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Written by Gregg Shapiro
Sep 8, 2010
George Clooney in “The American.” – Photo: Courtesy
“The American”
(Focus)
It’s probably unfair to expect photographer-turned-filmmaker Anton Corbijn to repeat the visual magic he created with “Control,” his Joy Division biopic and feature film debut. But his latest, an awkward and stilted thriller called “The American,” is utterly the polar opposite. It’s the latest in a string of assassin flix (see “Salt,” better yet, don’t. See the forthcoming “Red” instead, at least it has a sense of humor).
“The American” of the title is Jack (George Clooney) a first-rate assassin attempting to age gracefully and retire with dignity. But there are some angry Swedes who don’t want that to happen. Relocated to a small town in Italy, Jack must carry out one final job before he’s finished. As his boss Pavel (Johan Leysen) says, he doesn’t even have to pull the trigger. All he has to do is construct a weapon for another assassin, Mathilde (Thekla Reuten). Of course, any one with half a brain (I’m talking to you, Glenn Beck) can figure out that Jack is manufacturing the means of his own demise.
In the meantime, Jack (also known as Edward) fills his numbered days in Castel Del Monte with workouts (thank you!), visits to the open-air market, dinner with Father Benedetto (Paolo Benecelli), his standing appointment with hooker Clara (Violante Placido), cryptic phone calls to Pavel and avoiding another hit man. Suspenseless, leaden and predictable, “The American” seems to be trying to recapture the style of the 1960s spy cinema, but doesn’t succeed. Not even a fit and often shirtless Clooney is enough to make this fiasco bearable.
This “American”’s passport and license to kill should be revoked.
