Explain something to me. Is George Clooney a star or not? Is he a media darling, a celebrity, subject of many a female fantasies, and an impossibly good looking 49-year old or not? Is he a mainstream actor or not? Now what is he doing in a quiet, stark movie, doing a delicately nuanced character study of a taciturn assassin, dangerous and endangered (like the butterflies he likes to study)?
The American is a take-no-prisoners art house movie. It is minimalist. It is deliberate. It has very little dialog. It has even lesser action. It is visually stunning.
Even the plot of the movie is minimalist. Here’s an American assassin called Jack. Or perhaps he is Edward. He works for Pavel. We do not know what he is. It is not important. Only Jack (or Edward) takes orders from him without questions.
Jack is forced to kill three people, including a girl (perhaps a prostitute?) in Sweden. Now his boss has asked him to lay low in a remote Italian village. He is supposed to build a custom rifle for a woman called Mathilde. We don’t know why she needs it. Not important.
Jack is also not expected to make any friends. So he spends his days working out (very reminiscent of De Niro in Taxi Driver). He painstakingly builds the weapon. He is constantly on the edge because people from Sweden are after him. Perhaps other people too. He hardly sleeps.
He has wine and conversations with the local priest sporadically. Time goes in waiting, building, drinking cafes, walking through paved stone streets of the picturesque little village straining to hear footsteps that may be following him, and finding a private spot in the nearby woods. To try out his weapon. Or perhaps to observe butterflies.
He has sex with a prostitute called Clara (in a very European, sexy, and prolonged way). It is supposed to be functional but it is not. He is not supposed to, but he falls in love with her, even though he can’t trust her.
Now suddenly, Jack (or Edward) wants to build a life of his own. He wants the rifle to be his “last job” which sets the events of the movie into motion and take it inexorably to its end.
George Clooney’s performance can only be termed stunning. He is a “Very Private Gentleman” (the name of the source novel) and is generally inscrutable . The movie is unhelpful—there are no nifty flash backs, no narration, no cues on who he is and how he got to be what he is. All you see is now, this man, stony faced, purposeful, patient, and without question skilled at what he does. “I do what I am good at,” he says simply to the village priest.
You sense his desperate loneliness as he consumes cups of coffee or alcohol, always alone (to the background of Tu Vuò Fa' L'Americano in one very beautiful film noir-ish scene). You sense his alienation in his endless patrolling of the streets late at night. You sense his hunted soul during his sleepless vigils in his bed. You sense the emptiness of his life in his harshly unadorned house.
Does he feel anything? Of course he does. Didn’t you see that twitching of his mouth, the crinkling of his eyes, the curling and uncurling of his fist, or the flashes of hope/doubt/tenderness/desperation on his face?
This is a very good actor at the very best phase of his career. Watch this movie to enjoy his pitch perfect performance. Even if you are the sort of person who doesn’t like slow moving art house movies and like your action big, fast paced and high decibel.
If you are the sort of person who likes to watch a movie that is all form, then this is a treat. There are so many moments to savor in the film: the scene where Jack is descending the steps (perhaps into his own hell?) while the priest is ascending them and stops to regard Jack thoughtfully from the summit; or the many aerial shots of Jack making endless trips in his car up and down the winding roads of the mountain, very like a mouse in a maze; or the scene where a beautiful butterfly descends on Mathilde during their pseudo picnic at Jack’s favorite spot in the woods.
Sip it slowly like fine wine.
The American is a take-no-prisoners art house movie. It is minimalist. It is deliberate. It has very little dialog. It has even lesser action. It is visually stunning.
Even the plot of the movie is minimalist. Here’s an American assassin called Jack. Or perhaps he is Edward. He works for Pavel. We do not know what he is. It is not important. Only Jack (or Edward) takes orders from him without questions.
Jack is forced to kill three people, including a girl (perhaps a prostitute?) in Sweden. Now his boss has asked him to lay low in a remote Italian village. He is supposed to build a custom rifle for a woman called Mathilde. We don’t know why she needs it. Not important.
Jack is also not expected to make any friends. So he spends his days working out (very reminiscent of De Niro in Taxi Driver). He painstakingly builds the weapon. He is constantly on the edge because people from Sweden are after him. Perhaps other people too. He hardly sleeps.
He has wine and conversations with the local priest sporadically. Time goes in waiting, building, drinking cafes, walking through paved stone streets of the picturesque little village straining to hear footsteps that may be following him, and finding a private spot in the nearby woods. To try out his weapon. Or perhaps to observe butterflies.
He has sex with a prostitute called Clara (in a very European, sexy, and prolonged way). It is supposed to be functional but it is not. He is not supposed to, but he falls in love with her, even though he can’t trust her.
Now suddenly, Jack (or Edward) wants to build a life of his own. He wants the rifle to be his “last job” which sets the events of the movie into motion and take it inexorably to its end.
George Clooney’s performance can only be termed stunning. He is a “Very Private Gentleman” (the name of the source novel) and is generally inscrutable . The movie is unhelpful—there are no nifty flash backs, no narration, no cues on who he is and how he got to be what he is. All you see is now, this man, stony faced, purposeful, patient, and without question skilled at what he does. “I do what I am good at,” he says simply to the village priest.
You sense his desperate loneliness as he consumes cups of coffee or alcohol, always alone (to the background of Tu Vuò Fa' L'Americano in one very beautiful film noir-ish scene). You sense his alienation in his endless patrolling of the streets late at night. You sense his hunted soul during his sleepless vigils in his bed. You sense the emptiness of his life in his harshly unadorned house.
Does he feel anything? Of course he does. Didn’t you see that twitching of his mouth, the crinkling of his eyes, the curling and uncurling of his fist, or the flashes of hope/doubt/tenderness/desperation on his face?
This is a very good actor at the very best phase of his career. Watch this movie to enjoy his pitch perfect performance. Even if you are the sort of person who doesn’t like slow moving art house movies and like your action big, fast paced and high decibel.
If you are the sort of person who likes to watch a movie that is all form, then this is a treat. There are so many moments to savor in the film: the scene where Jack is descending the steps (perhaps into his own hell?) while the priest is ascending them and stops to regard Jack thoughtfully from the summit; or the many aerial shots of Jack making endless trips in his car up and down the winding roads of the mountain, very like a mouse in a maze; or the scene where a beautiful butterfly descends on Mathilde during their pseudo picnic at Jack’s favorite spot in the woods.
Sip it slowly like fine wine.
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