The Killer (2023 | USA | 118 minutes | David Fincher)
David Fincher’s latest film is about an incredibly meticulous craftsman doing dirty work for hire for incredibly wealthy clients in exactly the way he knows how to do them best. David Fincher’s two most recent films have also been produced — seemingly in exactly the way he wants to make them — for incredible sums of money for a company called Netflix whose free hand with production ends with a firm grasp over release strategy. Here, it’s a reportedly $100+ million dollar movie by a master filmmaker that will play in theaters for a week and make less than half a million dollars before disappearing to the exclusivity of their streaming service. Whether David Fincher sees any of himself or his longstanding career as an artistic yet highly commercial filmmaker in the story of what happens with a professional killer’s relentless perfectionism fails him for the first time is better left to the imagination. Regardless of whether you see it in a cinema, your television, or on a phone, The Killer is an incredibly entertaining, sleekly made, and perpetually propulsive adaptation of Alexis “Matz” Nolent and Luc Jacamon’s graphic novel.
Michael Fassbender plays the title role with the extreme precision it demands. Like this year’s other big screen assassin John Wick, Fassbender’s Killer says fewer than a couple hundred words out loud. However, Fincher, cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt, and sound designer Ren Klyce see to it that we’re constantly in his head. The camera follows his perspective in staking out his target’s luxury apartment from a cavernous unfinished WeWork office space in Paris. It’s long and tedious work that demands a capacity for boredom; but we also gain an intimate familiarity with the neighborhood, its habits, and daily rhythms. We’re treated (subjected?) to the constant internal monologue that’s heavy on mantras and light on self-revelation as he fills the long hours of preparation with yoga, breathing exercises, and McDonald’s meals (eat the protein, leave the carbs) while remaining invisible by dressing like a German tourist (complete with bucket hat). As an audience we’re lulled into the security of routine and the slow pace of a waiting game.
When something actually happens, it comes as a shock and a thrill. The posh older target finally appears, along with a leather-clad dominatrix, making for an outstanding visual juxtaposition. He pops on his headphones — the sparkling mordant nihilism of The Smiths provide his personal soundtrack that only comes to the top of the mix when the camera’s approximating his perspective — and gets to the stressful bloody business of putting a bullet through an unexacting target. Having been convinced of his proficiency by the previous twenty-minutes of flatly inflected preparation, when things don’t go according to plan, Fassbender’s flatly affected “this is new” comes as as much of a surprise to us as it does to his character.
There’s a first time for everything, and as The Killer makes his exit, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s score provides an ethereal electronic accompaniment to an elegant escape sequence that’s so well conceived that the blood pressure barely rises. It might be the last time we see him actually following his own patter of self-delusional advice. From there, the film plays out as a series of globe-trotting chapters in which his steady stream of words and actions diverge. Being exhaustively prepared is one thing, but incessant repetition of self-advice phrases like “stick to the plan” can bend reality entirely to his will. The frustrating divergences make for a wryly funny commentary on the genre of the cool hitman and the degree to which he knows himself.
Ironically (or maybe intentionally), the chapter-based travelogue structure makes for what could have easily been a highly binge-able prestige series. A retreat to his hideout in the Dominican Republic comes with an unpleasant surprise that sets off a revenge plot that will take him to New Orleans to confront a breach of decorum. From there, his rules go further and further by the wayside as he settles scores in South Florida, New York, and Chicago.
Each destination brings a new mini-mission and pique our perverse desire to see what happens next, no matter how grim we suspect it might be. It helps that camera movement and image-making is reliably stellar. Artistic shots immerse us in each location: reflections of halogen-lit old Paris reflecting in gleaming windows, Fassbender as an unknowable shadow on a humid night, or drone shots tracking a long drive through a jungle. Even the mundane — a law office, airport hotel, Home Depot, or a luxury health club — stoke a sense of curiosity as we try to figure out the problem-solving required to get us to the next task. Every setting provides opportunities for
Fincher and Fassbender don’t ever let us come to like this Killer: he’s cold, remorseless, and has made more money than he’d be able to spend. Still, there’s a seductive fascination inherent in watching people who are great at their jobs go about their work. Like a good Brett Easton Ellis character, his constant internal chatter is peppered with sardonically direct declarative assessments of almost everything and everyone he encounters. The perpetual dark humor, visual jokes, and callbacks perpetually counterbalance to the ensuing string inventive brutality. We never know exactly what’s next, but extreme competence inspires steady confidence that we’ll be pleasantly surprised by the final destination and the twisty routes it takes to get there. Just stick to the plan.
The Killer had a brief run in theaters and is now available to stream exclusively on Netflix.