(4 / 5)
Three years on from the roaring historical drama of Mank, David Fincher returns with The Killer, a chilly, methodical thriller very much rooted in the present.
The Killer (Michael Fassbender, coolly compelling) is a professional.
His working life is meticulous, based on a routine designed to help him perform with maximum efficiency. His outlook, relayed to us in deadpan voice-over, is half philosophical, half actuarial, but he’s as much a machine as the FitBit that continuously tracks his pulse.
When it comes time to take the shot, The Killer is as ready as it’s possible to be. But what he cannot account for is the unaccountable: bad luck. When a job goes sideways, he’s forced to sets out on a global mission to resolve the situation.
Based on a French graphic novel written by Alexis “Matz” Nolent, The Killer normalises the character of the hitman as a capitalist phenomenon. Despite Fassbender’s raw-boned good looks, The Killer is studiously anonymous; favouring a pale jacket and bucket hat combo based on a German tourist.
The official synopses talk of The Killer as though he’s in danger of cracking up, but he’s less like the unhinged protagonist of You Were Never Really Here than Fassbender’s earlier role as the controlling, self-controlled Steve Jobs.
Our protagonist may be an unsympathetic cipher – his only quirk is a devotion to The Smiths, whose greatest hits provide a soundtrack – and the tropes of the genre may be familiar, but our interest lies in watching him carry out his craft with ruthless efficiency and ingenuity, even when things go unpredictably wrong.
This is a guy who can legitimately include “problem-solving” on his CV. Not on his list of skills: “mercy” and “compassion” – he kills, as you might expect, without compunction.
Product placement is peppered throughout the film – the derelict WeWorks where The Killer sets up shop, the egg McMuffin he eats for breakfast (sans muffin), those same-day Amazon deliveries for all your homicidal needs. The suggestion is that The Killer himself is just as much a function of society as these, albeit with more of an obvious body count.
Erik Messerschmidt’s sharp, shadowy, sallow cinematography gives us a literally jaundiced view of the world, and Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross’ typically unsettling electronic score hints at the psychological undercurrents of our sociopathic lead.
The only aspect I found unconvincing was The Killer’s one human connection – it’s difficult to believe that someone whose mantra is “Empathy is weakness” would allow or feel the need for this vulnerability.
The Killer is all about style and function, a perfect fit for the slick, impersonal content factory that is Netflix. After all, it’s all a matter of business.
