I would never have said that David Fincher was a director I was particularly a fan of, but looking at his filmography it turns out I've seen all of his films from the 1990s and everything since Social Network in 2010, too, so there you go: sometimes these things sneak up on you. He spent a couple of years making the American version of House of Cards for Netflix, which presumably means they have a good relationship: his new movie has followed that increasingly well-travelled route where it gets a very brief theatrical release before becoming a Netflix exclusive, presumably because Netflix like to win Oscars as much as anyone else and they think this one stands a chance in that department. I've been stung in this department before so I saved my ticket money and waited to see The Killer on TV rather than theatrically; I don't think it loses much in its transition to the small screen, to be honest. That sounds like a put-down but this is probably a pretty good movie, despite the generic title (this is the eighth film to be called The Killer, the most notable previous example being a John Woo film from the 1980s).

Michael Fassbender plays the title role of an assassin whose name remains a mystery (but then so do most of the character names in this one). I must say it is nice to see Fassbender back in a proper movie again after what feels like a long break: my understanding is that after trying and failing to establish himself in another lucrative franchise once the X-Men films started winding down (he did The Snowman and Assassin's Creed films, waxing eloquent on the publicity circuit both times about how great it would be to do follow-ups), Fassbender basically went off to become a racing driver. His last big film was the perfunctory and tired Dark Phoenix; whatever else you might say about The Killer, it's certainly better than that.

We meet Fassbender in Paris, on a job which has so far mainly involved waiting around for the target to show up. He does yoga, goes for the occasional stroll, keeps their hotel under observation. He avoids attention by dressing like a German tourist, which also has the benefit of ensuring people don't want to talk to him. All the while he is sharing his philosophy of life with the viewer. Some of this is interesting and borderline-witty, the rest is like a mantra which he repeats over and over throughout the movie: Stick to your plan. Anticipate, don't improvise. Trust no-one. Fight only the battle you're paid to fight. Forbid empathy. He makes a big deal about the fact he is a man without ideology, just there for the money.

In short, he is pretty much the stock figure of the movie assassin, a distant and chilly figure living by his own code of honour (and living quite well). There's nothing particularly new about this idea – Jason Statham basically plays another version of the same character in several of his films, the Jason Bourne films are a sort of deconstruction of the idea, the John Wick films are an increasingly fantastical take on it, and so on. These are just the movies with the killer as anti-hero. There's even a sense in which James Bond is a more developed version of the same archetype, admittedly with more of a sense of humour (sometimes) and a few well-known foibles. I suspect the appeal of the archetype is just that he's a fantasy of total competence and transgressive power, coupled of course to some conspicuous consumption – in this film, Fassbender apparently has more money than he could ever spend.

Of course, the perfect killer isn't a particularly interesting character to tell a story about, and so usually they do make an atypical mistake or try to retire against the will of their masters, which is where the plot finds a starting point. So it is with this one – Fassbender's botch strains credibility a bit, but that's the plot. Soon enough his carefully-constructed existence is under threat and he finds himself having to contend with other killers sent to take him out as he hunts down the individuals responsible.

And it's a very watchable movie, due mainly to Fassbender's star quality and the film's attention to detail – as I said about the second Bourne film what feels like a lifetime ago, at the end of it you do feel you've learned how to track someone across continents, then penetrate their security and dispose of them using only a toast rack and a set of hair curlers. The other main turn comes from Tilda Swinton as a rival killer the movie dubs 'the Expert' – this being Tilda Swinton, she does more talking than actual killing, but she's still a class act. There's also an immensely impressive fight sequence between Fassbender and Sala Baker – the kind of fight where the entire house is wrecked by the end of it – which gives a genuine sense of tactile crunch to a movie which occasionally feels a bit cerebral.

The problem with this sort of story is how you make the main character engaging, if not actually sympathetic. The movie manages this a couple of ways – firstly, all of his fake IDs have the names of characters from classic American sitcoms – Archie Bunker, Sam Malone, and so on – and secondly, he spends all of his quieter moments listening to songs by the Smiths.

(I tend to take for granted that everyone's heard of the same bands as me, but Ye Post Editor read the Stop Making Sense review said he'd enjoyed it but had never heard of the group nor any of their songs. So: the Smiths, seminal 80s guitar band from Manchester in the north of England, notable for the contributions of vocalist Morrissey and guitarist Johnny Marr; representative samples of Morrissey's songwriting include tunes like 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now', 'Shoplifters of the World Unite', and 'Girlfriend in a Coma'.

These days, alas, relations between the former bandmates are acrimonious, to say the least, with Morrissey dabbling in far-right politics, something which might sour the pleasure of listening to their back catalogue. The fact Morrissey is going to make money off this film probably won't sit well with some people either, but that's the world we live in and I can't honestly think of a fairer arrangement.)

The fact that every few minutes we get a snatch of the latest old Smiths song Fassbender has on his earpods is really the gift that keeps on giving. And it's not just a gag – while it's funny that this obsessive professional killer is always listening to old indie music, it also seems weirdly appropriate, given that he and Morrissey seem to share the same kind of dour outlook.

The weakness in the film, I think, is in the intersection between plot and characterisation – Fassbender goes on and on about his 'rules', but it seems to me that for most of the film he is actually breaking them, developing emotional attachments and acting on them, performing actions which are unnecessarily risky, and so on. Now if at any point there was a moment where the character realised this and used that moment of clarity to develop in some way – questioning the ethics of their lifestyle, say – it would give the film a bit of traction as a depiction of someone developing as a human being. But if this moment comes, it does so so fleetingly that I missed it, and this just seems like a portrait of someone lacking in self-awareness as well as empathy, but not notably suffering on either count. So in the end the film is technically competent but a rather short on heart and soul. And the same goes for its main character, too.

Awix

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