Michael Dolan

One of the most overrated films I've ever seen. I fully expect this to age like milk, if it isn't forgotten entirely. The oft lauded cinematography is the weakest aspect of the film. Scenes jump from black and white to color, while the aspect ratio changes at the blink of an eye. The result is often jarring, completely removing the viewer from the story. Interior scenes are so warm that subjects are rendered into Oompa Loompa territory; orange and cartoonish. Hoytema and Nolan seem so enamored with the idea of painting shadows on character's faces, but never stop to consider if it looks good. That they somehow managed to make Florence Pugh look tired and haggard is an absolute crime. Even paparazzi photogs are able to capture the woman's beauty, but this film renders her into a ghoul who just got a bad spray tan. The story itself is an 8 hour miniseries crammed into a 3 hour movie. It's chaotic at its best moments and feels like an extended montage at its worst moments. You could set long stretches of the movie to John Cafferty's Hearts On Fire and the viewer wouldn't question it. What we're left with is a story that feels dumbed down to the point where a fool would feel smart watching it. The severity of the subject is glossed over and emotions of subjects are hardly ever delved into, and it's all to keep the pace of an action movie when in reality nothing is happening other than banal conversations. Again, a fool will be tricked into thinking this is exciting, but anyone of savvy will see through the faux action paced trickery. The highlight of the movie comes from the actors themselves. Nearly every performance is great. The unfortunate exception is the lead himself. Cillian Murphy chooses to play his role with such a rigid banality that he becomes the weakest performer in each and every scene. Such generosity towards costars could be admirable, but not when the viewer is forced to spend 3 tedious hours with the wooden titular lead. Oppenheimer is wholly overrated and entirely forgettable. In a handful of years no one will ever remember this movie, and future viewers will stand in awe that the public was duped into lauding praise upon this film.

The usual fodder for perpetual manchildren; a mopey elite assassin waxes philosophical as he meanders from scene to scene extracting revenge. Is this really what men fantasize about? How sad. It's a Fincher film, so it has to execute everything in the most boring and pretentious way possible. This allows the manchild viewer to feel as though they are a sophisticate while watching what is essentially Schwarzenegger's Commando. While Commando at least offered schlocky fun, The Killer offers two hours of tedium. Charles Bronson's The Mechanic did it better.