By Steve W. Schaefer
Lake Oconee Breeze
LAKE OCONEE —
The American
Rated R for violence, sexual content and nudity.
“The American,” with George Clooney, is sort of like a modern work of art: to some it may be a very effective, evocative piece while to others it is just another naked emperor. It reminded me of an arty foreign film filled with broody scenes and mysterious characters.
The opening scene is in Sweden. Clooney is mattress romping with the proverbial if not clichéd Swedish woman with, incidentally, nary a dragon tattoo. Then something goes wrong and Clooney — who seems to have an allergy to one specific name — starts shooting…and we infer immediately and reasonably that he a very talented gunsmith and a cold killer to boot.
But to soften the blow, we conclude that he is a tortured soul…looking for love…even if he has to seek it in a small Italian village bordello with a woman smitten with stunning good looks named Clara.
He falls in love and decides to retire…perhaps to a condo in Boca Raton…with Clara no less.
I get the feeling I once read this in some nineteenth century European novel; man’s ultimate destruction is love.
Frankly, I have not seen a movie so sparse in dialog and bodacious in long, contemplative scenes using a backdrop of the Alps but with drab skies and some odd patch of a volcanic dessert along with an idyllic brook with green trees surrounded by rare and graceful butterflies. There were so many dichotomies that I got a feeling of schizophrenia that I wondered if I could buy some Thorazine at the concession stand.
And there is a priest who had the body of Yogi Bear and a face of a Basset Hound. He was a sinner, too, but he had a strong desire to assuage the pain of our man with so many names.
Here is a different George Clooney. Not the suave, good looking, James Bond kind of guy, but a man who looked like he was just getting over a really merciless hangover.
This is a well done film, but yet I was not entertained. I really didn’t like it; it wasn’t clever enough for me; not so original that it made me think, “Now that was an interesting experience.”
And then there is the end: not a shock, really, but appropriate and very Noir or European. Apparently the moral of the story is that a man who seeks a career in killing people best become celibate…because women are nothing but trouble.
You see, George’s multi-named character killed his bedmate back in Sweden because she witnessed him practicing his craft. Somehow his hormones made him weak and vulnerable. That Samson story was all wrong. Chicks cause the chinks in a man’s armor.
We should have known that things were not going to go well for him regardless of the efforts of Cupid.
As for carrying the film, Clooney is “the man.” He certainly looks haunted. He really does a great job. I really felt for the ruthless murderer. It helped that his boss looked like The Grim Reaper. So we are compelled to give Clooney a pass and save our disdain for the evil boss man.
I learned a lot from “The American.” Being a hired killer isn’t as glamorous as I had thought. No four star hotels and fun parties. No tuxedos with patent leather shoes. No really cool cars that cost more than I made in ten years. Nope. A rather dismal existence if you ask me. Who knew?
Who says movies are a waste of time?
“The American” gets three bow ties out of five.
