The American is a Marmite film, that I was told to expect to hate, by my own editor no less. Now, he knows my tastes mostly, thanks to endless conversations about movies and the industry that brings them to life, so his rather vocal assertion that I would definitely hate The American wasn't exactly a heart-warming memory when
the Blu-ray was delivered into my hands. Perhaps he would be wrong- perhaps this would be one of the odd occasions he called the play wrong, or maybe I was in for two very dull hours... The American is claimed to be an action film with minimal action, and on the surface is shot in a preposterously pompous and extremely European arthouse manner, which is more ponderous than actually thought-provoking. Which is probably the exact review that Matt thought I was going to post. But that isn't the tale of this review at all. I think something went wrong in the pre-release marketing of this film, which probably accounts for some of the negative reaction to it: The American, as far as I could tell back before it hit cinemas, was being suggested as a more gentle cross between Munich and the Bourne films, with the cover even suggesting a far more frenetic pace than the film itself could ever hope (or wish) to emulate. The film is utterly and beautifully reticent, a triumph of meditative, refined cinema, that slowly builds to a climax which is no less affecting and absorbing than its more frenetic genre bed-fellows.
It may be slow and steady, and it certainly feels startlingly claustrophobic at times, but the approach, which features a noticeable sparsity of invasive music for the most part, coupled with some stunning and very clever cinematography, still manages to build tension quite remarkably. This is the cinema of sparsity done to near perfection, and the visuals are so minutely constructed, frame by frame that they appear like works of art in their own right. Director
Anton Corbijn was of course a photographer, and brings his diligent eye for composition across to moving pictures. At times, his camera-work and the frames he builds are breath-taking, particularly those capturing the Italian landscape- though that focus wavers in no way when he is shooting his actors, or interior scenes. It is the editing, and the creative decisions behind it by Corbijn that are arguably the most impressive technical element of the film- his minimalist direction, which relies on the powers of suggestion, subtlety and gesture to creative a gentle, but very affecting overall tone, despite those characteristics inspiring some critics to level wrongful accusations of smug self-satisfaction and congratulation at the film. This is an exercise in slow-burning absorption, rather than a spectacle of awe, and I'm all for it, even if Corbijn's unfailing dedication to solemnity does come close to being a little too humourless at times. I can see why those accusations of pretension persist, but it is incredibly easy to forgive and even ignore the unnecessary (and potentially distracting) existential messages folded into the mix in light of the film's brilliant photography, and
George Clooney's mesmerising performance in the lead.
The American is an ultra- modern Western, about someone defined by a life of violence, who struggles to reconcile his past with his present desire for peace and tranquility, like the greatest post-Western films that appeared after the genre's Golden Age of unaccountable and glorified violence. Clooney's Jack then is an advancement on the Rooster Cogburn character, but without the humour and with a far more gnawing urge to abandon his past, rather than representing a somewhat melancholic requiem of a system long outdated like Cogburn. His life is dictated by an isolation that meets somewhere between the necessary solitude of Leon, and the enforced loneliness that ultimately cuts through Clooney's other recent (almost) one-man-show, Up In The Air. The tone of the film definitely shows elements of both as it wrestles with both types of loneliness, since Jack develops from dedicated soloist (for whom solitude is easy) to troubled lover, who realises, in the face of his love, that his solitary existence is hollow and meaningless. In contrast to those other two movie cousins, The American is defined not by a message of reinforced solitude but by a love story that exists as the perfect counterpoint to Jack's lonely existence and his fastidious dedication to the predictability and safety of his routine. Emotion is alien to a man so defined by emotional detachment (a necessary clinical characteristic in the killing game), and it is the impact of Clara on Jack's life that is the most important moment of intrigue- and the way in which Clooney handles that change is very impressive to watch.
This is the second truly brave performance by George Clooney, following the equally slow-paced and contemplative Solaris, which itself was comparatively badly received, but for me this is the vastly superior of the two. While his turn in Solaris was measured, and perfectly tortured, it pales into insignificance next to the complexities of this performance, thanks to a compelling dichotomy between his impenetrable mystery on one hand and our compulsion towards him on the other, borne almost entirely out of Clooney's enigmatic charisma and on-screen presence. There are few words to convey his character's plight, but what we see in his eyes, and in the nearly undetectable gestures that take the place of any scripted ostentation by writer Rowan Joffe is by far enough to convince us of his crisis and the affect his love for Clara has upon him. So is the film saying that Jack gets his come-uppance? Well, the resolution certainly suggests as much- if this were a triumphant tale of Jack's change (i.e. what the entire film strives to believe is possible), he would die the minute Clara says she would go away with him, and not later when the end is far more tragic for him. The film perpetually reinforces the fact that Jack must repent, that everything is leading towards an end of sorts, and he must change not in order to affect that conclusion, but because of it. It is a morality-based tragedy, that sadly and brilliantly comes to reinforce the idea that change for a figure who had so consciously lived outside of normal society is not possible, even despite the redemption offered by romance. That tragedy is carried almost silently but in utterly devastating manner by Clooney- his performance is so completely enveloping that his crisis bleeds into the world around him.
The American is undoubtedly Clooney's film, but his success would not be possible without the cast around him, as each is charged with convincing the audience that their actions and their various charismatic idiosyncrasies would be enough to change Jack's trajectory from hopeless shadow man, defined by dedication and solitude. They are also necessary distractions from Jack's internalised story, which, if given too much focus, would definitely have given more credence to those accusations of self-important, masturbatory film-making. To that end,
Violante Placido (Clara),
Thekla Reuten (Mathilde),
Paolo Bonacelli (Father Benedetto) and the menacing
Johan Leysen (Pavel) are collectively an exceptional supporting cast. In a culture that seems to value blockbuster movies higher than their quality actually merits on the strength of their bombast and marketing campaigns it is refreshing to discover a film that suggests that restrained does not necessarily mean dull, and that unspectacular does not mean bad. Unlike other espionage thrillers, The American doesn't go directly for the kill, or even for the obligatory chase scene, and the slow-burn approach, combined with an intricate and dutiful eye for beauty and detail ensures that this- albeit to the probable surprise of my editor- is one of my favourite films of the year so far.
Quality
As close to perfection as is probable achievable on the blu-ray format: the transfer preserves and celebrates Corbijn's phenomenally beautiful cinematography, adding lush deep colours and hues to the scenery he shoots, without ever adding unnatural filters in any way. Black levels are perfect, and add an impressive level of depth to darker scenes, while textures and the attention to detail in the transfer are also as fine as I have ever seen. It was made for the blu-ray format, and it is a marriage made in heaven.
The audio is less impressive, as the film is very quiet. In itself though, the transfer is still very good, with dialogue coming across unblemished and the track appearing so clear that you could hear a pin drop. And in a film that values the effect of hearing the lead actor's breathing as much as its visuals, you have to say that's an achievement to celebrate. The sparsity of course heaps importance on the music when it does appear- usually to build suspenseful sequences- and when it does it sounds equally as pure and affecting.
Extras
There definitely isn't enough here to balance the excellence of the film itself- so I find myself wishing that this was a Criterion release, bulging with the kind of extra features that add flourish to the overall experience, rather than just those obligatory additions that add little or nothing. Having said that, the brief Behind-the-Scenes documentary is quite insightful while it lasts, and Anton Corbijn's thoughtful and thought-provoking commentary is excellent- it's just a shame he couldn't have been joined by Clooney on commentary duty. Audio Commentary with Anton Corbijn Journey to Redemption (11 minutes) Deleted Scenes (6 minutes)
The American is available to buy on
Blu-ray and
DVD now.