The American was my husband G. Grod’s pick and he enjoyed it more than I did. George Clooney is an assassin hiding out, doing ONE LAST JOB BEFORE HE GETS OUT, providing a custom made gun to a FEMME FATALE. Even after his last “friend” died violently (at his hand!) he begins to FALL IN LOVE WITH A BEAUTIFUL HOOKER WITH A HEART OF GOLD. This bag of cliches weighed on me.
The film is beautifully shot in Italy, and Clooney gives a good performance as a quiet, terse, tired killer plagued by rightful paranoia. But the plot is thin, and full of holes: he ditches a cell phone so he can’t be traced, but keeps the car he was given. One of the people out to kill him has ample opportunity a few times, which makes the ending less tense. A person who’s supposed to be ambiguous wasn’t, really, to me. I was really bothered by the plot with the prostitute. Not without merit, but I wish I’d done something else with my hour and forty-five minutes.