The Killer: the film review by David Fincher

The killer protagonist of The Killer Of David Fincherwhich premiered at the Venice Film Festival, is something of a modern day death machine. He uses Amazon, has a complicated relationship with Airbnb, has seen the series Business in the dark. He even exploits the collapse of contemporary industry: when we first see him at work, he’s lurking in an abandoned WeWork space. It is all one jokeat least in the grim and woefully airless confines of Fincher’s film.

Perhaps it was thought that the director could return to ironic comedy And coldly anarchic Of Fight Club, another dark film that targeted the mundane trappings of everyday American life. This time, though, the gimmick looks stale, her references in need of an update. (Perhaps the killer could get her assignments via TikTok?) But the whole thing might not even matter so much if the film balances her commentary with hilarious suspense, which Fincher certainly is capable of. Some moments in the film raise blood pressure, but otherwise The Killer it is curiously inertits wheels spin with little traction.

The hitman that restless is played by Michael Fassbender, lean and wolfish. He is the one to narrate much of the film, explaining the simple rules for the success of his character: stay concentrateddon’t get conditioned by something as annoying as empathymake sure the heartbeat is at an acceptable level. We are told that he is meticulous, that he is a highly paid professional at the top of his clandestine industry. But we can’t verify it. The film opens with the botched murder of a sniper in Paris: the bullet intended for him hits a passerby and the killer, who goes by many names, has to flee.

Or rather, sort of leak. After the strenuous start, no one seems to care about him. Perhaps it’s an attempt to keep the narrative streamlined, but the stakes drop tremendously. Since the killer missed his target, he snaps some sort of insurance policy and becomes a target himself. However, the loser is his girlfriend (or close friend?), Shot in the killer’s luxurious residence in the Dominican Republic. The girl survives, but she is pretty battered, and so the killer sets off on a mission for the inevitable vendetta, or at least, to make sure such an attack doesn’t happen again. He pursues, but is no longer pursued.

Fincher’s film is divided into six chapters, each of which corresponds to a stage in the revenge tour of the protagonist. There perfect mastery Fincher’s cinematic technique – the way things move towards the camera or slide into frame – is evident throughout the film. However, the film, to the viewer’s frustration, stands undertone, holding back just when you think (or hope) the action is about to explode. It could be interpreted as the admirable restraint of an expert master who favors finesse over inspiration. But I selfishly wished I had more popplus cdirectorial satisfaction. After the respectable solemnity of MankI longed for the dark dynamism of Fincher’s previous works.

Around, The Killer offers it to us. There is a gripping and clever scene in a house in the Florida night, a brawl involving guns, fists and household tools. Its realization must have taken several days, due to numerous technical requirements and Fincher’s well-known penchant for re-shoots. The end result is stunning, a dirty one pas de deux concluded with abrupt punctuation. This is an interesting and persuasive aspect of the film: its frequent reminders that the death it is not necessarily lyrical, generally it leaves no room for parting sentences or poetic last words.

Worthy of mention however is a delightful sequence that engages Tilda Swinton, a tense conversation over a few drinks in a restaurant that brings the film closer to its purpose. The clumsiness of the script by Andrew Kevin Walkeradapted from the graphic novel by Alexis Nolentsuddenly gives way toelegance. Swinton is, as always, charming and surprising, a sharp and sophisticated electric shock. In some ways, this is a cruel joke. We yearn for a different film, one that focuses more on Swinton’s character, or one that follows her and Fassbender in their nefarious work in tandem or in opposition. But this is a cartoon film, so there is nothing destined to last over time. Swinton lays out his case, then Fassbender’s laconic avenger leaves where the list of assignments takes him and towards the end of the film.

It cannot be ruled out that the anticlimax of the film is intended, the American director tries to subvert our expectations about hitman films, making us reflect on our own thirst for blood. Whatever his justification, The Killer it is succinct to the extreme, almost as if it were an aggression towards the public. Fincher knows we know what he’s capable of when he gets down to business, but he denies us pleasure, both cerebral and more basic. The Killer it’s a economics experiment whose results are inferior to the efforts made. Calculated efficiency is all well and good, but a little life – at least a shred! – is needed to make sense of all this killing.