Cold-blooded thriller

Ostensibly a spy thriller starring an iconic celebrity, Anton Corbijn's adaptation of Martin Booth's 1990 novel A Very Private Gentleman is a moody, slowly paced meditation on banality and alienation.

 Despite treating similar subject matter, The American is a far cry from The Bourne Identity. The lack of exhilarating action is likely to disappoint moviegoers who rush out to see what appears to be a conventional thriller starring George Clooney. With that as an upfront disclaimer, however, there's a lot to like about this oblique and elliptical film. 

The story opens at a remote cabin in Sweden as Clooney's Jack, an assassin, is vacationing with his lover (Irina Björklund). Violence intrudes almost immediately when fellow contract killers bungle an attempt on Jack's life.

The ensuing tale is a simple one. Jack flees to Rome and contacts a mysterious associate (Johan Leysen as Pavel), who gives him a cell phone and the keys to a Fiat and sends him to a small town in the mountains of Abruzzo while he attempts to find out who would want Jack dead. Perennially suspicious, Jack ditches the phone and chooses a different destination, and much of the rest of the film follows his efforts to stay alive and identify his would-be killer.

Several subplots center on Jack's halting attempts to connect on a personal level with a number of other people (first a priest played by Paolo Bonacelli and later a prostitute played by Violante Placido). His profession has thus far prevented him from forming any lasting relationships, and his baby steps toward intimacy are complicated by paranoia, violence and betrayal.

Martin Ruhe's cinematography and the profusion of austere filming locations combine to achieve an ambience that is equally melancholic and beautiful.

Clooney is a strange choice for the lead, however. Jack is a hollow-eyed cipher, and Clooney's signature charisma has been dialed down to a figurative whisper. His normally mischievous grin is transformed into a ghastly pretense of mirth by a character whose life is defined by anonymity and death. The rest of Corbijn's cast is peopled with understated character actors incapable of distracting either the audience or our protagonist from Jack's troubled spirit.

For a story marked by intrigue and combat, the tone is decidedly somber. Death comes quickly and without many flashy kinetic thrills. The conflict tends to be anticlimactic and more than a bit sad. Jack is clearly tired of eluding and pursuing. He goes through the motions of dispatching his attackers with the same attitude of exhausted resignation that one would expect from a factory worker on the brink of retirement after decades of menial labor.

This is not to say that The American is boring. What it lacks in the way of action, it more than makes up for in its attention to detail. It's much more captivating to observe as Jack painstakingly modifies a rifle to adapt it to the needs of a prospective client than it is watching the brief flurries during which he fends for his life. Thankfully, there is a great deal more quiet contemplation than bullets and blood.

As the story winds down to a close (it certainly doesn't ratchet up to one), various subplots overlap, and an easily anticipated twist takes the film down a notch in its singularity. It's vaguely satisfying to find out "who done it," so to speak, but the film is frustratingly light on revelations of motivation. It's unclear why Jack has been singled out. Such concerns are glossed over in favor of an artsy finale as though they were unimportant.

Anyone weary of shoot-'em-up clichés will doubtless forgive the The American for the inadequacy of its conclusion. Action-packed thrillers are all well and good, but it's a nice change of pace to be surprised with serious psychological drama instead.

James Walling can be reached at
jwalling@praguepost.com