By Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Translator: Issac
Proofreading: Easy two three
Source: Standard Collection (August 20, 2021)
Silence makes us uncomfortable. We race against the clock in conversation, filling the air with words. But silence can also be a powerful force in movies, and "Lone Killer" is a film that respects quiet and low key.
The Lone Killer
At the beginning of the movie, we see a long list of subtitles. A man lay in bed smoking a cigarette. His apartment was dilapidated; the house was surrounded by walls. The smoke he smoked drifted lazily in the air. We noticed a birdcage in the gray room. The lens remains still. Finally, the man stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He put on his hat and went out to steal the car. It wasn't until 10 minutes that the first line was taken.
Other directors may be forced to fill this glacial silence, constructing a detailed backdrop for the calm and detached professional killer played by Alain Deron. This is not the case with Jean-Pierre Melville. Instead of outlining the figures by coloring the inside of the lines, he carved them as if they were made in black silhouettes. Watching Lone Killer is like watching an elaborate shadow puppet show.
The objects in Delong's apartment speak more about him than any monologue. He drank Evian mineral water and collected empty bottles on the dresser. He also kept a large number of Kittan brand cigarettes. The only decorative element in front of his eyes is a painting of a huge mushroom bush on his bed. His room was dirty and the wallpaper was beginning to peel off, but his clothes looked spotless. When he put the hat on his head, his fingers slid over the brim of the hat, moving quickly and alertly. When he stood across the street with his trench coat collar pulled high, he was alert and organized. This is a killer full of ritual sense.
Although little is known about the killer, he is a vivid, mesmerizing force that exists in a world shot in pastel tones, as if the colors of a film have been drained. DeLong's cheeks were painted with alabaster, and his blue eyes pierced the audience.
Melville may have tried to mimic American films when filming this elaborate film noir, but any American film would not only write more dialogue for the anti-hero, but would also add more music to add tension and use voiceovers to explain events. This may give us a deeper understanding of the killer's relationship with his girlfriend; it may also have created a lengthy meeting with his accomplices, or given us a glimpse of his cool arsenal of weapons — but there's nothing in the movie, except a gun and a keyring ring.
The blanks in Lone Killer, and the magic of how it escapes, are perhaps most evident in several scenes in which police infiltrate Delong's apartment and install eavesdropping devices.
To create a sense of dread, you can imagine other directors choosing to let the cops into the apartment and then switch to the scene where Delong is home. The clip may even go crazy, showing a race against time, and the music climaxes when the police fail to reconnoiter at the last second.
Instead, we see a lengthy scene of men standing in the hallway, trying to use different keys until they find the one that opens the door. A bird chirps nervously and flaps its wings in its cage, uneasy by the appearance of strangers. As they walked around the room, the bird continued to make noise.
Every crunch of a plank, every jingle of a key, every ridiculously large wiretap hanging by the window by a policeman, all of this intertwines to make up the scene. It's the kind of moment that keeps you breathless, keeps you staring at the screen and throwing popcorn buckets aside. It was all done quietly and calmly. It is almost shockingly streamlined.
The success of this scene is also due to the film's commitment to the principle of overall silence. It fits perfectly, like a piece of the puzzle. The constant chirping of the birds exacerbates the tension; it's like a metronome, but it also reminds us of the scene at the beginning, where the killer lays in bed and smokes calmly. The birds' calls are constant and distracting. Or in addition to Delong's character, everyone else will do the same. He could lie in bed all day, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, while the birds flapped their wings loudly and chirped, revealing an intense and frightening concentration.
In this scene, the actions of the police and Delong also form a stark contrast. We can see how they move, how they move around the room. They don't have any problems at work; they are effective. However, looking at them in that apartment, we will understand that they are completely different from this killer. As we watched him in the same place, we glimpsed the great chasm between them. DeLonge had the composure they lacked. DeLonge was almost ruthless.
If there's one guy who was born to play a vampire, it's Delong. He is one of the few actors to be able to capture this menacing and seductive supernatural predator. No wonder the police chief in "The Lone Killer" is so fascinated by him. There was a hollow in the center of DeLonge, a black hole. You're sucked in.
"What kind of person are you?" Someone in the film asks Delong. That's the question That Lone Killer wants to answer.
"Lone Killer" taught me how to create a character, how to make seemingly mundane details, like a pile of empty bottles, play a huge role in attracting the audience. It also highlights the value of content that is not shown on the screen and script.
When the police put on wiretaps in the killer's apartment and are ready to leave, we have a better understanding of them and their targets, because the unwritten lines are better than sound; they can carve elaborate silhouettes. This is the magic of light and shadow, and it is also the magic of film noir.