Thursday, September 2, 2010
Clooney plays Jack, part time assassin, full time brooder, whose fully encapsulated into a paranoid existential funk. The action begins (and seriously the two minute opening gunfight is about the only action in the film) when Jack and his prostitute friend are enjoying the void in Sweden, when the shots are fired. Oh my, someone's trying to kill George Clooney, or Jack, because in this case the man who looks an awful like Clooney is completely lacking in any sort of discernible charm, emotion, or much human characteristics at all. So unfortunately the pretty Swedish prostitute must die as well-- not a spoiler-- it's the first five minutes of the film.
What follows is an hour and twenty odd minutes of meandering through a pretty quaint portion of Italy. Jack is paranoid. Jack assembles his gun. Jack disassembles his gun. Jack meets new prostitute. Jack drives his car. Jack is prodded on the nature of God but a kindly prodding priest. It's all quite torturous, but it's Euro-art house torture, I suppose meaning that it feels like one might have wasted three hours of their life. All of which leads to an unsatisfying and fairly predictable conclusion, bristling with about a minute and a half of hot-boiled action.
What looks pretty in The American, feels cold. There's no payoff in the least. D