Directed by David Fincher — Screenplay by Andrew Kevin Walker.
No one does dark crime films quite like David Fincher. The world-class filmmaker who got his start as an assistant cameraman on The Return of the Jedi and as the director of several music videos (over the years he has won himself Grammy Awards for these efforts, as he has worked with artists like Madonna, Michael Jackson, The Rolling Stones, and others) before he eventually debuted with Alien 3, has made a lot of different kinds of films but some of his most popular efforts have been concerned with darkness, crime, and meticulousness, with films like Se7en (this film reunites him with Se7en writer Andrew Kevin Walker), The Game, Fight Club, Panic Room, Zodiac, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and Gone Girl. With The Killer, the filmmaker’s twelfth feature film and second Netflix feature in a row, he has taken a story that admittedly may sound quite generic and turned it into something that is uniquely Fincher and quite good. Here he proves that even though Gone Girl came out almost ten years ago, Fincher’s expertise in the handling of this kind of material is a light that never goes out.
Stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before, in The Killer, we follow a contract killer who has been hired to take out someone, but when things don’t go as planned, a loved one of his is harmed, leading the hitman to seek murderous revenge. Yeah, the premise, on paper, isn’t exactly unique. But this is a Fincher film and it is much more than merely a generic John Wick clone, Fincher’s method couldn’t be any more different from Chad Stahelski’s action films if he tried. In Fincher’s film, we find a modern unnamed hitman (played by Michael Fassbender) adapting his methodology to the standards of modernity which include fast-food consumption, the spying eyes of video surveillance, Airbnb apartments, Amazon fast delivery, and whatnot. In public, while on a job, he doesn’t present himself as this debonair charming man, with Wick- or Bond-esque suits, but rather he disguises himself as a German tourist because he is under the understanding that no one wishes to converse with that type of bucket hat-wearing stereotype. He is extremely bored by the method with which he is to act out his latest mission, i.e. through impersonal sharpshooting from afar, and he looks down on nondescript people on the street and thinks back to the kind of proximity killing that he misses being tasked to do. He does yoga, he has a strict mantra about rejecting empathy and only doing what he is paid to do, and he has a high opinion of himself. He listens to a mixtape that exclusively includes songs from one sentimental, angsty band whose lyrics don’t always match the kind of cold-blooded unsentimental front he’s trying to put up. He doesn’t give a fuck, he just does the work as asked — and he tells us this over and over again. Until it all goes wrong early in this film. It sends him into a panic, and the repercussions of his failure to follow his code follow him home, where his partner is attacked. Now the titular hitman desires vengeance, and only time will tell whether his bigmouth will strike again and complicate matters once more — because now he is deeply emotionally involved, which, he’d know, he should not be.
“Stick to the plan. Anticipate. Don’t improvise. Trust no one. Never yield in advantage. Fight only the battle you’re paid to fight. Forbid empathy. Empathy is weakness. Weakness is vulnerability. Each and every step of the way, ask yourself, “what’s in it for me?” This is what it takes. What you must commit yourself to, if you want to succeed. Simple.”
Michael Fassbender in ‘The Killer.’
David Fincher, one of my favorite filmmakers, is partly known for the precision with which his films are made. His sometimes icy and elegant mastery of the form is clear for all to see, and his oeuvre has garnered him a devoted fan base. Methodically, he is known as a filmmaker who, similarly to Stanley Kubrick, demands not just multiple takes of each scene but as many as it takes with rumors insisting that he sometimes insists on fifty-plus takes of certain scenes. Although it is known to sometimes bother the on-screen talent immensely, others, like Mark Ruffalo, have come to realize what he is really doing here is to “take a stab at immortality.” As for his fascinations, well, when I think of Fincher’s dark films I am often reminded of his famous quote that ‘all people are perverts.’ His kind of meticulousness and painstaking precision is fully on show with The Killer in which the titular character is similarly obsessed with technique, and the colorful, eyebrow-raising views on the world that Fincher has passed on to us are also quite similar to the kind of internal monologue that you’re guided by in this feature. As such, The Killer, which is based on a French comic book by Alexis Nolent and Luc Jacamon, can often feel like an attempt at self-portraiture — perhaps even a knowing satire of his own methodology and reputation. Even if Fincher were to argue against that, you could easily point to how he, too, believes that filmmakers implant a part of themselves in their films. In Kent Jones’ documentary about the Hitchcock/Truffaut book, David Fincher appears as one of the talking heads, and, at one point, he stresses that “if you think that you can hide what your interests are […] in your work as a film director, then you’re nuts.” And I think it is pretty clear that there is quite a bit of Fincher in here.
The soundtrack is almost exclusively built around The Smiths, almost as if the band was used as temporary music that someone never bothered to swap out. And, frankly, some of the needle drops are somewhat on the nose. It may seem like Fincher is playing a game, but I never found myself thinking ‘this joke isn’t funny anymore,’ rather I quite enjoyed it for what it may inform us about the character. The tracks work as a kind of window into the soul of a man who protects himself by repeating his code over and over again, but what becomes fascinating is that he drowns out the inner voice through a work mixtape solely devoted to the tunes of Morrissey, Johnny Marr, Andy Rourke, and Mike Joyce. The iconic 1980s British indie rock group has made its name with songs that can be defined by longing, loneliness, depression, dark comedy, and macabre lines. While it makes sense for a hitman with a mantra to be fascinated by a band who has crafted lyrics such as “you should be bludgeoned in your bed,” their songs also raise questions about whether he truly abides by his code, given that the titular contract killer’s first attempted murder in the film is paired with the iconic “How Soon is Now?” Now, that is an incredibly cool usage of the song (Fincher has a way of fusing popular songs with instantly iconic imagery) whose sound is a feat for the ears, but its chorus also, notably, includes the line “I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does,” which is a sentiment that seems intentionally antithetical to the kind of persona that Fassbender’s character likes to be known for. Perhaps this is an early sign of a chink in his armor — an internal conflict just waiting to rip him apart.
The film itself is divided into six chapters and an epilogue. From its very first scene, the narration clues you in on the kind of film you’re watching. This is a deliberately paced film that initially focuses on the elaborate and time-consuming process that one must endure to be in that line of work. It only rarely goes into bursts of extended action opting instead for getting into the head of a perfectionist killer about to screw everything up. The precise editing and camerawork work in conjunction with the narration and the soundscape, including a light but effectively mood-setting score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, to get us into the point of view of Fassbender’s character with a sharp contrast between the elegant control and sudden the lack thereof. The sudden shifts between control and complete and utter loss of it complement the brief but sharp and startling moments of violence that are shown on screen (the nail gun!). When Fincher eventually delights in the kind of action sequence that you may be craving, it is effective hard-hitting stuff that keeps you on your toes. The individual chapters are quite different with almost all of them having both some surprisingly humorous dark comedy and the kind of violence one might expect from a film about a contract killer. And at the center of the confident Fincher stylishness and attention to detail you find Michael Fassbender, one of the best actors of his generation. Because of his racing career, this is Fassbender’s first film since 2019, but rest assured that he hasn’t lost a steep. This is a steely, intense, and precise performance from Fassbender who plays the exact right amount of emotion behind the eyes that each scene requires. As we are taken on a ride with him as our guide, we watch and hear him wrestle with his own humanity, and that is an aspect of the film that I really enjoyed.
Although David Fincher’s The Killer is not likely to be one of his most iconic efforts due to the generic nature of the premises, it is a thrilling piece of filmmaking that emphasizes that Fincher has his finger on the pulse and that he is still one of the world’s finest filmmakers. I don’t know that I can call it a top-tier David Fincher film on first viewing, but this is only because his filmography is so packed with greatness. Because, frankly, for most filmmakers, The Killer would be their greatest film, whereas for Fincher it is likely to be considered by most as merely a lightweight genre exercise. But make no mistake, this ‘genre exercise’ is faultlessly executed with a fine-tuned central performance, a memorable (and sometimes surprisingly funny) narration, outstanding sound design, instantly iconic use of music, as well as top-notch, seamlessly excellent filmmaking. I ate it all up and can see myself fall even more in love with it on subsequent viewings, but I can also understand if its ending won’t be enough for some.
8.7 out of 10
– Review Written by Jeffrey Rex Bertelsen.
I'm Jeffrey Rex 