With perhaps no other film do we see such marked lines of demarcation--a veritable clash of opinion divided into opposing critical camps--than in Jean-Pierre Melville's 'Le Samourai'. What it really comes down to is a civil war between film aficionados who set a sharp dividing line between style and substance. From the outset I must confess I am firmly ensconced in the 'substance' camp and for me, Le Samourai, in the end, fails precisely because it's practically all 'style' and of little 'substance'.
Today we have Tarantino, who like Melville, is a film buff and draws upon his vast knowledge of Hollywood films of yesteryear, to create his own new brand of films, a creative amalgam of past and present styles. Both Melville and Tarantino have made films where they are devoted to paying tribute to past classics, particularly in the gangster genre.
Melville perhaps is strongest when he puts his quirky, original imprint on what on the surface appears to be an ordinary gangster picture. I'm thinking about the early scene where he has his protagonist, Jef Costello, go through the assortment of keys, one of which will start the car he has stolen; or (as it's pointed out in the DVD extras), how Melville cleverly suggests that Jef has outdrawn the nightclub owner, by immediately cutting from the owner drawing the pistol, to Jef firing his gun, with no footage in between; the struggle at the train station, shot from the odd angle, gazing through the bridge grills and of course the excellent closing scene, so nicely choreographed, with Melville detailing how his hero accomplishes his pre-planned 'suicide by cop'.
While I'm perfectly willing to concede Melville has his stylistic 'moments', I part company with the style camp, on a number of fronts. While the 'stylistas' argue that the languid pacing of the movie adds to the overall impact of the narrative, I would argue the opposite. Why must we sit through minutes of the static opening shot of Jef's apartment? Why do 12 minutes go by before anything of any import actually happens (Jef stealing the car)? Why all the mundane shots of Jef walking through the streets and driving his car? Having his license plates switched (twice!)? An enormously long scene of police interrogations and line-up? An unnecessarily long scene of inept cops planting a bug in Jef's apartment? It goes on and on. Perhaps with some judicious editing, Le Samourai could have moved quicker and hence not put some of us to sleep.
Le Samourai fails on a much deeper level in that its characters lack depth. Deleon's 'Jef' is perhaps the best example of this lack of character development. His grim countenance becomes tedious throughout the film and we really find out next to nothing about him. I'm not surprised that Madonna wrote a song about Deleon ('Beautiful Killer') and his performance; undoubtedly many women were attracted to Deleon's 'pretty boy' looks (please look at pictures of him now—time has not been kind to once heralded media darling). Jef's death does conform to the Hollywood code: to atone for their sins, a person who has committed evil acts, must sacrifice himself, before the audience can look at him in a good light.
The 'Le Samourai' has little to recommend in terms of plot. It's a simple story about a contract killer who murders a man with no back story. The men who are behind the murder, are also complete ciphers. Only the chief detective, played by noted stage actor François Périer, proves to have a role of some substance, as he actually comes off as a real police detective. I also liked the late Cathy Rosier, the pianist, who brings grace to a limited part. At a certain point near the end of the story, Jef allows the man who initially attempted to kill him off the hook, after accepting payment of another large amount of money for another contract killing. Why didn't Jef, a contract killer, kill this man? Again, an improbable code of honor posited by Mr. Melville. Of course if Jef is a somnambulist (as one internet poster has suggested), and the whole story is a fantastic dream, then how can anybody have the audacity to question the character's verisimilitude? For those hypnotized by the film's style, it is certain that you will never convince them otherwise, that 'Le Samourai', is a certified masterpiece.
Today we have Tarantino, who like Melville, is a film buff and draws upon his vast knowledge of Hollywood films of yesteryear, to create his own new brand of films, a creative amalgam of past and present styles. Both Melville and Tarantino have made films where they are devoted to paying tribute to past classics, particularly in the gangster genre.
Melville perhaps is strongest when he puts his quirky, original imprint on what on the surface appears to be an ordinary gangster picture. I'm thinking about the early scene where he has his protagonist, Jef Costello, go through the assortment of keys, one of which will start the car he has stolen; or (as it's pointed out in the DVD extras), how Melville cleverly suggests that Jef has outdrawn the nightclub owner, by immediately cutting from the owner drawing the pistol, to Jef firing his gun, with no footage in between; the struggle at the train station, shot from the odd angle, gazing through the bridge grills and of course the excellent closing scene, so nicely choreographed, with Melville detailing how his hero accomplishes his pre-planned 'suicide by cop'.
While I'm perfectly willing to concede Melville has his stylistic 'moments', I part company with the style camp, on a number of fronts. While the 'stylistas' argue that the languid pacing of the movie adds to the overall impact of the narrative, I would argue the opposite. Why must we sit through minutes of the static opening shot of Jef's apartment? Why do 12 minutes go by before anything of any import actually happens (Jef stealing the car)? Why all the mundane shots of Jef walking through the streets and driving his car? Having his license plates switched (twice!)? An enormously long scene of police interrogations and line-up? An unnecessarily long scene of inept cops planting a bug in Jef's apartment? It goes on and on. Perhaps with some judicious editing, Le Samourai could have moved quicker and hence not put some of us to sleep.
Le Samourai fails on a much deeper level in that its characters lack depth. Deleon's 'Jef' is perhaps the best example of this lack of character development. His grim countenance becomes tedious throughout the film and we really find out next to nothing about him. I'm not surprised that Madonna wrote a song about Deleon ('Beautiful Killer') and his performance; undoubtedly many women were attracted to Deleon's 'pretty boy' looks (please look at pictures of him now—time has not been kind to once heralded media darling). Jef's death does conform to the Hollywood code: to atone for their sins, a person who has committed evil acts, must sacrifice himself, before the audience can look at him in a good light.
The 'Le Samourai' has little to recommend in terms of plot. It's a simple story about a contract killer who murders a man with no back story. The men who are behind the murder, are also complete ciphers. Only the chief detective, played by noted stage actor François Périer, proves to have a role of some substance, as he actually comes off as a real police detective. I also liked the late Cathy Rosier, the pianist, who brings grace to a limited part. At a certain point near the end of the story, Jef allows the man who initially attempted to kill him off the hook, after accepting payment of another large amount of money for another contract killing. Why didn't Jef, a contract killer, kill this man? Again, an improbable code of honor posited by Mr. Melville. Of course if Jef is a somnambulist (as one internet poster has suggested), and the whole story is a fantastic dream, then how can anybody have the audacity to question the character's verisimilitude? For those hypnotized by the film's style, it is certain that you will never convince them otherwise, that 'Le Samourai', is a certified masterpiece.