…Like, sure? Obviously it’s well crafted, and Michael Fassbender has a nice hat, but everything else felt like most other revenge thrillers, except with the finest actors on hand to deliver dialogue that wouldn’t be out of place in a Jason Statham flick. (I don’t mean that as an insult, but David Fincher might.)
I read a review championing this as Fincher’s most personal film to date and I made a sour beer face. Fincher compares his intense preparation and the fastidious nature of his filmmaking to the titular assassin who believes he’s good at what he does because he doesn’t give a fuck.
The problem with that is, neither do I. All that dedication to the process shows (and don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive), but there’s nothing new being said here.
The Killer and Fincher are kidding themselves, and they know that. They give a fuck. About rules, about formulas, about their reputations; enough to craft a happy ending where their walls remain intact.