Combining elements of "Mrs. Doubtfire" and "Ted Lasso," the series, which branched out from Eli Manning's ESPN sketch, follows a disgraced quarterback who dons a fake identity to get back on the field.
Why is Glen Powell so intent on hiding his appeal? The Tom Cruise-acclaimed action star has two professional screenwriting credits: Richard Linklater's 2023 film "Hit Man" and co-creator Michael Waldron's 2025 series "Chad Powers." Both require Powell, who was once described on this site as "without a doubt one of the most handsome and charismatic human beings on planet Earth," to disguise himself as a goofy nobody. Despite the debate over the status of movie stardom, which often focuses on Powell's influence on ticket sales, it's clear, at least, that he's no nobody. He's a charming bad boy. "Hit Man," at least, gives Powell ample opportunity to flex his muscles.
Stars: Glen Powell, Steve Zahn, Toby Huss
As Gary, a nerdy professor who pretends to be a hitman to help police uncover murder plots involving real people, each new "job" requires a new personality, and Powell's transformations generate plenty of laughs and screams, a dash of passion, and a touch of human drama. But Chad Powers—the puffy-faced redneck persona that disgraced quarterback Russ Holliday takes on so he can get back into college football—stands in the way of "Chad Powers." He's all costume and no character, leaving this half-hour Hulu sports comedy stranded on an implausible premise it doesn't know how to handle. Instead of bringing out Powell's good side, "Chad Powers" gets stuck in the same identity crisis as its protagonist.
Before Chad, there was Russ. And Russ is a jerk. He drives a Cybertruck. He has "friends in cryptography." He believes in conspiracy theories, especially that Osama bin Laden is still alive. All of these personality traits are presented in the first hour of "Chad Powers," and while they're mostly used as a joke, they also establish just how deep a moral hole old Russ has to dig himself out of by pretending to be someone else: someone nice, or at least someone better.
You see, Russ still hasn't recovered from his spectacular collapse eight years ago. As the star quarterback of the Oregon Ducks, he led his team to the national championship and nearly won it when he dropped the ball at the 1-yard line. Just like that, everything changed. He went from sports icon to laughingstock, from a first-round NFL draft pick with endorsement deals to a former "Masked Singer" contestant who was too toxic for the XFL.
He didn't have to crash so resoundingly, but Russ didn't handle his fall from grace with, well, grace. As soon as he loses the big game, a young fan in a wheelchair yells at him, "You're still my favorite player!" But Russ is too caught up in his own failure to recognize an outstretched arm as anything more than an annoyance, and his reaction is unpleasant enough to "haunt him... for the rest of his life."
Or so says commentator Chris Fowler on television, and his keen prophecy is confirmed by the disastrous decisions Russ makes in the present. Watching videos on his phone while driving around Los Angeles, he sees that Georgia Southern University is holding open tryouts for its football team. Just then, he pulls into the Fox parking lot, where he's supposed to drop off some prosthetics his father (Toby Huss) made for Michael Bay's new film. But as Stephen A. Smith complains about the open tryouts, shouting, "This ain't a movie!" Russ looks up and sees the "Mrs. Doubtfire" poster hanging above the studio entrance. He thinks for a second. An idea occurs to him. Then he looks directly into the camera... and smiles.
From that moment on, any hint that the series, based on an Eli Manning sketch, is destined to be grounded in reality fades. The premise serves only to generate jokes about Chad Powers's strange appearance and absurd backstory (Russ likes to improvise answers, even though he's terrible at them), while establishing a unique starting point for a conventional sports redemption story. Russ doesn't know who he is without football (other than being a huge jerk), so maybe walking around a football field in someone else's shoes will help him figure that out.
As a commentary on the freedom afforded athletes in America, Chad's inability to string together sentences feels eerily accurate, but "Chad Powers" isn't trying to convey a message. It tries to be funny, and the laughs only come from other sources. Specifically, they come from Steve Zahn as Chad's often bewildered head coach, Clayne Crawford as Chad's entitled quarterbacks coach, and Frankie A. Rodriguez as Danny, his unpaid assistant, roommate, and team mascot.
The colorful supporting cast fits perfectly, taking the pressure off Chad to deliver laughs and giving the show a likable, "Ted Lasso"-esque feel. (Forging teams through sports! Hooray!) But many jokes are too crude to fit the forced inspirational tone, let alone a show about a jerk learning to be less of a jerk. Also, the subplot involving at least one cast member feels overly undermined. Perry Mattfeld plays Ricky, a talented assistant coach who's often overlooked for being a) the coach's daughter and b) a woman. But Ricky also offers ample reasons for refusing to be promoted, forging a will-they-or-won't-they romance with Chad, despite their apparent age difference and authentic coach-player dynamic.
In a series clearly meant to draw you in, these emotional sticking points act as obstacles to lighthearted fun. There are too many unanswered questions—how does Chad pass his classes? Does he even attend?—and too many missed opportunities. (Cold starts are… hard.) But worst of all, "Chad Powers" wastes Glen Powell. A boring jerk half the time and a muzzled, insignificant character the other half, there are only a handful of moments in the first six episodes where Powell's stellar talent shines. That most of them will arrive in later episodes may be a sign of optimism, but “Chad Powers” has a lot more work to do if he ever wants to become the best version of himself.
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