The American (2010)

At one point in “The American,” George Clooney’s cold-hearted assassin desperately asks his handler, “How did they find me!?!” Clooney’s Jack is talking about the relentless thugs gunning for his ass. I thought, “Cause, damn, man, you the only fhking American within 300 miles.” Indeed, killer-for-hire Jack is the only apple pie eater hiding out in a tiny Italian village. Every resident spots Jack from a mile away and yells, "Bonjorno American!" His enemies can’t not find him. (Why the hell not stay in Rome? I've been there. It's easy to get lost.) Jack is rightfully paranoid, frisky and ready to give up the job, but not before assembling a rifle for a mysterious hit-woman (Thekla Reuten) who -– as does Jack -– digs butterflies. Directed by Anton Corbijn, the photographer famous for U2 album covers, “American” recalls a dozen old French or Italian dramas about the thug who emerges from his self-made hellish life just before the clock stops. The film is nearly saved by gorgeous camera work and Clooney’s performance, all cold, raw and grounded. B-