This is how some fans of The Smiths see themselves. Without question, David Fincher’s latest, The Killer, is the identity crisis Morrissey and Johnny Marr fans were waiting for. Their time is now, and Michael Fassbender puts them to the test. Those double-decker buses better round the corner for anyone attempting to plant their personality in the hollow shell of the elusive and aptly named lead killer, The Killer (Fassbender). Confusing Chris Parnell for Charles Parnell in the opening credits is not a sign of fatigue but a sharp relay of noting Parnell is a unique surname. So too is The Killer, which feels frankly Orwellian not in any sort of reference to dystopia but in its first-person urgency. It feels far closer to Down and Out in Paris and London or the writings of Anthony Bourdain – an expert who leads us through the field of unique situations.
Bringing those bleak outlooks on their careers, The Killer gives Fassbender a constant narration which documents the philosophy of a hitman. Although there is a philosophy about the mundane nature of the life of a killer, the resentment for the self is a rather charming, if mature, core to The Killer. Those opening moments in France, accepting the slow build to an adrenalin-pumping few seconds which, of course, could be disastrous, do not chart a sudden spiral – it feels as though The Killer was heading down the route of self-destruction anyway. Guided well by Fassbender, whose return to the screen is a welcome one. Fincher does well to convince of this series of events being the day-to-day essentials, rather than something exciting in an otherwise routine set of career highs. There is always room for failure.
Viewers will be all too expectant of the personalised problems which come from being in the field of killing. James Bond and the Hitman video game series all show how personal troubles and mishaps always lead to rough conclusions which go against the grain of what is assigned. The Killer makes no change to this and suffers from some rather impersonal moments – though this does feel like the point. This is an unnamed killer whose life is merely glimpsed at. Fassbender does well to style these moments though it is Fincher, whose clunky pacing concedes a few times. He has a sense of placement in giving The Killer some unique personality traits, though is at war with himself to keep this man elusive. Still, he straddles those troubles well enough.
There is a tinge of cringe to the discussions on empathy but a humanising look, at times, of how a killer’s mind works when they scurry their way through the underworld. The Killer maintains a grand tension that brings out the best in its character work. Stressed and struggling to find peace with an accident which Fassbender spends ten minutes relaying as not mattering whatsoever bring out a decent turn in The Killer. Accidents do, indeed, happen. Fincher does not look too much at the modernity of assassins, where the fight against technology and the boom of security in the public eye may take them. Still, there is enough tension and fear-laden throughout a new experience for a professional killer to make this an exciting viewing.
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