I was first introduced, cinematically, to French filmmaker Jean-Pierre Melville in Godard’s Breathless, where he makes a rather satirical cameo appearance as a highbrow novelist near the film’s climax. Little did I know that the man I was watching churn out existentialist nonsense was also the man behind a number of exceptional films including Les enfants terribles, Army of Shadows, and of course, the film I’ve decided to review, Le Samourai. Some of his more enthusiastic contemporaries have actually dubbed him as the “father of the French New Wave,” but naturally, many – including myself – would argue otherwise.
He followed the New Wave rules of thumb (filming on location, working on a budget, etc.) but like most foreign directors, he was also known for conforming to American influences; drawing comparisons between Samourai and noir films like This Gun For Hire isn’t exactly a chore. I suppose this western charm was one of many factors that contributed towards his success, but despite Melville’s mainstream appeal, the fact remains that he established himself outside of the studio system, preferring to adhere to his roots in New Wave cinema throughout most of his career. Samourai is a great example of how he trades in big-studio customs for a more subtle, independent approach. Melville took a typical "genre film" and reworked the more conventional elements in order to craft something truly abstract. Samourai is slow, meticulous, and unwavering; attributes you wouldn’t expect in a standard, shoot-em'-up thriller, but here they work beautifully.
The film opens with a line written by Melville that refers to the film’s Bushido (“Way of the Warrior”) influence: “There is no greater solitude than that of the samurai unless it is that of the tiger in the jungle… Perhaps…”. Following this seemingly cryptic text, we’re introduced to our “samurai” who goes by “Jef Costello” (Alain Delon), a contract killer hired to off a nightclub owner. Like clockwork, Costello devises a methodical double-alibi – involving his girlfriend (Nathalie Delon, Alain’s real-life wife) and a late-night card game with a group of shady individuals – before he commits the crime.
Despite these painstaking measures, he’s eventually apprehended for homicide, but is let off due to insubstantial evidence supporting his arrest – although the station’s inspector (Francois Perier) remains a bit overzealous about indicting him. But this isn’t exactly good news for Costello. His employer wasn’t expecting him to get caught, so in classic gangster vein, Costello’s contractor orders one of his goons to dispose of him. Making matters worse, the dogged police inspector from earlier becomes determined to somehow fetch Costello and charge him for the murder. With fluid, ninja-like strategies, Costello must now avoid two oppositions who are tracking his every move.
Samourai isn’t traditionally “New Wave”, but it also isn’t built around an accelerated plotline with stylized action sequences. What I loved most about Samourai was its ability to move fast at a slow pace. Melville is instinctively aware that the audience’s excitement lies in the mounting tensions before the action takes place, and that’s essentially what this film is; a large build-up of tension. There’s only two moments of fatal violence in the entire film – one at the beginning and one at the end. Both scenes are almost identical in execution and in a way bring the film full circle. The events that occur between these crucial moments are conveyed in the most minimalist manner and handled with a controlled sense of direction; Samourai knows where it’s going and how it intends to get there.
Dialogue is scarce and only implemented when absolutely necessary. Character development is motivated by plot, not vice versa. Costello’s actions and mannerisms are subdued in even the most hostile environments. It’s, oddly enough, – given the genre – a quiet film, but it makes sure not to sit statically in place. The story doesn’t exactly echo the high-octane antics of the Bond or Bourne series’, but it manages to come across as far more genuine in terms of the way an expert in this field would actually behave. Naturally, the film has its inauthentic moments – there isn’t a police department I can think of that would dispense that much manpower for a single homicide case – but nonetheless, Samourai is still a gem to behold. It’s truly cinema in its finest, most succinct form.
8.5/10
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