If Terrence Malick were to put his gloss on Jason Bourne, the result might be something like The American. This visually compelling thriller from Dutch director Anton Corbijn (Control) has an almost meditative quality to it, the camera lingering over landscapes and absorbing natural light while the characters, mostly George Clooney as Jack, ponder What It’s All Come To.
As an assassin and custom weapons designer, Jack is a master craftsman. This much is clear, but there is much left unclear about this American hiding out in the Abruzzo region of Italy after a stint in Sweden takes an unexpectedly abrupt and violent turn. “You have a gun? Why would you have a gun?” asks the Swedish damsel in much distress. The questions could continue in the movie’s closing frames, albeit in a more existential tone of voice.
After fleeing Sweden, Jack makes contact with his handler, the world-worn Pavel (Johan Leysen) in Rome. A brief meeting is arranged and Jack is sent packing with a map and cell phone with instructions to lie low while the events up north are sorted. “Don’t make any friends, Jack,” Pavel warns. “You used to know that.” Indeed, even Pavel’s friendship is suspect. Jack ditches the map and the cell phone and is essentially on his own in the world.
Clooney gets top billing in The American, but Italy’s Abruzzo region should be named prominently alongside him on the poster. The region’s capital city, L’Aquila, was hit by a devastating earthquake just months before The American started shooting, but the production decided to stay to help spur economic recovery. The stony, wild beauty of this remote area between Rome and the Adriatic Sea is a fierce presence on the screen. It’s only Corbijn’s second feature film, and his 35 years as a portrait photographer is on display in the structured way he and cinematographer Martin Ruhe work to frame shots, often with people made small in contrast to the expanse of land and sky.
Corbijn has historically worked primarily in black and white (always film, never digital), and while this movie is in color, the palette is muted in a way that seems to reflect the photographer’s sensibilities—yellows and browns and greens with splashes of orange work together to create a world that is appealing, but in an aloof sort of way. (Those enamored with the visuals might be interested in Inside The American, the book of photographs Corbijn took on and off the set while making the movie.)
Appealing and aloof might also describe Jack, and perhaps this is why the region seems to exert some sway over him. Posing as a landscape photographer, Jack spends his days getting lost in the labyrinthine street of the Abruzzo village where he’s taken refuge before eventually making contact with Pavel and getting word about another job. It’s a custom fit—the job and the weapon he’s asked to create.
“I’m no good with machines,” Jack claims at several convenient points, but it’s soon clear that machines are perhaps what he is best with. He treats his body much like a machine, keeping it primed and ready for action, and his work constructing the gun is meticulous and creative. And yet, Jack is no machine. His eyes (aided by impossibly long eyelashes) give him away. Jack is adrift, unsure what he was ever aiming at. The two friends he makes—a priest and a prostitute—each provide their own paths to salvation. Played by veteran Italian actor Paolo Bonacelli, Father Benedetto pursues a relationship with the American with the urgency of a priest who senses time might be short. He’s not buying the cover story and knows Jack is at a crossroads. “Those that seek peace have much sinning in their history,” he aptly observes.
Clara, an employee of the local brothel, and Jack spend some torrid nights together during which both, to their mutual surprise, drop their professional personas. Played by the Italian beauty Violante Placido, Clara becomes a vision of another life for Jack (or Edward, the name by which she knows him), just as he offers a kind of release to her. Both seem to sense that with each other, their pasts could be absolved. Or would, at the very least, not be the cause of scandal that would typically put love out of reach. But Pavel warned Jack not to make friends for a reason, and neither the priest nor the prostitute can ultimately save Jack.
The American is likely to divide audiences. The action is sparse, and the dialogue even more sparse. The drama is in the eyes and this will make the movie an interminable bore for some. Many very small cups of coffee are consumed in silence. And at least one crucial plot point goes entirely unexplained. But for those willing to accept Jack as they find him, and to dwell in the Abruzzo that inspires this killer to even consider another life, The American is a stirring portrait of loneliness and longing.
I’ve been unable to forget the look in Jack’s eyes as he hits the steering wheel in frustration at one point in the movie. It’s the sort of film that sticks with you, one you find yourself thinking about while drinking your own very small cups of coffee.
Talk About It
Discussion starters- What sort of redemption can Clara and Jack offer each other?
- If you were Father Benedetto, what sort of advice would you give Jack?
- Father Benedetto tells Jack, “You are American. You think you can escape history. You live for the present.” Do you agree with this assessment of the American posture toward history? Why or why not?Why might Jack want to only live for the present?
- Can Jack be seen as a kind of avatar for America as a country? In what ways yes, and in what ways no?
The Family Corner
The American is rated R for violence, sexual content, and nudity. Within the first few moments of the movie, a woman’s bare behind is shown lying on a bed. Clara is seen topless a number of times and fully naked once. She and Jack engage in a rather torrid sex scene. There’s also intermittent violence; in one scene, a face that has been shot is shown up close.
Photos © Focus Features.
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