London Film Festival 2010: The American
The American works neither as a drama, thriller, romance or character study.
Opens in the UK 26th November.
Control director Anton Corbijn's latest may be about a suave assassin, but this is no Bourne flick. Anyone expecting action will leave disappointed. Actually, anyone expecting drama or characterisation will leave disappointed, for The American is a crushing disappointment, given its pedigree.
George Clooney is the anonymous hitman who is being targeted by some very pissed off Swedes. His shady boss sends him to a remote Italian town to lay low and wait for his next assignment, which is to provide an icy and ultra smooth Belgian hitwoman with a discreet weapon made to order. If, like me, you spend the entire film trying to work out where you know Thekla Reuten from, it's because she played a near identical character in Lost, and tackled far more interesting hitmen in In Bruges.
The ponderous dialogue is adapted by Rowan Joffe from Martin Booth's novel, and has now made me worried about his forthcoming version of Brighton Rock. However, one cannot polish a turd, and as Jack, Clooney was a poor choice for this tedious movie. He's the wrong kind of sleazy, and struggles to give depth to the mysterious and quiet man, apparently filled with regret and having a life crisis.
I'm hoping and praying that Corbijn did actually plan the film as a kind of Seventies pastiche, but it's so utterly without humour or warmth, it's unlikely. Clooney's relationship with a local prostitute ticks every god-awful film cliche there is, romanticising the profession - mind you the only laughs the film got were unintentional, where the rugged killer professes his love for the hooker with the heart of gold. Violante Placido is given nothing to do except parade around topless in every situation possible, and be the sweet woman that, you know, actually understands Jack, and is just waiting for a good man to sweep her off the streets.
Jack's only friendship is with the local priest, but the unravelling of their confessions to one another is flat and uninspired. The American works neither as a drama, thriller, romance or character study. It would be an insult to fine shows to suggest Corbijn's direction was of a made-for-television standard - how about straight-to-DVD?
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