The American

Written by Jonathan Jacobs

Much like Charles Dickens I had “great expectations.” The American offers such talent as the legendary George Clooney and a handful of actors you likely have never heard of and for good reason never will. The entire supporting cast lacks dexterity.

     Choosing to act in The American well knowing the movie is based on a lackluster, meaningless novel was a mistake for Clooney. As an actor he had the world at his fingertips. Rather than selecting the best script and maximizing his talent accordingly, the nearly fifty year old heartthrob decided to spoil what could have been crowd-pleasing greatness. Instead we have lifelessness in the first degree. This film is quite simply about nothing, means less than zilch and miraculously fails to offer anything in the way of catchy dialogue. There are no memorable one liners or quips, there are only meaningless words spoken with the intent of sounding deep. Intentions and results have rarely met so infrequently. Clooney should have known that. It is almost as though he chose to accept a role that would showcase him and nobody and nothing else. This is a vanity picture gone all wrong. If the highlight is the star doing push ups and sit ups and pull ups to prove he looks better than most 50 year olds than I feel sorry for the audience. 

     Regardless, The American begins in style. Clooney is lying next to a bare naked woman with a full crack of dawn if you catch my drift. They go for a mid-winter’s stroll in the bone chilling cold. Out of nowhere shots are fired at the “American”. In self-defense he neutralizes the first gunman. He then asks his bootylicious girlfriend to call the police. She turns around and he vanishes her skull. The rest of the assassins are gunned down in short order. The movie seems like it will be an exciting one. Five minutes pass and we have been treated to run-down cobblestone pathways in obscure European towns that history and time have forgotten. Very little is spoken and then the American’s crime lord gives him a beautiful 1990 shitbox. This is quite a reward for demonstrating his survival skills. Our ambiguous protagonist then wanders around in a state of paranoia and disillusion for what seems like hours on end. 

     I searched with every molecule/quark of my brain fiber and still could not ascertain any hidden meaning or profound statement offered by The American. It flat out stinks worse than Pepe le Peu. There is nothing to it. It is like serving skin and bones to a starving person. I entered the theater thinking I could sit down, relax and enjoy basking in Clooney’s great acting. Instead I left feeling that he has regressed so far as an actor that I wonder if he ever really improved in the first place. I also feel ripped off. I paid $30 to watch the dullest movie I have seen all year. What a Friday night spoiler. I could have gone grocery shopping and cooked filet. Instead I ate an excrement sandwich courtesy of one George Clooney. 

Much like Charles Dickens I had “great expectations.” The American offers such talent as the legendary George Clooney and a handful of actors you likely have never heard of and for good reason never will. The entire supporting cast lacks dexterity.

     Choosing to act in The American well knowing the movie is based on a lackluster, meaningless novel was a mistake for Clooney. As an actor he had the world at his fingertips. Rather than selecting the best script and maximizing his talent accordingly, the nearly fifty year old heartthrob decided to spoil what could have been crowd-pleasing greatness. Instead we have lifelessness in the first degree. This film is quite simply about nothing, means less than zilch and miraculously fails to offer anything in the way of catchy dialogue. There are no memorable one liners or quips, there are only meaningless words spoken with the intent of sounding deep. Intentions and results have rarely met so infrequently. Clooney should have known that. It is almost as though he chose to accept a role that would showcase him and nobody and nothing else. This is a vanity picture gone all wrong. If the highlight is the star doing push ups and sit ups and pull ups to prove he looks better than most 50 year olds than I feel sorry for the audience.

     Regardless, The American begins in style. Clooney is lying next to a bare naked woman with a full crack of dawn if you catch my drift. They go for a mid-winter’s stroll in the bone chilling cold. Out of nowhere shots are fired at the “American”. In self-defense he neutralizes the first gunman. He then asks his bootylicious girlfriend to call the police. She turns around and he vanishes her skull. The rest of the assassins are gunned down in short order. The movie seems like it will be an exciting one. Five minutes pass and we have been treated to run-down cobblestone pathways in obscure European towns that history and time have forgotten. Very little is spoken and then the American’s crime lord gives him a beautiful 1990 shitbox. This is quite a reward for demonstrating his survival skills. Our ambiguous protagonist then wanders around in a state of paranoia and disillusion for what seems like hours on end.

     I searched with every molecule/quark of my brain fiber and still could not ascertain any hidden meaning or profound statement offered by The American. It flat out stinks worse than Pepe le Peu. There is nothing to it. It is like serving skin and bones to a starving person. I entered the theater thinking I could sit down, relax and enjoy basking in Clooney’s great acting. Instead I left feeling that he has regressed so far as an actor that I wonder if he ever really improved in the first place. I also feel ripped off. I paid $30 to watch the dullest movie I have seen all year. What a Friday night spoiler. I could have gone grocery shopping and cooked filet. Instead I ate an excrement sandwich courtesy of one George Clooney.