Alain Delon. Coolest Man in History.
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Le Samouraï (1967) August 2, 2008 via Film Journal
Le Samouraï: Death in White Gloves By David Thomson
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Le Samouraï (1967) August 2, 2008 via Film Journal
Director: Jean-Pierre Melville Main Cast: Alain Delon; François Périer; Nathalie Delon; Cathy Rosier Territory: France/Italy
Contract killer Jef Costello (Alain Delon) carries out a hit on a nightclub owner during opening hours, and is spotted upon exiting the crime scene by the house pianist Valérie (Cathy Rosier). However, when rounded up for a police line-up by the Superintendent (François Périer), Valérie denies that she’s ever seen Costello. Reluctantly, the police release him, keeping him under surveillance until they can get proof. Pursued by both the police and his employers behind the hit on the nightclub owner, Costello is also curious as to why the pianist didn’t give him away…
When you consider that this is apparently Johnnie To’s favourite film and John Woo practically gushes throughout the booklet of the Criterion DVD release, you’d have thought I’d at least have heard of this film. But it wasn’t until a fellow Hong Kong film fan mentioned him in this very blog that I became aware of the existence of Melville and Le Samouraï. Certain things are beginning to click now though, like why Chow Yun-Fat was always referred to as the Alain Delon of Asian cinema. Well, Chow Yun-Fat loses out on the style stakes but it’s not really his fault – the 60’s were a much more stylish era than the 80’s and I’m looking to get me a fedora and trenchcoat in the vain hope of pulling off a Delon.
Despite Jef Costello’s unquestionable cool, his lifestyle is not too enviable. He lives in a hovel of an apartment with a canary as his only companion (and even here, you get the impression he only keeps the pet because it serves a practical purpose). There are no diversions in his spartan flat, and the only thing that comes close to decoration is a collection of empty mineral water bottles on top of his wardrobe. His only real contact in the human world is his “alibi” Jane Lagrange (Delon’s then-wife Nathalie), but he treats her so casually and indifferently you can’t tell if they are friends, lovers or just working together as a means to an end.
The film has style outside its main star, though, and the film has a chic that was only achievable for a short space of time in the mid-to-late sixties. The colours used are mainly just varying shades of grey, often making you think Melville might as well have shot the film in black and white. It is a very minimalist film, and the lack of dialogue in many scenes (it’s almost ten minutes before the first line of dialogue is delivered) adds to the distinctive style. The exterior shots of the city of Paris are also excellent. This is the only film I’ve seen set in Paris where the Eiffel Tower is not even in a single shot – probably because this is a French film and it’s only us foreigners who need those establishing shots to show we’re in the City of Light and not, say, Istanbul.
It’s not all style and no substance, though. The plot is compelling enough, although the pace is a trifle more pedestrian than is fashionable today with a surprisingly lengthy section where suspects are gathered at the police station for an identity parade. He wonders why the pianist Valérie didn’t shop him straight to the cops and suspects she’s up to no good. That doesn’t stop him obviously developing feeling for her though, even if she’s working for the organisation behind the hit on the nightclub owner. Like Jef’s flat, there’s little in the film that is superfluous, and the urge to find out what’s going to happen is strong.
At the end of the day, it’s the character of Jef Costello that intrigues most. His solitude, and his abstinence from the most basic human comforts make us want to know more about him. That he’s a killer (and a damn fine one) adds to his mystery. Where did he learn his skills, for instance, and what made him become the way he is? When he refuses his ticket when checking in his hat, we suspect we’re never going to find out. But although we have few answers to our questions, the ride was worthwhile.
It’s not all style and no substance, though. The plot is compelling enough, although the pace is a trifle more pedestrian than is fashionable today with a surprisingly lengthy section where suspects are gathered at the police station for an identity parade. He wonders why the pianist Valérie didn’t shop him straight to the cops and suspects she’s up to no good. That doesn’t stop him obviously developing feeling for her though, even if she’s working for the organisation behind the hit on the nightclub owner. Like Jef’s flat, there’s little in the film that is superfluous, and the urge to find out what’s going to happen is strong.
At the end of the day, it’s the character of Jef Costello that intrigues most. His solitude, and his abstinence from the most basic human comforts make us want to know more about him. That he’s a killer (and a damn fine one) adds to his mystery. Where did he learn his skills, for instance, and what made him become the way he is? When he refuses his ticket when checking in his hat, we suspect we’re never going to find out. But although we have few answers to our questions, the ride was worthwhile.
Le Samouraï: Death in White Gloves By David Thomson
Glenn Erickson's "DVD Savant" Review of Le Samourai:
http://www.dvdtalk.com/dvdsavant/s1775samo.html
http://www.dvdtalk.com/dvdsavant/s1775samo.html
Roger Ebert's "Great Movies" Review of Le Samourai:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F19970608%2FREVIEWS08%2F401010337%2F1023
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F19970608%2FREVIEWS08%2F401010337%2F1023
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