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Michael Fassbender depicts a nameless assassin in David Fincher’s portrait of a man legitimizing his job as a soulless, “blinkless”, philosophical killer; basically, narrating his process and the skill, diligence, conditioned body and mind required of his proficiency; an avowed nihilist but not above quoting Christ, his faux sanctimoniousness cannot cleanse his bloody deeds. His mantra, redundantly pervasive is focused on the “job” following the rules, never allowing “empathy” to muddy the equation, it is the ultimate sign of weakness, vulnerability, forecasting failure. After this tedious, solipsistic rant he fails, and becomes the “target”. The film’s mastery lies in his killing acuity and capable aliases (pop culture and ubiquitous sobriquets add levity). He cleverly assassinates those who used his female friend to reach him, leading to innovative fatalities; Tilda Swinton, described appropriately as Q-Tip is “The Expert” and soars as she struggles to avoid her demise; Flincher flaws with her use of an age-old story about the relationship between a hunter and a bear; its uniqueness, humor has been erased by its stale superfluousness. 

A wordless Fassbender never falters in his role of a man without a soul, but nary a heart as well.



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