The American

The American is low on incident but rich in mood. Watching Corbijn’s follow-up to Control (2006) is like flicking through a portfolio of the former music photographer’s perfectly composed portraits, only instead of Depeche Mode or Bono we have Gorgeous George doing his best Lee Van Cleef impression, all taciturn and squinty eyed. Suppressing all his trademark twinkle, Clooney plays Jack (aka Edward), the eponymous assassin-cum-gunsmith who’s holding up in a labyrinthian village in the Abruzzo region of Italy while on the lam from some surly Swedes. What’s so impressive about this sophomore feature is that despite having a script that amounts to little more than a collage of crime film clichés – a pulpy stew of conflicted killer on one last job, his hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold girlfriend, and an avuncular priest ready to give absolution – it feels vivid and vital. In its best moments the film plays like a lucid nightmare, with Clooney trapped in a picturesque purgatory. [Jamie Dunn]