The Killer
Wreck it Ralph meets Street Fighter: for the big bad, it was Tuesday.
Oh god, so much product placement. It’s ridiculous, how the mighty have fallen. I guess that’s the price of having a massive cast of nobodies playing concierges, car rental clerks, fast food workers, gym receptionists, all with their individual lines, ergo, a SAG card.
One thing is for sure, it ain’t the rest. Bog standard cinematography, without that many Finchian camera trickery. The music is also NIN weirdness, as with other Fincher films, a lot of scrunchy organic noises. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, just like the protagonist.
He’s really the only character, everyone else is a cameo at best. And he barely speaks, we get only his inner voice rambling about his methodical look on life, Wikipedia extracts, and how he should do things by the book.
Even though the whole thing starts with a mistake, everything else goes pretty well. There’s no big drama, no tension, except when he is chased by a pitbull.
Meeting the original client, he’s just a feeble richie rich, nearly shits himself when our protagonist points a gun at him in his own kitchen, but he doesn’t die, only his salaried underlings. Pretty conservative, for the director of Fight Club.
This is my place for ramblings about sequences of images that exploit the human visual limitation know as persistence of vision.