Typically when the word “American” appears in the title of a Hollywood movie, it’s an indication a certain set of values, a certain upward striving, that has come to be identified with American culture. The word’s appearance in these titles may conjure this idea earnestly (American Graffiti), ironically (American Psycho) or accusatorially (American History X), but they all tap into the audience’s shared perception of what America stands for as a concept. But the title of Anton Corbijn’s 2010 film The American signals something different – the protagonist’s status as a stranger, and not a very welcome one.
The American may be the most European movie ever made with Hollywood money. The only actor most American viewers would recognize is George Clooney, and even he spends much of his time at his Italian villa. But beyond the Dutch director and the Italian locations, the film is intensely European in its style and attitudes. Sex and nudity are explicit; violence is subdued. Clooney plays an assassin, but The American is more interested in how this occupation provides him with a high-stakes secret, rather than an excuse to fetishize violence. The killings, when they do happen, are swift and silent, a consequence of the narrative rather than its raison d’être. Corbijn seems to care more about Jack’s (Clooney) quest to assemble the perfect gun than its ultimate use – as does Jack, for that matter.
Certainly The American could be interpreted as a protest against the spread of American influence across Europe and the rest the world. Throughout the film, there are subtle reminders – Jack’s order of a caffé Americano; the Renato Carosone song “Tu vuò fa l’americano” piped in over a restaurant’s speakers; two villagers attending an American movie to improve their English – of just how casually American culture has pervaded Italy, and the Italians’ simultaneous fascination with and contempt for it. In one scene, Jack visits a bar where Once Upon a Time in the West is playing on TV. But despite its American stars and Old West setting, the bartender is quick to reclaim it, growling, “Sergio Leone: Italiano,” almost as a threat. Even The American’s plotline of an American assassin losing his edge can be read as an allegory for the US’s slipping position as the world’s foremost power.
But the film seems equally as interested in how people who don’t fit in get defined by their differences. The villagers of Castel del Monte almost exclusively refer to Jack as “L’Americano” rather than by his alias, “Edward.” Whether their use the term is affectionate or hostile, it stills marks Jack as someone who stands out in the town where he’s supposed to be hiding. Jack’s choice of career has condemned him to a life of solitude, but seldom has he been so often reminded that he’s so alone. Perhaps this is why he so often seeks to connect with other characters who also live on society’s fringes: a priest (Paolo Bonacelli), a prostitute (Violante Placido) and a fellow assassin (Thekla Reuten).
The priest’s conversations with Jack act as The American’s philosophical center. Jack discovers that Father Benedetto betrayed his solitary calling by fathering an illegitimate son with a villager. The priest, for his part, criticizes Jack’s lack of interest in his supposed career as guidebook photographer. “You’re an American. You think you can escape history. You live for the present,” the priest tells him. Jack replies, “I try to, father.”
Well written, Sally…very nice.
Let me know if you are still interested in the Garden State Film Festival. Write to my email address…I can hook you up.
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