Directed by:
David FincherScreenplay:
Andrew Kevin WalkerCinematography:
Erik MesserschmidtCast:
Michael Fassbender, Tilda Swinton, Charles Parnell, Arliss Howard, Kerry O'Malley, Sala Baker, Sophie Charlotte, Endre Hules, Monique Ganderton, Daran Norris (more)VOD (1)
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After a fateful near-miss an assassin battles his employers, and himself, on an international manhunt he insists isn’t personal. (Netflix)
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Reviews (10)
Stick to the plan. Anticipate. Don’t improvise. Trust no one. Moving close to a competitor in the field like Anton Chigurh, he would sit across in a chair and say his piece: "If the rules you followed brought you to this, what use were those rules?" But does the emotionally detached android David even adhere to his own rules when showing weakness? Is missing the target and pretending to follow the motto "I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck." just a lie he tells himself? Sarcastic voiceover commentary, stark methodical content, a fitting coldness in form, and Fassbender’s performance, which leaves the great grizzly cowering in its den for the rest of its life. The question remains: who is the great grizzly? Best scene: The Last Supper of Tilda Swinton.
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I was expecting a bombastic thriller from The Killer about a hitman who in his revenge killing spree mode was going to massacre everyone and everything in his way. The thing is that David Fincher is involved and The Killer is a far more "boring" drama with more or less no action, a very low body-count, no shootouts, no emotion and no story. In fact, the film relies purely on Michael Fassbender's face and Fincher's name in the director's chair, but that's not enough for me here. Fassbender has nothing to work with, the film is slow and drawn out, we get nothing of the potential assassin's repertoire, and in fact I search in vain for any element that would save the film and make me remember it even months later. I wasn't bored and the film is perfectly fine to digest, but it's just too "ordinary" and unimaginative, with no distinctive signature.
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No one is special. We are all mere aberrations, but otherwise we are all basically the same. Fincher's philosophizing assassin explains the importance of overcoming boredom and the benefits of diligence. I've never seen a more relaxed and serene opening. It's a balm to the soul and a throwback to the early days of Dexter. Fake smiles, at McDonald's or at an airport counter, Fassbender's emphasis on minimalist, spare and slow speech and a thoughtful, planned out life that goes out of whack at one key moment. Andrew Kevin Walker adapts a comic book about method and the importance of staying on top of things. Fincher chooses to repeat the rules, but they're often broken, to emphasize the hero's inner turmoil, but it doesn't affect his effectiveness. A melancholy quest for revenge seems to be the opposite of John Wick, yet it offers one of the most intense fights between two very different killers, supported by Reznor’s and Ross' restrained (as usual) soundtrack. Emotionless, yet absolutely precisely realised. It is the absence of emotion or some unexpected finesse that prevents The Killer from being anything more than a precise and cool study of people who simply, don't give a... Fuck!
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Michael Fassbender moves, walks and uses his voice in an interesting way. And that's all. His soliloquys are as empty as his character’s craft, and we’ve already seen the naturalistic depiction of brutal physical conflict between two cold-blooded professionals elsewhere long ago in more intense performances. The simplicity of the story wouldn’t bother me at all if it were dressed up with imaginative moments, an original psychological profile of the main character and some playing around with the formalistic aspect. However, The Killer offers none of that. The form is pure and precise, but not bold. The encounter with the perfectly cast Tilda Swinton at the table arouses the viewer’s curiosity and interest almost like the face-to-face encounter between Al Pacino and Robert De Niro in Heat, but it remains the only scene that I remember from the movie. And that’s just not enough for a David Fincher flick. I unequivocally prefer The American with George Clooney, a similarly minimalistic and creatively distinctive, yet more emotionally engaging profile of an unknown killer.
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It's almost fascinating, mischievous fun. Watching an elite hitman who praises himself to the skies in the opening fifteen minutes, then makes a terrible mistake, but never stops doubting himself, even when it increasingly seems that the mistake was far from the last, and in fact not even the first. David Fincher has taken the liberty of making a wonderfully filmed two-hour ode to the ego, and I'm sure with each successive viewing there will be more and more little "a professional killer probably wouldn't do this in another movie" details that I didn't notice the first time around.
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