Le Samourai

I want a trench coat and I want one now.  They’re stylish and they have big pockets and they come in a range of colours (beige, et al).  But no matter how many trench coats I buy, I will never look as cool as Jef Costello, the lead character in Jean-Pierre Melville’s slick-as-mercury masterpiece, played with an unnerving microcosm of emotions by Alain Delon.  This film could not be any cooler if it died heroically while saving the planet from a coterie of evil asteroids, even if it had to endure the sub-zero temperatures of Saturn’s moons in order to meet said asteroids and ward them off. 

The plot concerns Costello, a perfectionist hit-man in 1960s Paris, who almost gets caught on the job and, having angered his employers, has to evade them along with the police.  It’s a minimalist film; shots abound of Costello standing, sitting, walking, and walking with purpose (well, this is a character who never does anything without purpose… let’s just say, ‘walking with more purpose’) but when Melville punches, he punches hard.  And all of the walking and sitting and standing around is really essential both to packing the punches, when they do come, and to creating the atmosphere of the piece, which stays with you for days after watching it.  That atmosphere has to do with what one of my lecturers would call the ‘moral centre of gravity’ of the character.  Every rain-drop, every cigarette, every neon light reflected against the pavement (and one notices such things much more when little else is happening on screen) serves the purpose of telling us that Costello is a man apart, almost an island: a samurai.  His story is compelling; his ending is remarkable. 

Three supporting characters, the Police Chief hunting Costello, and the two women who (maybe) love him, are brilliantly drawn, and highlight his sense of loneliness. 

Perhaps his trench coat will keep him warm at night.

See this movie by yourself, if possible.  It will help you get in the right mood.