Blogorium Review: Le Samouraï

I sat down last night to watch Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï knowing relatively little about the film, other than effusive praise coming from Quentin Tarantino and it's place in the auspicious (for the most part) Criterion Collection. Coming out on the other side, I'm quite certain that without Melville's homage to film noir and police procedurals, there would be no Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai or The Limits of Control from Jim Jarmusch.

Jef Costello (Alain Delon) is a hitman who covers his tracks impeccably. He steals cars to avoid being tracked, puts together a two-fold alibi for the evening of his latest kill, and then heads to an ultra-chic nightclub to assassinate the owner, then leaves (almost) unseen. When the police pick up Costello, he calls in Jane Lagrange (Nathalie Delon) to vouch for his whereabouts, as well as the other man she saw that night, Wiener (Michel Boisrond). Unsatisfied with his story, the police superintendent (François Périer) puts a tail on Jef, but that's the least of his worries. Olivier Ray (Jean-Pierre Posier), the man who hired him, wants Costello out of the picture, and Jef finds himself being hunted by the police and his employers.

Le Samouraï is a movie of efficiency; not a moment is spared on stylistic flourishes or unnecessary technique. In fact, not a word is spoken for the first ten minutes of the film, and Delon's Jef Costello barely says anything during the story. His routine and dispassionate attitude do the heavy lifting, and while the direct link to the samurai code is tenuous (right down to a dubious "quote" from Bushido after the opening credits), the silent assassin is effective, adaptive, and attached only to the barest of routine - other than an insistence on making sure his fedora looks "just so," Costello is barely interested in the world around him.

Melville's film is a study in contrast, particularly between the run-down Paris that Costello (and his rare associate) inhabit, and the hyper-modern world of the men chasing him. Jef's apartment is, save for a few pieces of furniture and a caged bird, barren. The streets he walks are dirty, worn, and filled with shadows. On the other hand, Olivier's apartment, the nightclub, and even the Superintendent's station are a study in antiseptic straight lines, brightly lit and reflective at all times. Compare the dingy gray of Costello's apartment with the pristine white hallway in Oivier's penthouse suite - where Jef hides out alongside Valérie (Cathy Rosier), the club's piano player and only link to his mysterious employer. Jef doesn't know that Olivier lives there - yet - but his persistence is matched only by Delon's inexpressive face.

The old clashes with the new during a tense (and mostly silent) chase sequence between the police force and Costello in the Metro system. Alternating between the Superintendent's office and Jef switching trains, Melville manages to make a simple blinking light generate most of the suspense. The Metro may be the only modern structure that Costello feels comfortable navigating, and even though his escape may be questionable, the sequence is the closest Le Samouraï comes to having an "action" sequence.

Jef's insistence on wearing a trench coat, suit, and fedora may have been anachronistic in1967, but it points to Melville (and much of the French New Wave)'s obsession with the American film noir movement. The film itself is unabashedly straightforward, lacking much of a sense of self parody, even when the stoic assassin needs to play tough with a colleague sent to kill him (or hire him). Jef Costello is arguably the model for the Lone Man (Isaach De Bankolé) in Jarmusch's The Limits of Control, a character so exaggerated that it is difficult for this reviewer to find the latter effective. Similarly, the samurai ethic hinted at early in the film seems to have been extrapolated on by Jarmusch in Ghost Dog, which has a similar narrative structure.

While Le Samouraï is an efficient, entertaining exercise in straight-faced extremes of behavior, I sense that audiences would view the film today as more intentionally sarcastic than Melville intended. Jef Costello is too stoic, too silent for fans of "bad-ass" cinema to take at face value, and his "hits" are over as quickly as they begin. Le Samouraï is an action film limited in action: a study in contrasting styles, one that is rewarding if you don't know what to expect, but certainly a film whose imitators have stacked the expectations unfairly against their point of reference.