The Killer

David Fincher is best-known for his stylishly brutal urban thrillers Zodiac (2007), Fight Club  (1999) and Se7en (1995) so this story of an un-named affectless assassin-for-hire comes to us (via a four-movie deal with Netflix) with considerable expectations. Sadly, they are largely mis-placed. The Killer whilst having lashings of Fincher’s meticulous directorial chops is, if not routine, then underwhelming.

A good measure of the problem is the awkward script by Andrew Kevin Walker (who scripted Se7en) based on a graphic novel written by Alexis Nolent and illustrated by Luc Jacamon. The first part of the film which is set in Paris over a few days is almost entirely given over to the hit-man's baleful interior monologue as he ruminates on the nature of his profession and the type of person suited to it, culminating in Popeye the Sailor Man’s immortal words “I am what I am”. Epicurus this is not but then nor is it funny-clever in a pop cultural way which it seems intended to be. Walker’s lack of finesse with this kind of meta-language is confirmed late in the film when The Killer (Michael Fassbender) confronts his once-upon-a-time colleague (an irrelevant Tilda Swinton) who for no apparent reason tells him a be-whiskered juvenile joke about a bear who sodomizes a hunter.

During aforesaid monologue The Killer also offers tips on how to be a successful hitman - stick to the plan, don’t empathise with the target and so on - maxims which he re-iterates to himself as, having bungled the contract he decides to terminate his former employers before they terminate him.

And so the film morphs into the genre sub-set of revenge thriller. Finally, the pace picks up as, endowed with unlimited money, innumerable passports (often under in-jokey names like Felix Unger), caches of weaponry and hire cars at his beck-and-call The Killer works his way up the food chain flitting effortlessly from his hide-out in the Dominican Republic to various American cities, with nary a baggage check in sight.

Whilst, needless to say, the film’s production values are tip-top the let-down is that Fincher, who apparently has had the film on his to-do list for a long time, never develops much excitement with his one-sided rendering of his chronically phlegmatic protagonist.  There is an action set-piece in which The Killer takes out a hefty goon, destroying an entire house in the process, but it is shot in such low light that it is hard to see what is going on which. given hte overall lack of inspiration is probably just as well.

One can’t help but feel that familiarity with the source material would help greatly in appreciating the film. This might, for example explain the recurring use of songs by ‘80s emo band The Smiths, an otherwise unlikely choice for The Killer's Spotify pop hit list. 

Fassbender was a familiar face in 2010s art-house films but he hasn’t been seen much since the fine 2016 film The Light Between Oceans  Whilst he is perfectly adequate here, if he was looking for a career reboot off the back of it I can’t see that happening.

FYI: To see this sort of thing done so much better see John Boorman's 1967 masterful Point Blank.

 

Want something different?