★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
A charmless Dylan O’Brien takes the lead in this callous thriller which may as well be titled Toxic Masculinity: The Movie. He stars as Mitch Rapp, a young-ish man on the warpath for those who shot his girlfriend dead on a beach in Ibiza. His attempts to connect with vaguely-defined Muslim terror groups catch the attention of the CIA, and he’s brought in to face brutal training at the hands of no-nonsense Stan Hurley (Michael Keaton, just about managing not to nod off).
I’ve no idea how much of the plot has carries over verbatim from Vince Flynn’s 2010 source novel, but the opening massacre on a Mediterranean beach, a shootout in a crowded market and a subplot involving the threat of nuclear war couldn’t be more politically insensitive and exploitative if they tried.
The many scenes of cruelty are classified by the BBFC as ‘sadistic’, and believe me, that’s a generous appraisal. Not merely content with the customary CG splatter, American Assassin delights in looming, lingering shots of civilians and gunmen alike screaming, choking on blood and clutching hideous exit wounds. Women are usually victims of the nastier killings, the most distasteful offence occurring when Mitch follows a lead back to his luxury hotel. The businessman’s mistress wanders around topless for a few moments before getting cut down in the crossfire.
I don’t want to get on some moral high horse about this, but the kind of message the film sends through its constant depiction of shooting and stabbing as the quickest solution to any problem is troubling, and doubly uncomfortable when we consider that the whole reason for our hero's fractured psyche is exposure to horrific bloodshed. Stan’s cruel boot camp only serves to enhance the young man’s thirst for barbarity, and the only character who displays the slightest hint of pity is soon revealed to be minimally untrustworthy. Mitch immediately attempts to drown them in a bathtub.
Look: I’ve enjoyed a bunch of movies with as much – if not more – violence than this. Gareth Evan’s The Raid and its sequel are two of my favourite movies. But whereas they bring technical elegance, an empathetic lead, winning composition and threatening villains, Michael Cuesta's effort offers only the exhibition of a perfectly-manicured white man carving his way through faceless foreigners.
And that’s all Dylan O’Brien really brings to the role: eternally-windswept hair and skinny jeans in place of a personality. His eventual antagonist, appearing in the form of Taylor ‘glad to be working’ Kitsch, is equally laughable. During their final confrontation, the two trade blows and stagger around a small room. Both sport short, untidy facial hair, black slim-fit shirts and identical accents. In shots where O’Brien’s fluffier hairdo is out of frame, the two are genuinely indistinguishable, reducing what should be a nail-biting climax upon which the fate of the world rests to a pair of Hollister models having a special cuddle.
I’ve no idea how much of the plot has carries over verbatim from Vince Flynn’s 2010 source novel, but the opening massacre on a Mediterranean beach, a shootout in a crowded market and a subplot involving the threat of nuclear war couldn’t be more politically insensitive and exploitative if they tried.
The many scenes of cruelty are classified by the BBFC as ‘sadistic’, and believe me, that’s a generous appraisal. Not merely content with the customary CG splatter, American Assassin delights in looming, lingering shots of civilians and gunmen alike screaming, choking on blood and clutching hideous exit wounds. Women are usually victims of the nastier killings, the most distasteful offence occurring when Mitch follows a lead back to his luxury hotel. The businessman’s mistress wanders around topless for a few moments before getting cut down in the crossfire.
I don’t want to get on some moral high horse about this, but the kind of message the film sends through its constant depiction of shooting and stabbing as the quickest solution to any problem is troubling, and doubly uncomfortable when we consider that the whole reason for our hero's fractured psyche is exposure to horrific bloodshed. Stan’s cruel boot camp only serves to enhance the young man’s thirst for barbarity, and the only character who displays the slightest hint of pity is soon revealed to be minimally untrustworthy. Mitch immediately attempts to drown them in a bathtub.
Look: I’ve enjoyed a bunch of movies with as much – if not more – violence than this. Gareth Evan’s The Raid and its sequel are two of my favourite movies. But whereas they bring technical elegance, an empathetic lead, winning composition and threatening villains, Michael Cuesta's effort offers only the exhibition of a perfectly-manicured white man carving his way through faceless foreigners.
And that’s all Dylan O’Brien really brings to the role: eternally-windswept hair and skinny jeans in place of a personality. His eventual antagonist, appearing in the form of Taylor ‘glad to be working’ Kitsch, is equally laughable. During their final confrontation, the two trade blows and stagger around a small room. Both sport short, untidy facial hair, black slim-fit shirts and identical accents. In shots where O’Brien’s fluffier hairdo is out of frame, the two are genuinely indistinguishable, reducing what should be a nail-biting climax upon which the fate of the world rests to a pair of Hollister models having a special cuddle.
