The American allows the viewer to travel back, in an atmospheric sense, to action dramas of the 70s. In particular, this George Clooney starrer (helmed by Anton Corbijn) charts a lone assassin, alternately known as Jack or Edward, as he hides out in a pastoral Italian village using his solitary time to perfect his machine skills, have an affair with a prostitute and gleam a tiny bit of introspection.

By mentioning the 70s I specifically mean that The American doesn’t resort to CGI blood spray and pyrotechnics to embellish the few times it erupts into violence. Also the hero (or anti-hero in the case of the always glum Jack) finds himself on a possible road of self-discovery in a strange land, not unlike, say, the 1971 Peter O’Toole vehicle Murphy’s War. And the sex scenes are actually sensual, another 70s benchmark, with a couple of trysts filmed entirely in red light. Italian actress Violante Placido makes a solid impression in one of her first English speaking performances.

Other than Clooney the cast are non-dimensional although that suits the story by having types of people to surround Jack. The priest, the car mechanic, the fallen woman looking for her own redemption, they all figure into Jack’s arc, itself as unwavering as a bullet.

Like another 70s movie, Day of the Jackal, a section of the movie concerns Jack’s customizing a weapon that can fire multiple rounds but with the accuracy of a rifle and with a silencer that displaces the source of the shooter. Is it possible for a person with a questionable past to put it all behind him and adapt a new identity, not unlike a butterfly emerging from a cocoon? Certainly the American asks this question, but with a lot of style, quiet direction and subtle acting.

– Michael Bergeron