Retro Film Review: Le Samouraï (1967)

(source: tmdb.org)

The recent flood of serial‑killer films from Hollywood might suggest otherwise, but the most fascinating category of movie criminals is arguably found among professional assassins. This becomes especially evident when the assassins themselves are the film’s protagonists. Filmmakers often struggle to reconcile the morally objectionable nature of the profession—taking human lives in cold blood—with the almost mystical skills that allow such individuals to remain professionals in the first place. It is therefore unsurprising that many films end up mystifying and glamourising this immoral trade, turning hitmen into the very incarnation of ‘cool’. For some, 1980s Hong Kong action films started the trend, but their inspiration came from a film of another time and place—Le Samouraï, the ultra‑stylish 1967 crime drama by the great French director Jean‑Pierre Melville.

The protagonist of the film is Jef Costello (played by Alain Delon), a hitman hired to kill a Parisian nightclub owner. Jef has never been caught, thanks to his methodical approach: contracts are always arranged through intermediaries; weapons and means of transport are always disposable; hits are carefully planned; and his girlfriend Jane Lagrange (played by Nathalie Delon, Alain Delon’s wife at the time) along with a couple of underworld associates provide near‑perfect alibis. The plan unfolds almost flawlessly, except when the lady pianist (Cathy Rosier) spots Jef immediately after the murder. Jef is later picked out by the police from dozens of suspects and quickly becomes the focus of attention for the Police Superintendent (François Périer). The pianist, however, for reasons unknown, fails to identify him, and he is released—only to become the target of an assassination attempt himself. Realising that those who ordered the hit are now restless and want him silenced, Jef decides to find them, and the pianist seems to be the key. Meanwhile, he must evade the police, who are determined to find any excuse to put him back in jail.

At first glance, Le Samouraï appears to glamourise the contract killer’s profession. The young, charismatic Alain Delon, with his fedora and overcoat, looks like a predecessor of Chow Yun‑Fat and other ‘cool’ hitmen we have seen in recent decades. Yet this impression is only superficial. Anyone drawn into the world of Le Samouraï discovers that the film reveals the other side of the coin. The nature of the work—constant risk of capture by police or betrayal by criminal associates—breeds distrust and paranoia. In the end, such individuals may look glamorous, but inside they are lonely, emotionally crippled and unhappy. All that can fill this emptiness is the job itself; missing emotional links to other humans are replaced by a perverse professional code, somewhat akin to bushidō (which Melville deliberately misquotes in the film’s opening scene). This reading is echoed in Alain Delon’s face, which never once smiles throughout the film and hardly displays any emotion at all. The cold, grey interiors of his character’s home, along with the rain and cloudy skies over Paris, enhance this effect.

Melville stripped the story to the bone, just as he did with the title character. The other roles, even those important to the plot, are one‑dimensional—yet this suits the purposes of such an ascetic film. There are a few exceptions. One is the Police Superintendent (superbly played by François Périer), whose determination to bring Jef down leads him to occasional emotional outbursts and the use of blackmail. The other is Jane Lagrange, who allows herself genuine feeling for Jef and, against her better judgement, protects him. Although both characters display little overt emotion under Melville’s minimalist style, the feelings are there, forming a stark contrast with Jef’s cold, sad existence.

The direction, however, is not as flawless as the film’s near‑legendary status might suggest. There are memorable scenes—the hit, the police line‑up, Jef’s cat‑and‑mouse game with detectives in the Paris Métro, and the great finale—but Le Samouraï, while a truly great film, falls short of masterpiece status. The main reason is the pacing, which at times is unbearably slow even by pre‑MTV standards. Certain scenes feel overlong (especially the one in which two detectives plant listening devices in Jef’s flat), and because of them Le Samouraï can occasionally feel like a cure for insomnia. That said, apart from these lapses, Le Samouraï—with its great acting, superb settings and simple, effective story—remains one of the finer examples of genre cinema and should be recommended even to viewers not actively seeking the sources of John Woo’s and Quentin Tarantino’s inspiration.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

(Note: The text in its original form was posted in Usenet newsgroup rec.arts.movies.reviews on August 20th 2001)