There are two demographics of moviegoers who’ll love The American. First, folk enjoys watching George Clooney in full-on amoral mode, wandering about being sad, weary, and still unbelievably handsome. (Think Michael Clayton and Up In The Air, only more miserable and wearier.) The other group is people who like seeing beautifully filmed European hotties with their tops off.
And that, friends, is a Venn diagram we’re very much at the center of. Shot by rock super photographer Anton Corbijn, whose directorial debut was the excellent Ian Curtis biopic Control, every frame of The American drips with artsy sexiness.
Though set now, this is a Cold War-flavoured thriller – light on actual thrills but high on tension as Clooney’s expert gunsmith/hitman finds himself on the run in rural Italy when his past catches up with him in the shape of a bunch of Swedish assassins.
It’s never entirely clear what Georgie boy has done to incur their blond, blue-eyed wrath, but given how haunted he looks, it’s probably more severe than torrenting The Best Of Abba. Our man has to rely on his old handler to sort the mess out with no friends to speak of. Unfortunately, his boss wants him to do one more job: creating a complicated bespoke rifle for an unspecified hit set to take place soon.
Holed up in a quiet village, our antihero still manages to find himself distracted from his precise oiling and filing by an inquisitive priest. He immediately knows George is a rotten egg and intends to have long, meaningful conversations about it.
Further distraction comes in the form of a flourishing relationship with a stunning Italian brass, who’s understandably nervy due to a spate of prostitute killings. The client is only marginally less sexy waiting to deliver the weapon, which seems about as trustworthy as a scorpion sandwich.
The best thing about The American is the same thing that will infuriate some. The pace is languid to the hypnotic point, and the film works as a character portrait rather than a conventional thriller. Much of what’s going on is left to your imagination. You could also argue that it’s almost too beautiful. It’s no surprise that every shot is framed like a photo, but it can feel over-egged as the movie stretches leisurely out.
And for all the stylish angst, it’s not quite as clever or moving as it thinks it is. Nonetheless, the climax is a cracker and, as a gorgeous looking exercise in controlled tension, The American is worth spending time with.