lauded as a saint while your shoes still reek of sin. It’s clever, overcooked, oddly tender, and never quite as deep as it thinks it is—which, honestly, makes it rather like most TV news stories.
The origin of Hero is rooted in a flicker of actual inspiration, which is always dangerous. Producer Laura Ziskin and co-writer Alvin Sargent were watching the 1988 presidential primaries, likely sipping Chardonnay and muttering about Reaganomics, when they noticed how television could manufacture heroes in 30 seconds or less—faster if there’s a plane crash involved. That crash, by the way, did happen, and yes, some anonymous Good Samaritan did save people. And like any good American, Ziskin said, “What if the savior was an absolute dirtbag?” Thus, Bernie LaPlante, a grubby pickpocket who stumbles into heroism like a raccoon into a wedding buffet, was born.
Enter British director Stephen Frears—yes, the man who brought us Dangerous Liaisons and The Grifters, deciding to spend his time wrangling a smoke machine and Dustin Hoffman’s ego. Frears took on Hero as his second American feature, probably thinking it would be a Capra-meets-Sturges moral satire. What he got was a combustible mix of cynicism and sentimentality, wrapped in a script that couldn’t stop reminding you it was clever. The shoot featured a reconstructed Boeing 727 blown to hell in a fake riverbed and enough smoke effects to gag a dragon. All of which begs the question: did they spend more time on the symbolism or the dry ice budget?
Now, casting. Dustin Hoffman plays Bernie like he’s still mad about Kramer vs. Kramer royalties. There are reports of him barking that directors who ignore his advice end up directing Havana—a zinger aimed at Sydney Pollack, but probably felt by everyone within shouting distance. Geena Davis, luminous and charming as ever, gets to be the beautiful conscience of the film, even if her character seems like she wandered off the set of Broadcast News looking for integrity. Andy Garcia, oozing wounded decency as John Bubber, is the homeless vet who steps into Bernie’s abandoned hero role like it’s an Armani suit from Goodwill. The film also features uncredited Chevy Chase doing Network cosplay as the TV news boss, and Joan Cusack delivering some of the film’s few human moments, likely while wondering if her siblings would forgive her for this one.
Plot-wise, Hero is Meet John Doe on a double espresso and a government stimulus check. Bernie saves a plane full of people, steals a purse while doing it, and gives his last shoe to a stranger who then becomes America’s sweetheart. Media shenanigans ensue. People fall in love. Kids get inspired. And somewhere in there, ethics get trampled like free samples at Costco. The film’s final sequence involves a rooftop suicide attempt, a heartfelt confession, and a sudden pivot to America’s Funniest Home Videos: Near-Death Edition. It’s not bad—it’s just a little much, like a Hallmark card taped to a Molotov cocktail.
Critically, Hero split the room like pineapple on pizza. Roger Ebert thought it had the right ingredients but was cooking the wrong dish. Kenneth Turan called it “shrewdly cynical,” which is the Los Angeles Times’ version of “I liked it, but I’m not telling my editor.” Box office receipts were similarly unimpressed: a paltry $19.5 million domestically, $47 million overseas, and Columbia lost $25.6 million—enough to buy 54 replacement shoes for the passengers Bernie allegedly rescued. The title was changed to Accidental Hero in places like the UK and Australia, presumably so people wouldn’t walk in expecting a Marvel prequel.
And then there’s the legacy. Mariah Carey’s “Hero” was supposed to be in the film, but Tommy Mottola played keep-away like a greedy prom chaperone. Instead, we got a Luther Vandross ballad so smooth it could seduce a filing cabinet. Despite the underwhelming reception, Hero continues to exist in that weird Hollywood purgatory: too moral for satire, too goofy for prestige, too well-meaning to hate. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a guy who makes a speech at your wedding, cries halfway through, and then steals the gift cards.
So what are we left with? A middle-tier 1990s dramedy that tried to say something grand about heroism, media, and identity—but mostly reminded us how messy truth can be when filtered through ratings and egos. It earns its three stars by being smart, flawed, and fascinating in its failure. Just like Bernie.
⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)
#PartyOnGale #AngelOfFlight104 #UncreditedChevy #TootsieAftermath #HeroicMediocrity #SmokeMachinesAndMorality #FrearsVsHoffman #LaPlanteWasRight #PG13Fbombs #BoxOfficeCrash #MeetJohnDoeRedux
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