The American

Film star George Clooney usually exercises impeccable taste in deciding on his projects. The mystery's not in this dreary thriller -- states Kimberly Gadette -- but in the puzzling choice of bringing this introspective novel to the screen.

For the second time in less than three weeks, the US releases a film in which an A-list movie star plays an American who's temporarily lodging in Italy. During the visit, the traveler hopes to invigorate the soul, find meaning, escape earlier mistakes, blah-blah-blah. First Julia Roberts' stab at pasta in Eat Pray Love, followed by George Clooney's stab of another kind. Note to filmmakers: while Italy is a glorious place in which to set a film, we'll need a bit more.

Another thematic echo, or dare we say, a double Boot, happens in that both movies are adapted from meditative books, this latest from Martin Booth's A Very Private Gentleman about a gun maker rather than an assassin. Hollywood again attempts to turn internal philosophy into cinema and once again, it falls short.

By way of Rowan Joffe's deathly dull screenplay, Clooney's Jack has decided that he's no longer happy with his murderous career path. While he was probably once lured by the job description – something along the lines of "High pay; extensive travel; ability to think on your feet; people skills not required" – he's having second thoughts. He wants out, he tells his weathered, white-haired superior (Johan Leysen). The boss accedes, requesting that Jack perform one more little job on his way out the door.

Jack gets to work, gathering materials in order to build a high-powered super rifle for a beautiful spy girl with an affinity for wigs (Thekla Reuten). But since he's made a few enemies here and there (what assassin hasn't?), he creeps through the back alleyways of the tiny medieval town tucked in the mountainous region of Abruzzo, imagining that every footstep behind him will be the last sound he'll ever hear.

Clooney brings a certain cachet to his projects – hence, we're far more patient with The American than if, say, a B-actor named Luke Warm were the star. But after the first surprise ambush on a snowy field in Sweden, we wait ... and wait ... for something to happen. While we wait, we weigh the thought of a jog around the multiplex against another trip to the concession stand. Meanwhile, the assassin, well-versed in murder, figures out how to best kill time and performs an inordinate number of push-ups and chin-ups. Good for you George, we think, self-medicating with another fistful of popcorn. And we're supposed to like this guy?

Adding to the uninvolving exercise segments is something akin to a YouTube instructional video, in which a silent Jack methodically builds his weapon. The camera scans the various gun parts, then shows a step-by-step assembly scene. He screws, he rotates, he oils. All that's missing is a distended male voice explaining how to simply snap the rifle site onto the barrel, nice and snug, being careful not to squeeze the trigger, because well, something bad might happen.

And what of the director Anton Corbijn? Other than his 2007 debut feature Control, Corbijn's prior work consists of music videos for the likes of U-2, Depeche Mode and Nirvana, and photography. Would that he had imbued this film with music-video energy rather than his Leica-snapshot sensibility. Though the movie is framed beautifully, with an obvious photographer's eye, the pictures are surprisingly static.

This is not to say a film addressing a cerebral hit man is a bad idea – in this quick-cut superficial action world, an internal journey would have been a welcome change (bringing to mind such tormented murderers as in 1962's The Manchurian Candidate, 1982's Road to Perdition and 2008's In Bruges). But there has to be movement, a change, events that occur along the way to bring Clooney's "Mr. Butterfly" (one of his many nicknames) to a true metamorphosis.

Thank heaven for Jack's few dates with his prostitute girlfriend Carla (Violante Placido), who imbues the film with a spark of life. Reuten's sleek, authoritative spy delivers another bright note that lightens this ponderous production. We've all seen Clooney brood before, and he does it very well – usually, however, we get a story, too. Damn our unreasonable expectations.

For all of The American's camera work, the slow zooming in (a cabin in the woods, a shop, a building) and the extreme close-ups of Jack's long-suffering liquid stares, we're missing a comprehensive sense of who he is, as well as his supposed pursuit of atonement (described by Corbijn in the production notes as "a loner trying to find redemption from the deeds he's done"). Even the town priest (Paolo Bonacelli), pummeling him with questions, is left frustrated by this enigmatic fellow. No answers, no action, no depth.

The protagonist goes by such monikers as Jack, Edward, Mr. Butterfly and The American. It seems that the filmmakers couldn't decide who he was either.

Rating on a scale of 5 Roman Holidays: 2

Release date: US: 1 September 2010; UK: 26 November 2010
Directed by: Anton Corbijn
Screenplay by: Rowan Joffe
Based on the novel "A Very Private Gentleman" by: Martin Booth
Cast: George Clooney, Violante Placido, Thekla Reuten, Paolo Bonacelli, Johan Leysen
Rating: US = R; UK = 15
Running time: 105 minutes

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