The film opens in aremote, snow-covered corner of Sweden.The camera stares at a cabin under the stars and pine trees before inchingslowly forward toward the warm glow of the windows. The deliberate pace is analert: Jack (Clooney) is enjoying an intimate interlude by the fire with hisgirlfriend, but something wrong is afoot. Next day, as the couple strollsacross a frozen pond, Jack’s eyes sharpen when he notices unfamiliar prints inthe snow. Ready for the ambush about to come, he takes down the assassin. Andthen, telling his shocked girlfriend to go to the cabin and call the police, hequickly executes her with a single bullet to the back of the head. The happyidyll has passed. Regrets? Jack has a few.
We never learn exactly forwhom Jack is working or the identity of his taciturn handler. Jack’snationality is American; evidently, he is a well-paid killer, a professionalwith guns of every caliber who knows his way with the dangerous trade ofsurveillance and pursuit. To get him out of harm’s way, his handler sends himto a remote Italian village nestled in cloud-draped mountains. The camera’svulture-eye view reveals serpentine roads threading upward through a patchworkof fields and rooftops. The town is an ancient place of winding cobblestonealleys and terraces. Jack dwells there in a Spartan apartment, doing pull-upsand awaiting his next assignment.
Clooney plays Jack withthe heavy, wary eyes of a man without trust. Steeled against danger, hesuspects that death lurks in every doorway and has every reason to fear theworst, given the occupation he has chosen. The dialogue is terse and pregnantwith meanings left unsaid. A martial-looking tattoo with a Latin motto suggestsJack learned his trade in special forces. But nothing is certain about his pastor future. As the friendly, inquisitive local priest (Paolo Bonacelli) tellshim: “You are American and you think you can escape history. You live for thepresent.”
The priest and aprostitute called Clara (Violante Placido) are his only companions in the town.After easing the weight of lust, Jack finds himself strangely devoted to her.Even a killer needs a life to save. He never confesses to the priest, but seemsdrawn to the idea of unburdening himself if only by letting his guard down aninch or two with the kindly, perceptive cleric. But on the street Jack casts awary glance over his shoulder and scrutinizes every passing car. He knows thatsomeone has come to get him.
Director Anton Corbijn(whose career began in 1980s music videos) filmed The American with the beautifully composed, unhurried pace of a’70s art house picture. The interior life of Jack is undisturbed by chatteringdialogue. The many wordless stretches give rise to the imagination and eachscene is etched in high relief. TheAmerican’s drama builds slowly from Jack’s anxiety and reaches an operaticcrescendo at the climax. Will Jack be able to escape the life he has chosen andthe hard bargains he has made? He ponders the words of the local priest: “Hellis a place without love. You live in it.”n
