The Killer

It's tempting to say that David Fincher may be coasting a bit with this fall's THE KILLER, his second movie for Netflix, but his celebrated aesthetics keep this firmly in the realm of "A" pictures.  For the most part.  So exacting and meticulous is this director that seasoned viewers can easily discern his methods.  Positively sleek.  The formalist in me will always appreciate his work, usually even when the films fall short (THE GAME, BENJAMIN BUTTON).  The content this time out is another matter, and Andrew Kevin Walker's adaptation of a graphic novel is fairly routine and not quite as weighty as it proports.  A standard tale of revenge that for me was only distinguished by its lead character's failings, i.e., a so-called precise professional who explains what is necessary to succeed as a contract killer yet comes off as careless and often violates his own rigid protocols.  Maybe the point? Though not explored nearly enough.

The unnamed titular killer is first seen waiting out the arrival of his target in a hotel in Paris.  He is across the street in an empty unit, whiling the long hours with yoga and listening to The Smiths (as he will throughout the movie).  His narration explains his thought processes about the job.  There is nothing especially profound in it, his observations the very essence of cliche.  He'll even utter "If I'm effective, it's because I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck."  Yep, just like James Woods in COP.

The opening segment is engrossing and spare as he watches the room across the way, finally spying his target and his guest, a prostitute.  But the killer miscalculates and puts a bullet in the latter instead.  

This error will lead to his employers' dispatch of hired assassins to the killer's home in the Dominican Republic, where his girlfriend is attacked and hospitalized.  Now the killer's agenda is payback, a mission that will take him to New Orleans, St. Petersburg, FL, Beacon, New York, and Chicago.  Each journey, made by the killer under aliases that share names with popular sitcom characters from the '70s and '80s, is introduced as a new chapter.  The narration continues, though becomes less frequent.  He will obsessively repeat things like Stick to the plan.  Trust no one.  Fight only the battle you're paid to fight. 

But he will make mistakes.  Like believing someone will survive several hits to the chest with a nail gun long enough to give up information.  Or allowing himself to be ambushed by the assassin he seeks to surprise.  The killer comes off fairly sloppy at times.   His repeated internal dogma also coming off more a desperate plea to re-discover his ice cold mojo than calm reaffirmation.

Michael Fassbender, who reminded me of James B. Sikking, is ideal for the title role, even making fade into the woodwork outfits seem stylish.  His physical performance is on point, especially during a lengthy fight scene, which at times looks like a video game, as do the CGI bursts of violence (don't get me started...).   Tilda Swinton has one scene, which will remind you why so many love her.

Some aspects of THE KILLER may remind you of John Boorman's POINT BLANK.  I also got some Steven Soderbergh vibes, as this is the kind of hitman film he probably would make. 

The real star of course, once again, is Fincher.  His visual and aural senses are as acute as ever, and the film is always arresting to look at.   The rhythm is curiously chill and meditative.  The score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross absolutely pulses.  I wonder how many takes he asked of his cast this time out?   But that's all it was to me.  Fascinating yet disposable, even as it plays.  A storyline that invites no particular investment.  Characters mostly without interest, as if they really are part of a video game.  Little of depth, just a good looking exercise.  Still worth a watch for fans, but easily forgotten.