For once, a bad guy who really acts like a bad guy should! This hit-man is one cold, non-descript and calculating man who plans and executes his hit with the utmost precision. About the only character I remember who did a more thorough job was the hit-man in Day of the Jackal. The police also seem very bright and competent--and repeatedly nearly trip up the baddie (Jef). Because of all this realism, I strongly commend this movie. On top of the realism, I really liked the ending. All in all, a fine film and there are no negatives that I can think of--except that this type of film is probably NOT everyone's cup of tea, so to speak. There really isn't any romance and no one is particularly likable, but what do you expect in a film like this?
171 Reviews
An Iconically Silky French Cocktail
blakiepeterson2 May 2015
Alain Delon has had it. It's 1967, he's sitting on the hot seat of France's famed movie series, Monsieur Cinéma, and he's promoting Le Samouraï. "We have the great pleasure of welcoming Alain Delon to our show," the host says, looking in his guest's direction. "Alain Delon is in the spotlight because 'Le Samouraï' is opening this week." But the ambiance doesn't feel like a respected Inside the Actors Studio precursor; it feels more like a talk show, and Delon isn't in a good mood. He's been better known for his looks than his talents for his entire career. He's proud of the work he has done in acclaimed works like Purple Noon and The Leopard, but he finds himself taken less seriously than he'd like to be simply because he resembles a suave Dolce & Gabbana model. The Male Bardot, they call him.
But he's 32. He doesn't want to be labeled as a pretty boy who somehow gets enviable parts any longer. So instead of saying thank you to his host's polite but slightly condescending introduction, he elaborates on the date of the film's opening. "It's this Wednesday," he smirks. Aware of his guest's snarky mood, the host tries to pick himself back up. "The posters are all over Paris, and they're very striking. 'Le Samouraï', in big, black letters."
"Red," Delon interrupts before his interviewer can even say "letters." He's seen it all before: the host who actually knows nothing about the film but pretends to love it, the host who puts on a grin in order to appease disinterested viewers. Maybe he would have let this fly in the past, but Le Samouraï is far too important to him. He believes it to be a turning point in his undermined career. This isn't just some fluffy movie audiences hear about on a television program like it's Dean Martin's newest vehicle; this is "a work of art," he puts it. "A true auteur film in every aspect."
He goes on to discuss the ins-and-outs of the film with the watchful eye of an obsessed movie buff, and it's unlike anything we've seen Delon do before, personally or professionally. He's always been the confident kid that whisks by with a hint of danger, an exotic woman by his side. This image, along with the entire introduction of this review, may or may not be dramatized speculation on my part, but when I picture Delon, I picture him as the guy from L'Eclisse, fiendishly charismatic but in a tug-of-war between boyhood and the idea of an adulthood in which being taken seriously is everything.
Jean-Pierre Melville uses Delon in a way most directors would be afraid to attempt. Before, Delon's charm was his selling point, but in Le Samouraï, his allure is snatched from him. Melville takes away any ounce of precious dialogue in favor of a more nuanced approach, forcing Delon to embody a particularly cryptic character mostly through body language. In the past, actors in gangster films have been able to mangle the script and somehow spike their delivery to sound more menacing than usual. But Delon has to do something even harder, having to exude invincibility all the while keeping an icy exterior. People turn towards scenery-chewing performances when thinking about characterizations that "moved" them; in contrast Delon has done something masterful with subtlety, undoubtedly more impressive than the booming Shakespearian actors that began to creep out during the 1960s.
We see Costello go through his daily rituals, putting on his trench coat and fedora with strange precision, keying a car to get some extra loot, later pulling a job at a nightclub. Throughout the film, he doesn't show the slightest smidgen of a feeling. Is he numb? In denial? Truthfully, it doesn't matter. Though the storyline sees his normally smooth routine being interrupted by an investigation, he doesn't seem worried about the government closing in on his every move. He is so far into a life of crime that dying for his cause doesn't seem all that bad.
This is probably why the film is called Le Samouraï, as the samurais in all those Asian epics were more than willing to lose their lives in order to appease their reputations and their peers. Unlike Melville's earlier projects, Le Samouraï doesn't have the same blatant criminal romanticism. It's slick and crystalline, yes, but every frame carries enough tension to suggest that Dolph Lundgren might come out of the shadows and Machine Gun Kelly everyone to death. A tragic ending is a given. Silence is cherished in the film; along with Delon's moodless characterization, the facsimile of scenic solitude is furthered. The greyed-out style, Melville's intricate direction, and, of course, Delon's performance, work together with astonishing virtuosity.
The only complaint I ever find myself having with Melville films is how untouchable they are. They feel miles apart from us, detached, so stylish that we grow to be more appreciative than adoring. But there is no denying how great a filmmaker Melville is. "He's the greatest director I've had the good fortune, pleasure, and honor to work with up to this point," Delon dryly gushes later on in the Monsieur Cinéma interview. It sounds dramatic, but sometimes, melodrama can be true. Melville is not just a guy with a dream; he's a visionary, a poet of style.
Read more reviews at petersonreviews.com
But he's 32. He doesn't want to be labeled as a pretty boy who somehow gets enviable parts any longer. So instead of saying thank you to his host's polite but slightly condescending introduction, he elaborates on the date of the film's opening. "It's this Wednesday," he smirks. Aware of his guest's snarky mood, the host tries to pick himself back up. "The posters are all over Paris, and they're very striking. 'Le Samouraï', in big, black letters."
"Red," Delon interrupts before his interviewer can even say "letters." He's seen it all before: the host who actually knows nothing about the film but pretends to love it, the host who puts on a grin in order to appease disinterested viewers. Maybe he would have let this fly in the past, but Le Samouraï is far too important to him. He believes it to be a turning point in his undermined career. This isn't just some fluffy movie audiences hear about on a television program like it's Dean Martin's newest vehicle; this is "a work of art," he puts it. "A true auteur film in every aspect."
He goes on to discuss the ins-and-outs of the film with the watchful eye of an obsessed movie buff, and it's unlike anything we've seen Delon do before, personally or professionally. He's always been the confident kid that whisks by with a hint of danger, an exotic woman by his side. This image, along with the entire introduction of this review, may or may not be dramatized speculation on my part, but when I picture Delon, I picture him as the guy from L'Eclisse, fiendishly charismatic but in a tug-of-war between boyhood and the idea of an adulthood in which being taken seriously is everything.
Jean-Pierre Melville uses Delon in a way most directors would be afraid to attempt. Before, Delon's charm was his selling point, but in Le Samouraï, his allure is snatched from him. Melville takes away any ounce of precious dialogue in favor of a more nuanced approach, forcing Delon to embody a particularly cryptic character mostly through body language. In the past, actors in gangster films have been able to mangle the script and somehow spike their delivery to sound more menacing than usual. But Delon has to do something even harder, having to exude invincibility all the while keeping an icy exterior. People turn towards scenery-chewing performances when thinking about characterizations that "moved" them; in contrast Delon has done something masterful with subtlety, undoubtedly more impressive than the booming Shakespearian actors that began to creep out during the 1960s.
We see Costello go through his daily rituals, putting on his trench coat and fedora with strange precision, keying a car to get some extra loot, later pulling a job at a nightclub. Throughout the film, he doesn't show the slightest smidgen of a feeling. Is he numb? In denial? Truthfully, it doesn't matter. Though the storyline sees his normally smooth routine being interrupted by an investigation, he doesn't seem worried about the government closing in on his every move. He is so far into a life of crime that dying for his cause doesn't seem all that bad.
This is probably why the film is called Le Samouraï, as the samurais in all those Asian epics were more than willing to lose their lives in order to appease their reputations and their peers. Unlike Melville's earlier projects, Le Samouraï doesn't have the same blatant criminal romanticism. It's slick and crystalline, yes, but every frame carries enough tension to suggest that Dolph Lundgren might come out of the shadows and Machine Gun Kelly everyone to death. A tragic ending is a given. Silence is cherished in the film; along with Delon's moodless characterization, the facsimile of scenic solitude is furthered. The greyed-out style, Melville's intricate direction, and, of course, Delon's performance, work together with astonishing virtuosity.
The only complaint I ever find myself having with Melville films is how untouchable they are. They feel miles apart from us, detached, so stylish that we grow to be more appreciative than adoring. But there is no denying how great a filmmaker Melville is. "He's the greatest director I've had the good fortune, pleasure, and honor to work with up to this point," Delon dryly gushes later on in the Monsieur Cinéma interview. It sounds dramatic, but sometimes, melodrama can be true. Melville is not just a guy with a dream; he's a visionary, a poet of style.
Read more reviews at petersonreviews.com
"What's four hundred suspects in a city of ten million?"
classicsoncall5 April 2018
Warning: Spoilers
I'm intrigued by the number of reviews for this film that declare it perfect and the epitome of cool. For a cold, methodical assassin, I thought Jef Costello (Alain Delon) made at least three unforced errors that brought about his eventual downfall. The first and most obvious was when he established his identity with the night club's pianist (Cathy Rosier) by staring her down following the murder of owner Martey. Then, when he was asked by the police to accompany them out of the private card game, Jef automatically went for his coat and hat, which would have been identifying characteristics during the police line-up. Why not just leave them there? And finally, he dumped the bag containing his bloody bandages right out in the street, by this time cognizant of the fact that he was under surveillance by the French police as a murder suspect. So where does this idea come from that he was a consummate professional who was a dozen moves ahead of his adversaries, and never made any mistakes?
While I'm at it, I might as well castigate the police for their lack of professionalism in pursuing their case. The detective who picked up Jef's discarded bag did so with his bare hands, thereby contaminating potential evidence with his own prints. Even worse, another detective did the same thing when handling Costello's gun at the night club at the finale of the story, Again, no safeguard against putting another set of fingerprints on a potential murder weapon. The bigger puzzle of course, and one we have no answer for, is why Jef emptied his weapon prior to entering Martey's for a final confrontation with the witness who lied. One must likely consider Costello's mental status as on the verge of melting down, contrary to everything we knew and felt about the guy as the story progressed.
But even with my criticisms, the film has a way of engaging the viewer in Jef Costello's nourish existence and the police procedural that runs through it's paces to track down a killer. A frightening aspect of that investigation occurred when the Commissioner (François Périer) stated his intent to snare Jef by threatening on and off again girlfriend Jane (Nathalie Delon, Alain Delon's wife at the time) with "The truth is not what you say. It's what I say". By the story's conclusion, the Commissioner does have his way with the truth, but considering my earlier observations, it didn't come as much of a surprise.
While I'm at it, I might as well castigate the police for their lack of professionalism in pursuing their case. The detective who picked up Jef's discarded bag did so with his bare hands, thereby contaminating potential evidence with his own prints. Even worse, another detective did the same thing when handling Costello's gun at the night club at the finale of the story, Again, no safeguard against putting another set of fingerprints on a potential murder weapon. The bigger puzzle of course, and one we have no answer for, is why Jef emptied his weapon prior to entering Martey's for a final confrontation with the witness who lied. One must likely consider Costello's mental status as on the verge of melting down, contrary to everything we knew and felt about the guy as the story progressed.
But even with my criticisms, the film has a way of engaging the viewer in Jef Costello's nourish existence and the police procedural that runs through it's paces to track down a killer. A frightening aspect of that investigation occurred when the Commissioner (François Périer) stated his intent to snare Jef by threatening on and off again girlfriend Jane (Nathalie Delon, Alain Delon's wife at the time) with "The truth is not what you say. It's what I say". By the story's conclusion, the Commissioner does have his way with the truth, but considering my earlier observations, it didn't come as much of a surprise.
Melville's masterpiece is pure seduction...
i-grigoriev24 October 2004
This film starts off with the same sound like Sergio Leone's 'C'era un volta il west', but it's just that here the sound is made not by a plate, but a canary, the cold-blooded killer's canary.
This film was made in 1967, the French nouveau vague already apparent all over the place, but with much more subtle undertones than, say, a work by Truffaut.
No, Melville's films were old-school, but at the same time revolutionary, in a delicate way. Take for example the 'chase' scene through the Metro. Practically nothing happens: there are no gunfights, no combat sequences, perhaps just a small chase. But it is Melville's camera and Delon's inimitable performance that keep the audience mesmerized all the way.
The camera practically flirts with the audience throughout the whole movie, picking the most interesting angles and achieving so much practically without any effort. Delon's character changes his expression only once or twice during the movie, shoots faster than even Leone's gunslingers and never forgets to feed his canary. To me, one of the most accomplished antiheroes of the whole genre.
The dialogue is barely there, but when it is, then it's something you'd probably wish you would have come up with yourself. It is a minimalist work that achieves the absolute maximum. Simply put: one of the best crime noirs ever made.
This film was made in 1967, the French nouveau vague already apparent all over the place, but with much more subtle undertones than, say, a work by Truffaut.
No, Melville's films were old-school, but at the same time revolutionary, in a delicate way. Take for example the 'chase' scene through the Metro. Practically nothing happens: there are no gunfights, no combat sequences, perhaps just a small chase. But it is Melville's camera and Delon's inimitable performance that keep the audience mesmerized all the way.
The camera practically flirts with the audience throughout the whole movie, picking the most interesting angles and achieving so much practically without any effort. Delon's character changes his expression only once or twice during the movie, shoots faster than even Leone's gunslingers and never forgets to feed his canary. To me, one of the most accomplished antiheroes of the whole genre.
The dialogue is barely there, but when it is, then it's something you'd probably wish you would have come up with yourself. It is a minimalist work that achieves the absolute maximum. Simply put: one of the best crime noirs ever made.
Along with 'The Wizard of Oz', the supreme film about the longing for home.
the red duchess7 December 2000
Warning: Spoilers
To see how beautiful, moving, exciting and astonishing Melville's 'Le Samourai' is, to recognise it as one of the greatest films ever made, arguably the most perfect, it is necessary to forget everything you've been told about it. If you've been told nothing, than you are very lucky; the first time I saw I knew nothing either, and it was a revelation - I came out of the cinema with huge goggle eyes - cinema can do THAT?! I absorbed every Melville film I could find (they are VERY hard to get), and read every article or book about him. My love grew to uncontrollable passion. But a lot cliches and received truths have grown up around his work, and this sublime miracle especially.
The most obvious is the director's obsession with American cinema. That his films are mere tributes to American cinema, or stern deconstructions of them. It is true that Jef Costello wears the classic film noir garb of mac and derby, but so do at least 400 men in Paris. And it is true that Melville rigorously exposes the myth of the gangster, but, most importantly, of masculinity and its power.
Elaborate theories of psychoanalysis are usually brought in here, the idea that Jef begins the film 'whole', looking at the mirror; during the course of the narrative he loses this self-sufficient image, cracking up as it fragments, split by mirrors, trapped behind bars (although the halved banknotes he consciously plays with at the beginning might qualify this).
Others comment on the film less as a gangster film than a dramatisation of particular philosophies. Some see Jef as an example of existentialist man, a man who does not exist except through his acts - the film patiently records endless scenes of Jef walking, staring, preparing for his jobs etc. His final ritual is a preparation for his death; as existentialism suggests, friends, social purpose etc. fall away, and one is left alone with one's fate.
Or as an expression of fatalistic Orientalist ethics (the film IS called 'Le Samourai') concerning solitude and the inevitability of death. Melville himself offered two possible interpretations - as a study in schizophrenia, and as an allegory of Man (Jef) pursued by Destiny (the Inspector) into the arms of Death (Valerie, the pianist).
All of these, of course, are valid interpretations. I am more sympathetic to those who see 'Samourai' as a dream, a study in solitude, or a portrait of mental breakdown. The film's action takes place largely at night; there is a frequently oneiric tone to Melville's style, the endless walking, the silence, the deliberate paring down of the mise-en-scene to near-monochrome. Jef's impassivity is comparable to that of a somnambulist, walking mechanically down countless corridors. As in a dream, whole sequences are repeated in exactly the same way. We keep returning to the same few locales. The film opens with Jef lying smoking in bed, in the dark; one powerful scene is Jef waking up after he has bandaged his wounded arm - has he had a nightmare, or is it the sound of a passing truck?
'Samourai' is also much more moving as a story of solitude than Antonioni's entire oeuvre put together. The only sure thing in this strange and enigmatic film is Jef's loneliness, living with his only friend, a caged bullfinch (usually a symbol of female entrapment) in a dismally run-down, sparse grey bedsit, prey to any intruders. Although he is constantly forced into the centre of the city by work and the police, he is safer on the margins, in anonymous streets, abandoned railway yards, disused buildings. Or at least he was before all the trouble started.
He is defined against the grim, geometric anonymity of modern life, his milieu as soulless and constricting as the plot he moves in, the elevator shafts that imprison him. He is the image of man in a surveillance society, an innocent man (until proven guilty) having his every move followed by a police happy to use morality as a threat (many people see Melville's films as sublimated allegories of France under the Occupation).
His only contact with people is in the preparation of death; his is a sterile, self-negating existence, ascetic as a monk (his uniform as ritual vestments). That Jef is a tragically lonely man is undoubted. There are two heartbreaking moments in this cool, austere film, when emotion breaks Alain Delon's astonishing performance, the most beautiful man in the movies letting slip just like the stills moving in 'La Jetee': when he goes back to the scene of the crime and looks at the pianist; his face for a brief second seems absolutely distraught, helpless, a child looking for a mother to reassure him (this is the key to the film, I believe, Jef the lonely wanderer searching for home); the second, after the celebrated Metro chase, in the stolen car, his face, for a moment, betraying hear-beating terror. At these moments, allegories and theories simply break down.
Jef's mental breakdown is, of course, linked to all this. Over the credits, Jef smokes alone in his bedroom, barely visible - the two bright windows look like eyes, as in Beckett's 'End Game', a figure for the mind, a mind at the end of its tether as seen by Melville's horizontal use of Hitchcock's famous 'Vertigo' shot, contracting and constricting the room to breaking point, revealing the instability of this 'safe' haven, and Jef's image of himself.
Mental deterioration is usually a subject of horror movies - the score features frequent bursts of chilling organ; when Jef goes to collect his car and gun for the contract, his accomplice, lit by a lamp, looks like a terrifying spirit. Jef is a trapped character, in his room, identity, plot; by the police and the gangsters; by geography, shadows, corridors; by the loop of time that forces him to return again and again to the same point - he is in hell; the only way out is self extinction.
It is important not to see Melville as child of Sartre, which limits him, but of Nabokov, whose complex procedures of ludic expression find a cinematic equivalent in his work - it is vitally important not to take him at face value. Jef's shooting of Rey - impossible, magical - is pure Nabokov.
I could go on - the Benjaminian idea of the flaneur and Paris; the extraordinary, near-futuristic sets; the comedy (e.g. see who Jef rides with in the police van answering to the same description); its remarkable analysis of the gaze; the brilliance of its action and suspense mechanics; the running motif of the theatre, performing, acting (in both senses) - Jef's costume; the line-up in a theatre-like space; the closing 'show is over' drum-roll.
Everything about this film, as John Woo noted, is perfect, but there is one sequence, breaking with Melville's calm, distant style throughout, that I would list on my ten best ever - as Jef goes to collect the cash and is instead faced with a gun - firstly he faces the audience; we could be no closer. Then, just as the struggle begins, Melville cuts away, his camera manically panning away from the action behind bridge grills, following Jef as he runs and ineffectually chases his assailant's car. It is a heartstopping moment in a film still too little known. I've just watched it twice in two days; I really must watch it again.
The most obvious is the director's obsession with American cinema. That his films are mere tributes to American cinema, or stern deconstructions of them. It is true that Jef Costello wears the classic film noir garb of mac and derby, but so do at least 400 men in Paris. And it is true that Melville rigorously exposes the myth of the gangster, but, most importantly, of masculinity and its power.
Elaborate theories of psychoanalysis are usually brought in here, the idea that Jef begins the film 'whole', looking at the mirror; during the course of the narrative he loses this self-sufficient image, cracking up as it fragments, split by mirrors, trapped behind bars (although the halved banknotes he consciously plays with at the beginning might qualify this).
Others comment on the film less as a gangster film than a dramatisation of particular philosophies. Some see Jef as an example of existentialist man, a man who does not exist except through his acts - the film patiently records endless scenes of Jef walking, staring, preparing for his jobs etc. His final ritual is a preparation for his death; as existentialism suggests, friends, social purpose etc. fall away, and one is left alone with one's fate.
Or as an expression of fatalistic Orientalist ethics (the film IS called 'Le Samourai') concerning solitude and the inevitability of death. Melville himself offered two possible interpretations - as a study in schizophrenia, and as an allegory of Man (Jef) pursued by Destiny (the Inspector) into the arms of Death (Valerie, the pianist).
All of these, of course, are valid interpretations. I am more sympathetic to those who see 'Samourai' as a dream, a study in solitude, or a portrait of mental breakdown. The film's action takes place largely at night; there is a frequently oneiric tone to Melville's style, the endless walking, the silence, the deliberate paring down of the mise-en-scene to near-monochrome. Jef's impassivity is comparable to that of a somnambulist, walking mechanically down countless corridors. As in a dream, whole sequences are repeated in exactly the same way. We keep returning to the same few locales. The film opens with Jef lying smoking in bed, in the dark; one powerful scene is Jef waking up after he has bandaged his wounded arm - has he had a nightmare, or is it the sound of a passing truck?
'Samourai' is also much more moving as a story of solitude than Antonioni's entire oeuvre put together. The only sure thing in this strange and enigmatic film is Jef's loneliness, living with his only friend, a caged bullfinch (usually a symbol of female entrapment) in a dismally run-down, sparse grey bedsit, prey to any intruders. Although he is constantly forced into the centre of the city by work and the police, he is safer on the margins, in anonymous streets, abandoned railway yards, disused buildings. Or at least he was before all the trouble started.
He is defined against the grim, geometric anonymity of modern life, his milieu as soulless and constricting as the plot he moves in, the elevator shafts that imprison him. He is the image of man in a surveillance society, an innocent man (until proven guilty) having his every move followed by a police happy to use morality as a threat (many people see Melville's films as sublimated allegories of France under the Occupation).
His only contact with people is in the preparation of death; his is a sterile, self-negating existence, ascetic as a monk (his uniform as ritual vestments). That Jef is a tragically lonely man is undoubted. There are two heartbreaking moments in this cool, austere film, when emotion breaks Alain Delon's astonishing performance, the most beautiful man in the movies letting slip just like the stills moving in 'La Jetee': when he goes back to the scene of the crime and looks at the pianist; his face for a brief second seems absolutely distraught, helpless, a child looking for a mother to reassure him (this is the key to the film, I believe, Jef the lonely wanderer searching for home); the second, after the celebrated Metro chase, in the stolen car, his face, for a moment, betraying hear-beating terror. At these moments, allegories and theories simply break down.
Jef's mental breakdown is, of course, linked to all this. Over the credits, Jef smokes alone in his bedroom, barely visible - the two bright windows look like eyes, as in Beckett's 'End Game', a figure for the mind, a mind at the end of its tether as seen by Melville's horizontal use of Hitchcock's famous 'Vertigo' shot, contracting and constricting the room to breaking point, revealing the instability of this 'safe' haven, and Jef's image of himself.
Mental deterioration is usually a subject of horror movies - the score features frequent bursts of chilling organ; when Jef goes to collect his car and gun for the contract, his accomplice, lit by a lamp, looks like a terrifying spirit. Jef is a trapped character, in his room, identity, plot; by the police and the gangsters; by geography, shadows, corridors; by the loop of time that forces him to return again and again to the same point - he is in hell; the only way out is self extinction.
It is important not to see Melville as child of Sartre, which limits him, but of Nabokov, whose complex procedures of ludic expression find a cinematic equivalent in his work - it is vitally important not to take him at face value. Jef's shooting of Rey - impossible, magical - is pure Nabokov.
I could go on - the Benjaminian idea of the flaneur and Paris; the extraordinary, near-futuristic sets; the comedy (e.g. see who Jef rides with in the police van answering to the same description); its remarkable analysis of the gaze; the brilliance of its action and suspense mechanics; the running motif of the theatre, performing, acting (in both senses) - Jef's costume; the line-up in a theatre-like space; the closing 'show is over' drum-roll.
Everything about this film, as John Woo noted, is perfect, but there is one sequence, breaking with Melville's calm, distant style throughout, that I would list on my ten best ever - as Jef goes to collect the cash and is instead faced with a gun - firstly he faces the audience; we could be no closer. Then, just as the struggle begins, Melville cuts away, his camera manically panning away from the action behind bridge grills, following Jef as he runs and ineffectually chases his assailant's car. It is a heartstopping moment in a film still too little known. I've just watched it twice in two days; I really must watch it again.
Melville's Masterpiece
riskbreaker11331 October 2005
I just recently saw this film for the first time (a la Criterion) and I was completely blown away. This film can be summed up with a single word: minimalism.
This is a work of true cinema. Hollywood tends to forget that cinema is first and foremost a visual art. Le Samurai is a film that could've been made as a silent movie. The director establishes meaning not with dialog but with the best tools available to a director; editing, mise en scenes, cinematography and composition. There is a constant feeling of solitude and isolation. Even when the protagonist finds himself in large groups, his face is pale, his eyes are cast downward and he is still a constant outsider.
On another note, the film looks surprisingly modern. There's none of the graininess of many other 60s and 70s films. Rather, the lighting and the whole visual aesthetic is pitch perfect, from the black and white nightclub (dualism) to the sparse gray apartment to the subterranean eeriness of the Paris subway.
Personally, I would not recommend this film to people not interested in real cinema, people who like 'movies' rather than 'film', simply because there's a strong possibility it will seem extremely annoying and boring to you. On the other hand, if you're a fan of serious cinema, do yourself a favor and watch this film.
This is a work of true cinema. Hollywood tends to forget that cinema is first and foremost a visual art. Le Samurai is a film that could've been made as a silent movie. The director establishes meaning not with dialog but with the best tools available to a director; editing, mise en scenes, cinematography and composition. There is a constant feeling of solitude and isolation. Even when the protagonist finds himself in large groups, his face is pale, his eyes are cast downward and he is still a constant outsider.
On another note, the film looks surprisingly modern. There's none of the graininess of many other 60s and 70s films. Rather, the lighting and the whole visual aesthetic is pitch perfect, from the black and white nightclub (dualism) to the sparse gray apartment to the subterranean eeriness of the Paris subway.
Personally, I would not recommend this film to people not interested in real cinema, people who like 'movies' rather than 'film', simply because there's a strong possibility it will seem extremely annoying and boring to you. On the other hand, if you're a fan of serious cinema, do yourself a favor and watch this film.
An ultra stylized icon of urban cool
Camera-Obscura2 June 2006
Melville's masterpiece about a contract killer, a modern day samuraï. He makes brilliant use of the city he loved so much, Paris. The feel, the sounds, the streets, the noise, it's all hauntingly cold and distant but at the same time he makes Paris seem like the coolest city in the world.
In the beginning of the film Melville uses a beautiful static shot of over 4 minutes to establish the audience with a seemingly empty room, then we see smoke circling upwards. There must be someone in the room but it's practically impossible to determine where the smoke is coming from. Finally Jeff Costello gets up from his bed, which wasn't recognizable as such in the first place, and appears on screen. The whole set-up is more reminiscent of a moving replica of a painting by the surrealist Paul Delvaux than anything else in modern cinema. Another surreal set piece is when after his first hit, all possible suspects are brought in at a police station, including Delon himself. Not one by one but all of 'em at the same time. In the next scene we see at least a hundred "gangsters", all wearing trench coats and hats, in a large hall, where they will be interrogated "en plein public". Genuinely strange procedures but handled with such care and stylishness that it becomes completely believable. It gives the somewhat humorous suggestion that the streets of Paris are populated by hundreds, even thousands, of trenchcoat-wearing gangsters, all loners, only seeing each other at card games and occasions like this.
Alain Delon is the perfect embodiment of gangster coolness in this career-defining role as a hit-man in Paris, a modern-day samuraï. "Le Gangster", as the French lovingly call them. Off course, these gangsters don't exist anymore and they probably never existed at all. French Gangsters must have been redefining their look after seeing Delon in this film. His association in real life with French criminal circles, in particular the Marseille underworld, has always given his performances a very strange aura.
As a kid, I regularly visited my grandmother who lived near the city of Marseille and on French television I saw lots of French gangster movies (well, my parents let me watch with them). Alain Delon was in quite a few of them. When I grew older and could identify most of the French screen legends, Delon as no other came to represent the ultimate gangster. An stylized icon of urban cool. I'm also convinced that his character Jef Costello in Le Samouraï was the inspiration for the hissing and whispering fellow in the trench coat in Sesame Street (did he have a name?), something like a gangster, a criminal. A mysterious strange man you should avoid as a kid. I'll be damned if I'm wrong, but I still see Alain Delon in Sesame Street!
In the beginning of the film Melville uses a beautiful static shot of over 4 minutes to establish the audience with a seemingly empty room, then we see smoke circling upwards. There must be someone in the room but it's practically impossible to determine where the smoke is coming from. Finally Jeff Costello gets up from his bed, which wasn't recognizable as such in the first place, and appears on screen. The whole set-up is more reminiscent of a moving replica of a painting by the surrealist Paul Delvaux than anything else in modern cinema. Another surreal set piece is when after his first hit, all possible suspects are brought in at a police station, including Delon himself. Not one by one but all of 'em at the same time. In the next scene we see at least a hundred "gangsters", all wearing trench coats and hats, in a large hall, where they will be interrogated "en plein public". Genuinely strange procedures but handled with such care and stylishness that it becomes completely believable. It gives the somewhat humorous suggestion that the streets of Paris are populated by hundreds, even thousands, of trenchcoat-wearing gangsters, all loners, only seeing each other at card games and occasions like this.
Alain Delon is the perfect embodiment of gangster coolness in this career-defining role as a hit-man in Paris, a modern-day samuraï. "Le Gangster", as the French lovingly call them. Off course, these gangsters don't exist anymore and they probably never existed at all. French Gangsters must have been redefining their look after seeing Delon in this film. His association in real life with French criminal circles, in particular the Marseille underworld, has always given his performances a very strange aura.
As a kid, I regularly visited my grandmother who lived near the city of Marseille and on French television I saw lots of French gangster movies (well, my parents let me watch with them). Alain Delon was in quite a few of them. When I grew older and could identify most of the French screen legends, Delon as no other came to represent the ultimate gangster. An stylized icon of urban cool. I'm also convinced that his character Jef Costello in Le Samouraï was the inspiration for the hissing and whispering fellow in the trench coat in Sesame Street (did he have a name?), something like a gangster, a criminal. A mysterious strange man you should avoid as a kid. I'll be damned if I'm wrong, but I still see Alain Delon in Sesame Street!
May be my favorite Melville film with a style that has inspired some, but is hard to match
Quinoa19841 August 2004
Jean-Pierre Melville took the idea of the lone gunman (perhaps more akin to the western genre than the crime genre), and created a film with star Alain Delon as a ultra-calm, smooth-operating contract killer Jeff Costello in Paris, who may be at least a little insane. The result is a blend of stylistic and thematic excellence, a suspense film where sometimes that aspect has to take a backseat to the psychological drama of the killer, and the side-story of the police procedural (headed by 'Superintendant' played by Francois Perier). The film carries very little dialog with a couple of exceptions, which gives Melville a chance to perfect his storytelling technique. Deleon, as well, was a very fit choice for the role of Costello. It's actually fascinating that Melville made this character, mostly a night owl with a look that's usually cold and hard boiled like some neo-hood from the 30's, the protagonist.
There's also the look of the film, provided in part by Henri Decae, who would later lens Melville's epic Le Cercle Rouge. In the opening shot, were given the feeling of distortion on Costello's uniquely blank one-room apartment. Is this to bring us inside of Costello's frayed consciousness, or is it just one of those style moves done by directors in the 60's? I might go for the psychological part, but what I noticed about Le Samourai, adding to the appeal of it, was the theme of Costello's mind-set is put forth subtlety. This is a pro put into tight circumstances (getting heat from his employers as well as the police), so who is there for him to go to? Just an on & off again girlfriend (Nathalie Delon), a little bird in his apartment, and a witness to one of his contracts (the late Cathy Rosier, in a performance of some note despite the one-sidedness of her part). When the action comes, it's not as bloody as in the films it later inspired (most obvious of which are John Woo's The Killer and Jim Jarmusch's Ghost Dog), yet that too just adds on to the emotions provoked by the settings and the mis-en-scene.
So, would I recommend Le Samourai to fans of crime films? Well, it may not to those who sole obsession are the crime films that pack all the high octane juice and gore, such as in a John Woo or Hong-Kong action film, or to the Tarantino fans that may not appreciate the patience Melville has (the deliberate pace and silences) as opposed to laughs and ultra-violence. I'd guess that Le Samourai is most successful, and why it is one of the best films I will ever see, because it is heavy on the nuance and detail, doesn't skimp on keeping the genre characters believable, and leaves the gun-play as true surprises even on repeat viewings (however, this is the kind of film to be watched maybe once every year or once ever few years, so that it keeps fresh when seen again).
Aside from delivering the goods in terms of the story and as a drama, for the audience it seeks out it's highly absorbing and an example of subtlety in cinematic grammar. It's not a crime or police movie for the mainstream (and I'm sure some will seek this out from the under-ground buzz, start watching and say, "oh man, this stuff's in subtitles? I can't bear to watch"). Really, it's appeal will hold more to fans of the french new-wave, which Melville set off with Bob le Flambeur, film-geeks, and for those looking for a dosage of atmosphere and cool bravura directors can't seem to latch onto in recent times. For me, it is one of the truly sublime time-capsule of what the gangster/noir genre/mood can produce.
There's also the look of the film, provided in part by Henri Decae, who would later lens Melville's epic Le Cercle Rouge. In the opening shot, were given the feeling of distortion on Costello's uniquely blank one-room apartment. Is this to bring us inside of Costello's frayed consciousness, or is it just one of those style moves done by directors in the 60's? I might go for the psychological part, but what I noticed about Le Samourai, adding to the appeal of it, was the theme of Costello's mind-set is put forth subtlety. This is a pro put into tight circumstances (getting heat from his employers as well as the police), so who is there for him to go to? Just an on & off again girlfriend (Nathalie Delon), a little bird in his apartment, and a witness to one of his contracts (the late Cathy Rosier, in a performance of some note despite the one-sidedness of her part). When the action comes, it's not as bloody as in the films it later inspired (most obvious of which are John Woo's The Killer and Jim Jarmusch's Ghost Dog), yet that too just adds on to the emotions provoked by the settings and the mis-en-scene.
So, would I recommend Le Samourai to fans of crime films? Well, it may not to those who sole obsession are the crime films that pack all the high octane juice and gore, such as in a John Woo or Hong-Kong action film, or to the Tarantino fans that may not appreciate the patience Melville has (the deliberate pace and silences) as opposed to laughs and ultra-violence. I'd guess that Le Samourai is most successful, and why it is one of the best films I will ever see, because it is heavy on the nuance and detail, doesn't skimp on keeping the genre characters believable, and leaves the gun-play as true surprises even on repeat viewings (however, this is the kind of film to be watched maybe once every year or once ever few years, so that it keeps fresh when seen again).
Aside from delivering the goods in terms of the story and as a drama, for the audience it seeks out it's highly absorbing and an example of subtlety in cinematic grammar. It's not a crime or police movie for the mainstream (and I'm sure some will seek this out from the under-ground buzz, start watching and say, "oh man, this stuff's in subtitles? I can't bear to watch"). Really, it's appeal will hold more to fans of the french new-wave, which Melville set off with Bob le Flambeur, film-geeks, and for those looking for a dosage of atmosphere and cool bravura directors can't seem to latch onto in recent times. For me, it is one of the truly sublime time-capsule of what the gangster/noir genre/mood can produce.
Delon will live forever
darleneva62125 January 2023
This movie is so revered but I had to watch it a couple of times before I saw the overall appeal. I enjoy films with little dialogue to establish intention and direction of the plot, and this describes Le Samourai. But the plot was convoluted at times, then it would be clear, then I'd get confused again. I felt on the edge of my seat (especially in the subway scenes) as I really didn't know which way this would go. There's so much that Delon's character, Jef, does that I don't understand but I really wanted to understand. I still don't, not really.
This is Delon's film, period. I believe the director, Melville, knew what he wanted and knew Delon could do it. He owns this part. So handsome but almost like a sculpture. There were small moments of vulnerability, enough to wonder how you feel about him.
The filming and the muted colors and the pacing, I can see why filmmakers worship this film. It's definitely not for everyone. You can read the synopsis so you have an idea of the plot, but trust me, it will fool you.
As I write this, Delon has recently turned 87. I saw a comment that said he hasn't aged well. At 87 years old, exactly how would one expect him to look? He's had health problems, needs a cane, but his kids occasional post pics of him on social media. He's aged naturally and I respect that.
Jef Costello is clearly the part that will always come to mind when discussing Alain's career. Sadly a lot of these films are not as interesting to the new generation.
This is Delon's film, period. I believe the director, Melville, knew what he wanted and knew Delon could do it. He owns this part. So handsome but almost like a sculpture. There were small moments of vulnerability, enough to wonder how you feel about him.
The filming and the muted colors and the pacing, I can see why filmmakers worship this film. It's definitely not for everyone. You can read the synopsis so you have an idea of the plot, but trust me, it will fool you.
As I write this, Delon has recently turned 87. I saw a comment that said he hasn't aged well. At 87 years old, exactly how would one expect him to look? He's had health problems, needs a cane, but his kids occasional post pics of him on social media. He's aged naturally and I respect that.
Jef Costello is clearly the part that will always come to mind when discussing Alain's career. Sadly a lot of these films are not as interesting to the new generation.
Sublime strangeness.
FilmSnobby31 October 2005
I'm going to go ahead and suggest, in my meager way, some reasons as to why Jean-Pierre Melville's *Le Samourai* is one of the greatest movies ever made, but it's far, far better for you to experience the film for yourself. You now have no more excuses: Criterion has just released it on DVD -- though, puzzlingly, this film doesn't get the deluxe double-disc treatment that the somewhat inferior *Le Cercle Rouge* received. Whatever -- I'll take it.
Simply put, *Le Samourai* justifies -- beyond argument -- the auteur theory in cinema, which states, more or less, that the most artistically rich movies are "authored" by their directors. And how much more enjoyable it is for the viewer that the author in this case, Melville, is mostly concerned with entertaining you! Those who dread the prospect of a French film from the Sixties can rest assured: no Godardian slap-dash cross-cutting, here; no lolling around in bed with a girl, smoking cigarettes and spouting tough-guy Marxism; no confusing back-and-forth displacement of narrative time, a la Resnais. Oh, Melville was a New Wave director, to be sure, but he was NEVER an experimentalist in terms of narrative. Take a film by Godard, even his most famous film, *Breathless*: you have to meet Godard on his own terms, or get left behind (your loss!) But Melville pours his stories into your glass neat, no ice, no intellectual mixer. *Le Samourai* is about a gun-for-hire named Jef Costello (Alain Delon). His job is to eliminate a nightclub owner. He does so, but is witnessed leaving the scene of the crime by the club's piano player (Cathy Rosier). Later that night, during the police round-up, he's taken in as one of 400 or more potential suspects. The cops can't make it stick to Costello, but the superintendent (Francois Perier) isn't fooled by Costello or his airtight alibi. And thus Costello finds himself under police surveillance, and meanwhile, his criminal bosses want to rub him out in case he squeals to "le flics". In other words, the actual story is simplicity itself, and is frankly ripped off from all the B-movie American noirs that Melville loved so much.
But none of this explains the stark originality of the movie. Of course, Melville gets some help. Let it be said that Delon is so good as the hunted hit-man that it almost defies description, let alone praise. Reportedly, he took the part after Melville had read to him the first 7 or 8 pages of the script. "I have no dialog for the first 10 minutes. I love it -- when can we start?" Delon is supposed to have said. Luckily for Melville, he found a kindred spirit in Delon, who, in any case, must have recognized the potentially iconic performance he could pull off if sympathetically directed. And boy, did he pull it off: NO ONE, in ANY movie, has ever been cooler than Delon's Costello. The movie was released in 1967 -- the Summer of Love -- but here's Delon anachronistically dressed in a single-breasted suit and a fedora, and getting away with it. (Well, okay, everyone else is wearing a hat, too, but this IS a Melville picture.) As for the performance itself, it bears comparison to Dirk Bogarde's Aschenbach in Visconti's *Death in Venice*: both roles are virtually silent yet must convey multitudes in a glance, in a movement, in a slight widening of the eyes. This is acting at its most meticulous, most physical, and most compact. Costello hardly ever says anything, but we're totally compelled by him, thanks to Delon's tight control. The influence of this character and Delon's performance has been nothing less than torrential: Pacino's Michael in *The Godfather* may serve as an obvious example.
But much of this owes to Melville's original conception, as well. If Shakespeare needs good actors to carry his plays over, then good actors need Shakespearean-level material to reach their best performances. Melville, as always, flavors his pulpy stews with his own fevered artistic ingredients, the foremost of which is own idea of masculinity taken to the insane extreme. Tainted with Japanese samurai films, American gangster films, and westerns as well, Melville concocts a character whose every act is an expression of pure existentialism. The ultimate result is that frisson of sublime strangeness we as an audience encounter whenever we come face-to-face with a deeply considered and unique artistic vision. The best art is really weird, yet recognizable and unforgettable. *Le Samourai* is among the best art.
10 stars out of 10.
Simply put, *Le Samourai* justifies -- beyond argument -- the auteur theory in cinema, which states, more or less, that the most artistically rich movies are "authored" by their directors. And how much more enjoyable it is for the viewer that the author in this case, Melville, is mostly concerned with entertaining you! Those who dread the prospect of a French film from the Sixties can rest assured: no Godardian slap-dash cross-cutting, here; no lolling around in bed with a girl, smoking cigarettes and spouting tough-guy Marxism; no confusing back-and-forth displacement of narrative time, a la Resnais. Oh, Melville was a New Wave director, to be sure, but he was NEVER an experimentalist in terms of narrative. Take a film by Godard, even his most famous film, *Breathless*: you have to meet Godard on his own terms, or get left behind (your loss!) But Melville pours his stories into your glass neat, no ice, no intellectual mixer. *Le Samourai* is about a gun-for-hire named Jef Costello (Alain Delon). His job is to eliminate a nightclub owner. He does so, but is witnessed leaving the scene of the crime by the club's piano player (Cathy Rosier). Later that night, during the police round-up, he's taken in as one of 400 or more potential suspects. The cops can't make it stick to Costello, but the superintendent (Francois Perier) isn't fooled by Costello or his airtight alibi. And thus Costello finds himself under police surveillance, and meanwhile, his criminal bosses want to rub him out in case he squeals to "le flics". In other words, the actual story is simplicity itself, and is frankly ripped off from all the B-movie American noirs that Melville loved so much.
But none of this explains the stark originality of the movie. Of course, Melville gets some help. Let it be said that Delon is so good as the hunted hit-man that it almost defies description, let alone praise. Reportedly, he took the part after Melville had read to him the first 7 or 8 pages of the script. "I have no dialog for the first 10 minutes. I love it -- when can we start?" Delon is supposed to have said. Luckily for Melville, he found a kindred spirit in Delon, who, in any case, must have recognized the potentially iconic performance he could pull off if sympathetically directed. And boy, did he pull it off: NO ONE, in ANY movie, has ever been cooler than Delon's Costello. The movie was released in 1967 -- the Summer of Love -- but here's Delon anachronistically dressed in a single-breasted suit and a fedora, and getting away with it. (Well, okay, everyone else is wearing a hat, too, but this IS a Melville picture.) As for the performance itself, it bears comparison to Dirk Bogarde's Aschenbach in Visconti's *Death in Venice*: both roles are virtually silent yet must convey multitudes in a glance, in a movement, in a slight widening of the eyes. This is acting at its most meticulous, most physical, and most compact. Costello hardly ever says anything, but we're totally compelled by him, thanks to Delon's tight control. The influence of this character and Delon's performance has been nothing less than torrential: Pacino's Michael in *The Godfather* may serve as an obvious example.
But much of this owes to Melville's original conception, as well. If Shakespeare needs good actors to carry his plays over, then good actors need Shakespearean-level material to reach their best performances. Melville, as always, flavors his pulpy stews with his own fevered artistic ingredients, the foremost of which is own idea of masculinity taken to the insane extreme. Tainted with Japanese samurai films, American gangster films, and westerns as well, Melville concocts a character whose every act is an expression of pure existentialism. The ultimate result is that frisson of sublime strangeness we as an audience encounter whenever we come face-to-face with a deeply considered and unique artistic vision. The best art is really weird, yet recognizable and unforgettable. *Le Samourai* is among the best art.
10 stars out of 10.
Cold
gbill-748779 September 2019
Some nice noir elements to this spare drama, and Alain Delon is pretty stylish in his trenchcoat and fedora, but it was a little too sleepy and methodical for me to truly love it. The cold style in the cinematography reminded me of Edward Hopper, and to a point, I liked how the characters expressed themselves ever so subtly with their eyes, the most interesting of whom was Cathy Rosier (the pianist), maybe because she breathed a hint of some warmth. I have to say though, the only thing samurai about the film was its title, and it's telling that even the quote from the Bushido at the beginning is fake.
Super cool Hitman
moviesknight17 September 2022
Super cool hitman. The movie which hits you from the moment it gets started. It doesnt even let you wander off. Perfect pacing. Middle gets a little slow but only because of the pace set from the gigantic beginning. Maybe these super cool and intelligent hitman exicted or maybe not. But the way he is depicted is clear. He is better than all of the goons. He keeps calm even in tense situations. He calculates his moves. He doesnt make rash decisions. He doesnt let anyone bully him. He is a lone warrior. Good thriller story with excellent skills. Visuals are nice. The thrill is set both in beginning and the end, only the middle doesnt follow. Apart from that wonderful. Highly recommend.
Should have been silent
rauldiul27 March 2013
Amazing camera work can only go so far...
This is not a great film, one gets the feeling that Jean-Pierre Melville's incredible insight and flawless direction goes somewhat to waste on this one.
The scarce dialogue is so dim that the main feeling is that it just gets in the way, and only achieves to point out a quite dull script.
One thing is mystery and another is countless minutes of Alain Delon climbings stairs, walking, unblinking...
Interesting, entertaining film to watch, just doesn't really get to you.
This is not a great film, one gets the feeling that Jean-Pierre Melville's incredible insight and flawless direction goes somewhat to waste on this one.
The scarce dialogue is so dim that the main feeling is that it just gets in the way, and only achieves to point out a quite dull script.
One thing is mystery and another is countless minutes of Alain Delon climbings stairs, walking, unblinking...
Interesting, entertaining film to watch, just doesn't really get to you.
'Style over substance' fanatics, brand Le Samourai a 'masterpiece', and you won't be able to convince them otherwise
Turfseer11 May 2014
Warning: Spoilers
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.
Il N'y a pas De Plus Profonde Solitude Que Celle Du Samourai.
MacAindrais23 May 2006
Le Samourai (1967) ****
The film opens to the semi-annoying sound of a small birds chirp in a dull, grey room that appears to be empty. After a moment we realize the room is not empty - a man lights a cigarette lying on his bed. Meet Jef Costello, played by french pretty boy Alain Delon. The opening shot sets the pace for the rest of movie. There are no high speed chases or wild action sequences, and the star barely speaks a word. Costello is one of the coolest characters in film history. Delon plays his character to perfection. If one did not know anything about him it was likely you would not realize he was a pretty boy. His face is expressionless throughout almost the entire movie - it is a tribute to Delon that he can express emotion on only a couple occasions while still remaining facially expressionless.
Costello is a hit-man, loyal to his boss: himself. The title of the film, Le Samourai, suggests of course that Costello is a student of the Samourai code. But is he really? The movie also opens with a quote "There is no solitude greater than the Samurai's, except for that of a tiger in the jungle. Unless perhaps it be that of the tiger in the jungle." This supposedly comes from the Book of the Samurai, which as it turns out was an invention of director Jean-Pierre Melville.
The story plays out as Jef completes a hit on night club owner, after setting up an almost too perfect alibi, but on his way out the door is seen by a the beautiful piano player. The police round up a number of people who look fit the description; Costello happens to be rounded up while at a card game. His alibi is strong, and mysteriously the piano player claims that this is definitely not the man she saw; another man who watched Costello walk out of the club also said with certainty that this is not the man. Another club patron claims that he saw this man at the club at the time of the murder and claims this is the culprit. The remaining two witnesses aren't sure, but don't think this was the killer. We know its Costello, the third man believes it is him, but why do the two who had the best look claim that this is not the man they saw? The plot evolves from here: The police believe Costello is lying and follow him everywhere; the men who gave Jef the hit will betray him and come after him as well.
Melville is meticulous in his direction, just as Costello is in his actions. There is great detail paid to the actions of Costello leading up to the hit, from stealing a car while trying a number of keys, placing those that do not work in a perfect line on the seat beside him, to his alibi with a woman (played by Delon's real life wife) who says she does not love him to the police, but we get the feeling she does indeed. There are moments of silent comedy that you could almost miss: The men riding with Costello on the way to the police station, none of whom look anything like the description, some old and decrepit; there is a scene in which Jef opens his cupboard and we see on the top of it bottles of water and packs of cigarettes lined up perfectly. None of this is laugh out loud funny, but incredibly clever and lets you know that Melville knows exactly how Costello should be.
As stated, the film is not full of action. It is a film where almost nothing happens. But no other film in which nothing happens has ever been so riveting. There is a famous metro chase scene that moves at probably the slowest pace of any chase scene in cinematic history, but it is enthralling. The pace sets up more importantly the themes of the movie. What are they? Its been debated widely. Searching for home? Mental Breakdowns? Morality, and loneliness? I would argue that it is not one, but likely all of these. The title reflects Jef's solitude and loneliness more than his code of honor. The final scene reflects many things about what we just witnessed, and has left some confused about what happens. Costello does a number of things in the latter half of the movie we do not understand, and that Melville gives us no answers to. Costello returns to the night club for example, buys a whiskey, pays for it, and then promptly leaves without drinking it. Why? Who knows.
Le Samourai is a classic, filled with pitch perfect performances and is the inspiration for a number of modern day films. John Woo has called it an absolutely perfect film, and he is likely right. It is a meticulously developed project, with virtually no flaws. It's probably the best film about hit men ever made, which is a narrow classification of this film, because it is more than just the story of a hit-man. Il N'y a pas De Plus Profonde Solitude Que Celle Du Samourai.
4/4
The film opens to the semi-annoying sound of a small birds chirp in a dull, grey room that appears to be empty. After a moment we realize the room is not empty - a man lights a cigarette lying on his bed. Meet Jef Costello, played by french pretty boy Alain Delon. The opening shot sets the pace for the rest of movie. There are no high speed chases or wild action sequences, and the star barely speaks a word. Costello is one of the coolest characters in film history. Delon plays his character to perfection. If one did not know anything about him it was likely you would not realize he was a pretty boy. His face is expressionless throughout almost the entire movie - it is a tribute to Delon that he can express emotion on only a couple occasions while still remaining facially expressionless.
Costello is a hit-man, loyal to his boss: himself. The title of the film, Le Samourai, suggests of course that Costello is a student of the Samourai code. But is he really? The movie also opens with a quote "There is no solitude greater than the Samurai's, except for that of a tiger in the jungle. Unless perhaps it be that of the tiger in the jungle." This supposedly comes from the Book of the Samurai, which as it turns out was an invention of director Jean-Pierre Melville.
The story plays out as Jef completes a hit on night club owner, after setting up an almost too perfect alibi, but on his way out the door is seen by a the beautiful piano player. The police round up a number of people who look fit the description; Costello happens to be rounded up while at a card game. His alibi is strong, and mysteriously the piano player claims that this is definitely not the man she saw; another man who watched Costello walk out of the club also said with certainty that this is not the man. Another club patron claims that he saw this man at the club at the time of the murder and claims this is the culprit. The remaining two witnesses aren't sure, but don't think this was the killer. We know its Costello, the third man believes it is him, but why do the two who had the best look claim that this is not the man they saw? The plot evolves from here: The police believe Costello is lying and follow him everywhere; the men who gave Jef the hit will betray him and come after him as well.
Melville is meticulous in his direction, just as Costello is in his actions. There is great detail paid to the actions of Costello leading up to the hit, from stealing a car while trying a number of keys, placing those that do not work in a perfect line on the seat beside him, to his alibi with a woman (played by Delon's real life wife) who says she does not love him to the police, but we get the feeling she does indeed. There are moments of silent comedy that you could almost miss: The men riding with Costello on the way to the police station, none of whom look anything like the description, some old and decrepit; there is a scene in which Jef opens his cupboard and we see on the top of it bottles of water and packs of cigarettes lined up perfectly. None of this is laugh out loud funny, but incredibly clever and lets you know that Melville knows exactly how Costello should be.
As stated, the film is not full of action. It is a film where almost nothing happens. But no other film in which nothing happens has ever been so riveting. There is a famous metro chase scene that moves at probably the slowest pace of any chase scene in cinematic history, but it is enthralling. The pace sets up more importantly the themes of the movie. What are they? Its been debated widely. Searching for home? Mental Breakdowns? Morality, and loneliness? I would argue that it is not one, but likely all of these. The title reflects Jef's solitude and loneliness more than his code of honor. The final scene reflects many things about what we just witnessed, and has left some confused about what happens. Costello does a number of things in the latter half of the movie we do not understand, and that Melville gives us no answers to. Costello returns to the night club for example, buys a whiskey, pays for it, and then promptly leaves without drinking it. Why? Who knows.
Le Samourai is a classic, filled with pitch perfect performances and is the inspiration for a number of modern day films. John Woo has called it an absolutely perfect film, and he is likely right. It is a meticulously developed project, with virtually no flaws. It's probably the best film about hit men ever made, which is a narrow classification of this film, because it is more than just the story of a hit-man. Il N'y a pas De Plus Profonde Solitude Que Celle Du Samourai.
4/4
Genuine DNA of the French master
searchanddestroy-123 January 2022
Is it useful to present this classic of the French film noir, and not only French...Many directors from all over the world were inspired by this movie, even Japanese.... And this very movie is supposed to be inspired by the Bushido code !! This is of course a Melville's trick, he invented the sentence which we can read just before the opening credits. This is not only the odyssey of a hired killer, but the investigation around him and one of his contract. Acting and story telling are awesome, jawdropping, terrific, Alain Delon has never been better, this is one of his best role, his most iconic. It is also the most refined, polished of Melville's work. And the characters, oh my God, I can't find any words powerful enough to describe the flawless quality of this masterpiece, true, genuine, authentic masterpiece. Dialogues and score are as brilliant and sharp as diamonds. We can't get tired of such a film, so typical of the sixties. Another thing, never loneliness has been described in such a way, with so many details to analyze. It should be forbidden to miss such a film.
Exceptional French noir film with the incomparable Alain Delon as a cold murderous
ma-cortes24 September 2008
The film begins with a preface : 'Il n'y' a pas plus profound solitude que Celelle samurai Si Ce Nést Celle Dún Tigre Dans la jungle..Peut-etre..'Le Bushido. Samurai's solitude is only comparable a tiger into jungle . Stars Jef Costello (Alain Delon as excellent anti-hero) is a cold professional killer , he establishes an alibi with the help his lady-lover (Nathalie Delon) and unexpectedly in an act of almost unknown compassion by a club's piano player (Rosier). Meanwhile , he's double-crossed and an obstinate police inspector (Francois Perier) track him down . The precise murderer is pursued throughout the Paris'underground . Then the doomed Costello becomes an avenging angel of death seeking for vengeance.
This is the best of Melville's thrillers with magnificent Alain Delon as the expressionless murderous . Delon has striven in vain to repeat this success in numerous subsequent movies at the same genre , similar others known actors as Lino Ventura , Jean Paul Belmondo and generally directed by Henri Verneuil , Jose Giovanni and Jacques Deray . The movie packs a splendid cinematography by Henri Decae , the photography glitters as metallic and cold as a gun barrel . The picture was perfectly directed by Jean Pierre Melville , giving a memorable work . Later his beginning as a post-war forerunner of the 'Nouvelle vague' , he left his style in several different ways as a purveyor of a certain kind of noir movie , creating his own company and a tiny studio . Although retaining its essential French touch and developing a style closer to the world of the American film Noir of the 1940s than any of their other such foray s. Dealing with character-studio about roles damned to inevitable tragedies , powerful finale , stylized set pieces heightens the suspense and tension have place all around the Melville's filmmaking . His movies and singular talent are very copied and much-admired by contemporary directors, specially the 'Polar' or noir French cinema , such as : 'Second breath' , 'The red circle', 'Dirty money' and , of course , 'Le samurai'.
This is the best of Melville's thrillers with magnificent Alain Delon as the expressionless murderous . Delon has striven in vain to repeat this success in numerous subsequent movies at the same genre , similar others known actors as Lino Ventura , Jean Paul Belmondo and generally directed by Henri Verneuil , Jose Giovanni and Jacques Deray . The movie packs a splendid cinematography by Henri Decae , the photography glitters as metallic and cold as a gun barrel . The picture was perfectly directed by Jean Pierre Melville , giving a memorable work . Later his beginning as a post-war forerunner of the 'Nouvelle vague' , he left his style in several different ways as a purveyor of a certain kind of noir movie , creating his own company and a tiny studio . Although retaining its essential French touch and developing a style closer to the world of the American film Noir of the 1940s than any of their other such foray s. Dealing with character-studio about roles damned to inevitable tragedies , powerful finale , stylized set pieces heightens the suspense and tension have place all around the Melville's filmmaking . His movies and singular talent are very copied and much-admired by contemporary directors, specially the 'Polar' or noir French cinema , such as : 'Second breath' , 'The red circle', 'Dirty money' and , of course , 'Le samurai'.
OUTSTANDING FRENCH MASTERPIECE ( A+ Movie) My Ratings 10/10
THE-BEACON-OF-MOVIES-RAFA14 February 2020
One of the finest films ever made for me. This is an incredibly moody drama by French master Jean Pierre Melville. It is a crime film on the surface about an assassin who lives according to a certain code. Alain Delon is magnetic as the main character Jeff Costello. This film has inspired many modern great filmmakers and it is easy to see why. Fantastic tracking shots, great angles and an emphasis on mood. It is a work of art. If you get an opportunity do see this film. One of the best examples of the French new wave. (Melville's Le Samourai is a haunting masterpiece)
Good
Cosmoeticadotcom1 September 2010
Warning: Spoilers
This film has concerns other than mere narrative, and there is an influence that other critics never seem to have mentioned, but which struck me right away, and that is in the visual style of the film. No, the film's cinematography, by Henri Decaë, is not influenced so much by other films- even the aforementioned 1930s gangster films, but by the paintings of Edward Hopper. The film is rife with images of lonely people staring offscreen, or gazing out of windows, or into the darkness. Even more so, is that Hopper's character's zombie-like eyes (often sans pupils) is mirrored by the ubiquitous vacancies most of Melville's characters furnish (especially Delon's robotic steel blue eyes), even when brandishing weapons, or engaged with each other. It is almost like a shadow play, a Platonic Cave entertainment. And this is only further enhanced by the sparse dialogue throughout the film. And, then there is the fact that Japanese samurai were not assassins for hire, but warriors who fought for honor, which suggests that, not only is this film a shadow play, but perhaps a looking glass one, as well. Kudos must be doled out to Melville, for the adapted screenplay, though, because, despite the film's miss at greatness, it achieves what it does, which is considerable (a nice twist on a very tired genre) with aplomb. As the film was adapted from a Joan McLeod novel called The Ronin, but I do not know how much of the book made it into the final film.
The Criterion Collection DVD unfortunately lacks an audio commentary, but has two visual essays/interviews with Melville scholars Rui Nogueira and Ginette Vincendeau. There is the requisite fellatio, of course, but also some valuable insights into the film Then, there is arcvhival footage of interviews with Melville, Delon, and others in the cast, as well as the original theatrical trailer. The booklet has selections about Melville, and pieces by filmmaker John Woo and film critic David Thomson. The transfer is fine, in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio, but there is no English language track, only the usual standard Criterion white subtitles. As the film is in color, this presents none of the problems such subtitles do with black and white films. All in all, not the best extras package from Criterion, but far from their worst.
Le Samourai is not a masterpiece- a term too often bandied about by enthusiasts of any work of art, but it is an interesting experiment that works far more than it fails. It also reminded me of Jim Jarmusch's 1999 film, Ghost Dog: The Way Of The Samurai. The major difference between the films is that Ghost Dog contains some of the most realistic depictions of gangsters on screen (stylized realism, granted)- not romanticized ala Francis Ford Coppola, not glorified ala Martin Scorsese, but real. One need not have a working knowledge of the 1960s era French Underworld to know that Le Samourai is in no way realistic. All the situations are too phony, all the characters too dumb, and all the action to contrived, telegraphed, and choreographed for that to be claimed. But, as a violent ballet, it is a marvelous entertainment, and I have spent many a worse hour and forty-five minutes of my existence, for sure. While Melville's film does not rise to the existential and intellectual levels of the best I've seen from Clouzot, it does transcend most of that offered by Hitchcock, while retaining the technical grace and alacrity that the 'Master Of Suspense' developed. Melville's film, thus, scores somewhere in between the two, and, if one's work is to be so sandwiched, there certainly is worse bread to be buttered. Trust me, they were many of the worse hour and forty-five minutes of my existence.
The Criterion Collection DVD unfortunately lacks an audio commentary, but has two visual essays/interviews with Melville scholars Rui Nogueira and Ginette Vincendeau. There is the requisite fellatio, of course, but also some valuable insights into the film Then, there is arcvhival footage of interviews with Melville, Delon, and others in the cast, as well as the original theatrical trailer. The booklet has selections about Melville, and pieces by filmmaker John Woo and film critic David Thomson. The transfer is fine, in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio, but there is no English language track, only the usual standard Criterion white subtitles. As the film is in color, this presents none of the problems such subtitles do with black and white films. All in all, not the best extras package from Criterion, but far from their worst.
Le Samourai is not a masterpiece- a term too often bandied about by enthusiasts of any work of art, but it is an interesting experiment that works far more than it fails. It also reminded me of Jim Jarmusch's 1999 film, Ghost Dog: The Way Of The Samurai. The major difference between the films is that Ghost Dog contains some of the most realistic depictions of gangsters on screen (stylized realism, granted)- not romanticized ala Francis Ford Coppola, not glorified ala Martin Scorsese, but real. One need not have a working knowledge of the 1960s era French Underworld to know that Le Samourai is in no way realistic. All the situations are too phony, all the characters too dumb, and all the action to contrived, telegraphed, and choreographed for that to be claimed. But, as a violent ballet, it is a marvelous entertainment, and I have spent many a worse hour and forty-five minutes of my existence, for sure. While Melville's film does not rise to the existential and intellectual levels of the best I've seen from Clouzot, it does transcend most of that offered by Hitchcock, while retaining the technical grace and alacrity that the 'Master Of Suspense' developed. Melville's film, thus, scores somewhere in between the two, and, if one's work is to be so sandwiched, there certainly is worse bread to be buttered. Trust me, they were many of the worse hour and forty-five minutes of my existence.
The darkest solitude possible
Galina_movie_fan30 January 2007
Warning: Spoilers
Who would think that one of the best Samurai movies had been made by a French director and it took place in gloomy, rainy Paris of the 60s? Great movie, simply amazing with the coolest actor possible to play the Samurai of the title, a "beautiful destructive angel of the dark street", Alain Delon. Delon's Jef Costello, the self-employed killer for hire, does not say much but when he is on the screen, you'd never take your eyes off him. Delon is the major but not the only asset to the film. Mellville's style is so distinguished, so precise, so elegant, so chilling, and so perfect in the exploring the darkest solitude possible (and that of a samurai or a tiger in the jungle) and of the only destiny the samurai has to be prepared for - "One who is a samurai must before all things keep constantly in mind, by day and by night . . . the fact that he has to die. That is his chief business" that I can't think of any other movie to place close to his masterwork.
Yes, This Is Meant To Be Art
bigverybadtom4 December 2016
Warning: Spoilers
This is not intended to be a run-of-the-mill gangster flick. Note that gangsters are people who commit their crimes and then live the high life in their off-hours. But Jef Costello, the title character, is a contract killer, but we see right away that he has no life out of doing his jobs, smoking cigarettes, living in a shabby apartment with a caged bird, not even having any social life. He even keeps a stony face, except in several moments of the movie where he lets emotions leak through. He is a lone wolf in more ways than one.
He is hired to murder a nightclub owner in his office, and in doing so, is seen by a number of people, including a black woman whom he meets in a hallway. Yet when he and dozens of other possible suspects are arrested (the Parisian police would do all that for one homicide?), a couple of witnesses identify him, but others do not-including the black woman who clearly saw him. He is released, but when he meets his employers for payment, they try and fail to assassinate him. (They later admit to Jef that they mistakenly had thought he was about to betray them.) Jef even returns to the nightclub...the idea being that the witnesses there deliberately turned a blind eye to his action. The police try to press potential witnesses to no avail, probably because the police are not entirely sympathetic themselves. (This movie was made just before the 1968 Paris riots after all.) This is meant to be an existentialist, artistic movie, and it is not entirely clear why Jef does as he does. The abrupt ending only serves to add to the confusion.
He is hired to murder a nightclub owner in his office, and in doing so, is seen by a number of people, including a black woman whom he meets in a hallway. Yet when he and dozens of other possible suspects are arrested (the Parisian police would do all that for one homicide?), a couple of witnesses identify him, but others do not-including the black woman who clearly saw him. He is released, but when he meets his employers for payment, they try and fail to assassinate him. (They later admit to Jef that they mistakenly had thought he was about to betray them.) Jef even returns to the nightclub...the idea being that the witnesses there deliberately turned a blind eye to his action. The police try to press potential witnesses to no avail, probably because the police are not entirely sympathetic themselves. (This movie was made just before the 1968 Paris riots after all.) This is meant to be an existentialist, artistic movie, and it is not entirely clear why Jef does as he does. The abrupt ending only serves to add to the confusion.
Don't Shoot Me I'm Only The Piano Player
mmallon415 January 2022
Alain Delon is Le Samouraï - hitman Jef Costello - cold yet elegant and graceful. The ever badass Delon could be identified by a silhouette of his figure. While he has those Humphrey Bogart vibes with his grey trench coat and fedora, he possesses a demeanour that's strictly his - this is a man who knows how to wear clothes. Moreover, there is an ethereal beauty to Delon which straddles that fine line between masculine and feminine beauty with a face that conveys so much without the uttering of a single word.
Jean-Pierre Meville's Le Samouraï is a master class in how to make a film with long stretches featuring no dialogue with little-to-no music. When music is used, however, the haunting score by François de Roubaix with its use of hammond organs mixed in with some sections of mellow jazz is the perfect match for the grey, rainy streets of Paris (this is the kind of music you need to play when walking down an empty city street in the early hours of the morning). There is a real hypnotic quality to watching Alain Delon making his way through this urban jungle. The Paris featured in Le Samouraï is not the Paris as would be portrayed in an American film in which the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe is included in the background of every shot. Rather this is a Paris of grimy, urban locales - a real-time capsule of the city circa 1967. The locales and interiors featured in Le Samouraï make it a film that oozes class. I've never seen a classier looking nightclub than that featured in the film with its silver and glass décor while even the interior of the cold and sterile police station has an art deco appearance to it.
I've read many of my fellow film reviews heavily critique Jef's decision making in his criminal activity as a major dent in the believability of Le Samouraï. When carrying out his hit, Jef enters Martey's nightclub wearing a distinct outfit, he returns to the scene of the crime the following night (despite his arrest from the previous night) and even disposes a set of blood-soaked bandages on the ground outside his apartment, knowing that the police are surveilling him. Yet, such clumsy actions strike me as being a sign of Jef's overconfidence rather than a mark of poor writing.
Le Samouraï can rank as one of the best police-procedural films. It makes for fascinating viewing to watch the techniques deployed by the police for identifying and questioning suspects, as well as their methods for tracking Jef through the Paris subways with a cat & mouse chase in a pre-internet, pre-mobile phone, pre-CCTV world. Le Samouraï also shows how the French citizenry is required to carry identity papers, an anathema to viewers in the anglosphere (the requirement to carry identity papers is a holdover from Roman law, unlike English common law where no such requirement exists). Within the film there are no Miranda rights as seen in American films but more worryingly, the police stalk Jef and put him under 24/7 surveillance, break into his apartment to install a bug as well as breaking into the apartment of his girlfriend and attempting to coerce her (also take note of how the commissioner turns a picture of a baby on his desk away from sight after questioning a suspect). There are however objections raised by suspects throughout the film when the police begin asking questions about their personal lives. If Le Samouraï is conveying a negative portrayal of the police, it may to conveyed most harshly but subtly with a blink and you miss it moment with a cut ? Minutes into the film in which a crime boss walks from right to left and then cuts to the police inspector continuing to walk in the same direction in perfect motion. Both bodies have the same aim of wanting to catch Costello but is the film also trying to say they both are as morally and ethically bankrupt?
Throughout Le Samouraï as Jef returns to his apartment, the sound of a caged chirping bird plays repeatedly without the aid of any music. As would be heard the proceeding year in Once Upon A Time In The West, the use of a recurring sound is shown to be as memorable and effective as a great score (I can also attain that every time I have watched Le Samouraï, the chirping bird has garnered the attention of my cat). The bird even serves the plot as Jef shares an almost telepathic relationship with the avian, as when Jef has returned to the apartment to find the bird traumatized and shedding feathers, he starts exploring his apartment only to find he has been bugged.
Le Samouraï opens with a quotation from the book Bushido: The Soul of Japan - "There is no solitude greater than a samurai's, unless perhaps it is that of a tiger in the jungle." However, this quote is entirely a creation of the film and not taken from said book. How much of actual samurai mythology is present in Le Samouraï or is the film just trying to look a bit cooler with a westernized interpretation of what a samurai is? Regardless, the film earns its merits in so many other regards I can easily look past such a thing.
Jean-Pierre Meville's Le Samouraï is a master class in how to make a film with long stretches featuring no dialogue with little-to-no music. When music is used, however, the haunting score by François de Roubaix with its use of hammond organs mixed in with some sections of mellow jazz is the perfect match for the grey, rainy streets of Paris (this is the kind of music you need to play when walking down an empty city street in the early hours of the morning). There is a real hypnotic quality to watching Alain Delon making his way through this urban jungle. The Paris featured in Le Samouraï is not the Paris as would be portrayed in an American film in which the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe is included in the background of every shot. Rather this is a Paris of grimy, urban locales - a real-time capsule of the city circa 1967. The locales and interiors featured in Le Samouraï make it a film that oozes class. I've never seen a classier looking nightclub than that featured in the film with its silver and glass décor while even the interior of the cold and sterile police station has an art deco appearance to it.
I've read many of my fellow film reviews heavily critique Jef's decision making in his criminal activity as a major dent in the believability of Le Samouraï. When carrying out his hit, Jef enters Martey's nightclub wearing a distinct outfit, he returns to the scene of the crime the following night (despite his arrest from the previous night) and even disposes a set of blood-soaked bandages on the ground outside his apartment, knowing that the police are surveilling him. Yet, such clumsy actions strike me as being a sign of Jef's overconfidence rather than a mark of poor writing.
Le Samouraï can rank as one of the best police-procedural films. It makes for fascinating viewing to watch the techniques deployed by the police for identifying and questioning suspects, as well as their methods for tracking Jef through the Paris subways with a cat & mouse chase in a pre-internet, pre-mobile phone, pre-CCTV world. Le Samouraï also shows how the French citizenry is required to carry identity papers, an anathema to viewers in the anglosphere (the requirement to carry identity papers is a holdover from Roman law, unlike English common law where no such requirement exists). Within the film there are no Miranda rights as seen in American films but more worryingly, the police stalk Jef and put him under 24/7 surveillance, break into his apartment to install a bug as well as breaking into the apartment of his girlfriend and attempting to coerce her (also take note of how the commissioner turns a picture of a baby on his desk away from sight after questioning a suspect). There are however objections raised by suspects throughout the film when the police begin asking questions about their personal lives. If Le Samouraï is conveying a negative portrayal of the police, it may to conveyed most harshly but subtly with a blink and you miss it moment with a cut ? Minutes into the film in which a crime boss walks from right to left and then cuts to the police inspector continuing to walk in the same direction in perfect motion. Both bodies have the same aim of wanting to catch Costello but is the film also trying to say they both are as morally and ethically bankrupt?
Throughout Le Samouraï as Jef returns to his apartment, the sound of a caged chirping bird plays repeatedly without the aid of any music. As would be heard the proceeding year in Once Upon A Time In The West, the use of a recurring sound is shown to be as memorable and effective as a great score (I can also attain that every time I have watched Le Samouraï, the chirping bird has garnered the attention of my cat). The bird even serves the plot as Jef shares an almost telepathic relationship with the avian, as when Jef has returned to the apartment to find the bird traumatized and shedding feathers, he starts exploring his apartment only to find he has been bugged.
Le Samouraï opens with a quotation from the book Bushido: The Soul of Japan - "There is no solitude greater than a samurai's, unless perhaps it is that of a tiger in the jungle." However, this quote is entirely a creation of the film and not taken from said book. How much of actual samurai mythology is present in Le Samouraï or is the film just trying to look a bit cooler with a westernized interpretation of what a samurai is? Regardless, the film earns its merits in so many other regards I can easily look past such a thing.
A technical masterpiece, but...
VosikTheArchpriest25 March 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Le Samourai is definetely a very interesting film to talk about. Alain Delon plays Jef Costello, a killer who becomes a suspect after killing someone he doesn't know and his boss wants to get rid of him because he thinks he might be a threat due to the police. The visual storytelling in this film is remarkable, there are several scenes in this film where there is no dialogue for a few minutes and the viewer still perfectly understands what is going on. The opening scene in particular stands out in that regard. The music is great and the acting is pretty solid too. The camerawork is also fantastic and the cinematography is mostly good aswell (although the interiors are definetely way too dark at times). So, what's so "not great" about this film?
I don't find the story compelling or gripping at all. A lot of scenes are unnecessarily drawn out and serve very little purpose. There's a scene where 2 policemen install a bugging device in Jef's bedroom and for some reason, this scene feels like it's 15 minutes long. What makes things worse it that Jef finds the bugging device right away, which means the previous scene, while it was still beautifully shot and made, served no purpose, since it doesn't change the outcome of anything. There's also a scene where the police officer (forgot his name) goes to Ms. Lagrange's home and asks her if she still says that Jef was at her house in the night of the murder. She replies "Yes" and the officer leaves her house. What was this scene for? Everyone knows as much as they knew before. The officer even says that he doesn't quite believe her and that he will talk with her again, but he never does that in the film, which also creates a loose end in that regard. There's also Michel Boisrond's character, who supposedly "saw" Jef while arriving at Ms. Lagrange's house and then he is asked to identify him in a group of several men. He is able to identify him, but how is he able to do that? The film made me believe that he didn't know Jef at all and if he did the film should have said that. There's another weird scene: After the police officer lets Jef leave the police station, Jef goes to the Jazz Club where he murdered that guy. Now WHY would anybody go back to the place where he killed someone? Isn't he in danger of being spotted or recognized by someone in the club? So many scenes in this film have very little credibility to me and I don't find the characters interesting at all either.
So, while Melville is technically definetely a great director, I don't quite know his skills at creating good stories (because I haven't seen any of his other films) but I still have very mixed feelings about Le Samourai.
I don't find the story compelling or gripping at all. A lot of scenes are unnecessarily drawn out and serve very little purpose. There's a scene where 2 policemen install a bugging device in Jef's bedroom and for some reason, this scene feels like it's 15 minutes long. What makes things worse it that Jef finds the bugging device right away, which means the previous scene, while it was still beautifully shot and made, served no purpose, since it doesn't change the outcome of anything. There's also a scene where the police officer (forgot his name) goes to Ms. Lagrange's home and asks her if she still says that Jef was at her house in the night of the murder. She replies "Yes" and the officer leaves her house. What was this scene for? Everyone knows as much as they knew before. The officer even says that he doesn't quite believe her and that he will talk with her again, but he never does that in the film, which also creates a loose end in that regard. There's also Michel Boisrond's character, who supposedly "saw" Jef while arriving at Ms. Lagrange's house and then he is asked to identify him in a group of several men. He is able to identify him, but how is he able to do that? The film made me believe that he didn't know Jef at all and if he did the film should have said that. There's another weird scene: After the police officer lets Jef leave the police station, Jef goes to the Jazz Club where he murdered that guy. Now WHY would anybody go back to the place where he killed someone? Isn't he in danger of being spotted or recognized by someone in the club? So many scenes in this film have very little credibility to me and I don't find the characters interesting at all either.
So, while Melville is technically definetely a great director, I don't quite know his skills at creating good stories (because I haven't seen any of his other films) but I still have very mixed feelings about Le Samourai.
Overrated movie alert...
dr_foreman5 August 2007
Pardon my bluntness, but I think "Le Samourai" is chiefly a film for movie critics and movie snobs. Average viewers will, I think, be bored rigid by it. And who can blame them? I'm afraid this is one of those movies that's all about "mood" and "atmosphere" and an intangible sense of "cool" - it certainly isn't about characters, and it doesn't feature much of a story to speak of. The only interesting person in the film, in my view, is the police inspector, but even he doesn't have much by way of character development or interior life.
Mainly, the film consists of Alain Delon wandering around various urban settings in his "cool" hat and "cool" trenchcoat. The pacing is purely glacial, and oftentimes I really didn't care about where he was going or what he was up to. To make matters worse, he's a singularly incompetent hit-man who's about as subtle and stealthy as the Kool-Aid Man.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh on this film because I don't normally like movies about criminals. It sort of offends me, to be honest, that so many films glamorize gangsters, hit-men, and other forms of gutter life. What's so intrinsically fascinating about crooks, anyway? Are we all so repressed and violent that we need to get vicarious jollies by rooting for on-screen killers?
And yet, I do like some movies about criminals. In "Get Carter," the central character at least has a strong motivation and a personality to go with it. "Kind Hearts and Coronets," meanwhile, features a killer who's quite smart and witty. "Le Samourai," on the other hand, is about a killer with no real motivation, personality, smarts or wit. I can't find anything to admire about him, anything to latch on to.
At best, this movie can be judged a cold masterpiece. But, in my perhaps crass view, it's a cold turkey. Some foreign films are masterpieces that put Hollywood to shame, while others are just plain dull and pretentious. I think this falls into the latter camp.
Mainly, the film consists of Alain Delon wandering around various urban settings in his "cool" hat and "cool" trenchcoat. The pacing is purely glacial, and oftentimes I really didn't care about where he was going or what he was up to. To make matters worse, he's a singularly incompetent hit-man who's about as subtle and stealthy as the Kool-Aid Man.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh on this film because I don't normally like movies about criminals. It sort of offends me, to be honest, that so many films glamorize gangsters, hit-men, and other forms of gutter life. What's so intrinsically fascinating about crooks, anyway? Are we all so repressed and violent that we need to get vicarious jollies by rooting for on-screen killers?
And yet, I do like some movies about criminals. In "Get Carter," the central character at least has a strong motivation and a personality to go with it. "Kind Hearts and Coronets," meanwhile, features a killer who's quite smart and witty. "Le Samourai," on the other hand, is about a killer with no real motivation, personality, smarts or wit. I can't find anything to admire about him, anything to latch on to.
At best, this movie can be judged a cold masterpiece. But, in my perhaps crass view, it's a cold turkey. Some foreign films are masterpieces that put Hollywood to shame, while others are just plain dull and pretentious. I think this falls into the latter camp.
See also
Awards | FAQ | User Ratings | External Reviews | Metacritic Reviews
