'The Killer' review: Michael Fassbender stars in slick action thriller with darkly funny twist

But nobody’s perfect – and when our Killer slips up, hidden wheels begin turning. His safe house is invaded, his girlfriend (Sophie Charlotte as Magdala) is nearly killed and his own head is next on the chopping block. Now he has only one choice: work his way up the system and kill every person he meets.

Wrong! Based on a series of French graphic novels and directed by David Fincher, “The Killer” is an exercise in anti-genre. In this story, revenge is served cold, with an emphasis on efficiency and pragmatism. Instead of an Audi, this Killer drives a Kia Sorento, the better to blend in. Instead of black tie, he dons a touristy hat and comfortable pants. Theatrical gestures? Too sloppy. Eloquent speeches? It’s quicker just to pull the trigger and get to work hacking up the body. What about super-sneaky technology, like a gizmo that can copy an electronic key fob? He orders it on Amazon. (Assassins – they’re just like us!)

“If you’re unable to endure boredom,” Fassbender’s Killer tells us, “this job is not for you.”

What “The Killer” sacrifices in explosions and car chases, it makes up for with bleak existential humor. Our Killer is alienation personified, dulled by modern life, a cog in an indifferent machine. He’s about as excitable as an insurance adjuster. “I am not exceptional,” he intones, “I’m just… apart.” Fassbender plays the role beautifully, combining his usual deep-freeze persona (on display in heavyweight films like “Shame” and “12 Years a Slave”) with an unexpected knack for comedy. Whenever things go horribly, gruesomely wrong – and they inevitably do – our Killer slumps his shoulders in resignation, like a hitman Eeyore. And guess what band is constantly playing on his iPod? Why, the Smiths, of course.

Fincher and screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker know that they can’t completely avoid the tropes of the action flick; the audience would revolt. And so “The Killer” is broken into chapters, most of them dedicated to someone whose death is imminent. There’s The Lawyer (Charles Parnell), who’ll take some convincing before he gives up the names in his ancient Rolodex. There’s The Expert (Tilda Swinton), a gourmand who shares a flight of good whiskey with the man who intends to whack her. And there’s The Brute (Sala Baker), a Florida sleazebag who finally gives us what we’ve been itching for: a rib-crunching, tooth-cracking fistfight.

Fincher’s sleek direction contrasts nicely with the gnarly electronica of his longtime musical collaborators, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. But at bottom, “The Killer” is a comedy – albeit a violent and nihilistic one. “Popeye the Sailor said it best,” according to our world-weary Killer. “I yam what I yam.”

By Rafer Guzmán

rafer.guzman@newsday.com