Alain Delon's steely gaze along with the perfect brim of his fedora hat and his tan trenchcoat can give one chills. Most of Jean Pierre-Melville's "Le Samourai" gives you chills in its elongated long takes of an unassuming Delon walking through the Parisian streets at night, ready for his kill. There is a coldness even when he steals an unlocked car with his ring of keys that presumably will contain the one lucky key to start the ignition. I did learn a couple of fascinating facts about Paris in the 1960's - all cars are unlocked and a set of keys from either an assassin or the police will eventually work for a locked apartment or an unlocked car.
Delon is a dehumanized assassin for hire, known as Jef Costello. There is a prostitute's apartment he frequents, though sex never seems to enter the picture (the prostitute is played by Alain's wife at the time, Nathalie Delon). There is no joy or even a passing grin to ever enter the handsome Delon's face - this man has no inner life and nothing to keep him anywhere. He could float in and out of one city after another and retain his anonymity and nobody would ever give him a second look - a handsome automaton whom you could call the Everyman. I stress the handsomeness of Delon because this is probably Melville's own sly joke on his protagonist - no woman ever seems to notice him especially when he enters a club without his fedora on (I think in real life with Delon, this was hardly the case). His disinviting grayish apartment is spare except for a black rotary phone, a bed and a caged bird who happily chirps when he is home. In a stunning scene that kept me on the edge of my seat, Jef enters his home and notices that the bird is not chirping as much, as if the bird is exhausted. Jef realizes his home has been bugged and searches for the device. Amazingly tense sequence for a cliched scene.
"Le Samourai" has a grayish, sometimes nondescript, cloudy atmosphere that is reeked in despair, as if Melville was fully aware of the protagonist's fate. The film is clean and spare with hardly any gimmicky editing tricks other than the occasional slow swish pan between scenes. This works wonders and though I came to this film a little too late after seeing so many other lone assassin pictures inspired by Melville, "Le Samourai" is top of the line in every way with an existential ending that kept me riveted, shocked and drained. Melville's film, like its robotic antihero, briskly moves along with a deadening stare.
