by Asya Mukhamedrakhimova
MKH digital plubication © 2025
by Dias Toibazarov
Category Film & TV
Published December 9, 2024
Le Samourai: a (Re)introduction to World Cinema in the Age of Brain Rot

Le Repas du Lion, by Henri Rousseau

As any Letterboxd junkie and film nerd would be eager to tell you, the French New Wave is undoubtedly one of the most significant movements in current film history, with influences still felt throughout global cinema. Despite having read and watched countless mentions of Truffaut, Godard, Melville, and many more, I was still reluctant to delve into the pictures of that period. The dam finally broke last summer, when I was fortunate enough to catch a screening of Jean Luc Godard’s ‘Le Mepris’ (Contempt) at NYC’s Film Forum. My first time witnessing the inimitable Brigitte Bardot on the silver screen, made further special thanks to the 60th anniversary 4K restoration.

The film’s centrepiece, an infamous extended conversation scene between Bardot and her unassuming writer husband, while challenging, has successfully clued me into the intricacies of their relationship and what could have caused the titular contempt. However, despite the fantastic central argument, the film is bookended by its disappointing inciting incident and underwhelming seaside finale. Instead of the taut and intimate exchanges, I was left to guess from Bardot’s infinite arsenal of moody pouts, which, while beautiful to look at, were hardly an acting showcase. For as jarring as my first experience with French New Wave was, I was now somewhat clued in to the aesthetics and attitudes of the period. Namely the sparse and realistic conversations accompanied by prolonged shots and handheld cinematography.

One year later, Alain Delon’s unfortunate passing has moved me to revisit his filmography and subsequently French New Wave cinema. Delon is an icon, a sex symbol, a legend of cinema, yet my only recollection of seeing him on the big screen was in the role of Caesar in the modern French classic, Asterix at the Olympic Games. In addition to my Instagram filled with countless moodboards of a smoking Alain Delon from his role in Plein Soleil, these were my references heading into Le Samourai. Thus, seated far away from London’s weather in the cozy confines of the Prince Charles Cinema’s downstairs screen, I was ready and equipped with a fresh pack of zyns and a diet coke. Special shoutout to the Prince Charles and other independent cinemas keeping classics alive, while the likes of the Electric in Notting Hill are being eaten up by the almighty Soho House group.

To my joy and surprise, this was also a recent 4K restoration. From the beginning, we are lulled into the sparse and cold atmosphere of the titular samurai, watching our hero slowly smoke a cigarette, hidden from the rain in their minimally arranged apartment. For myself, a sucker for the film noir aesthetic, this was already gourmet catnip one scene in. As Jef sets out on his day, he carefully assembles his outfit composed of an impeccable trench coat and equally impeccable hat, curving the brim with the precision of either a complete sociopath or an assassin. Unconcerned, I’m continuing to scream inside at just how fucking cool this all is.

Being the latter, Jef proceeds to boost a car and construct an airtight alibi with his paramour and later gambling buddies before arriving at the jazz bar where his target resides. What follows is a pristine tracking shot through the Martey’s bar, twinkling with the whiteness of its clientele and aurgasmic music, followed by the assassination in the back offices. Twenty something minutes into the film, Jef has uttered no more than five sentences, including telling his target that he’s there to kill him, and asking the aforementioned characters to note the times of his alibi. As a younger viewer, it’s fascinating to watch an older influential film after so many years, having seen the countless spiritual successors that have come out since. We have gotten so used to the quiet aloof antihero, coldly precise and best at what they do. It’s akin to a child today seeing the slow-motion bullet time in The Matrix and calling it mid. To me this is where the director’s ability shines through the most. Jean Pierre Melville masterfully indulges lingering on Jef’s carefully constructed routine, avoiding the proverbial yapping to show rather than tell. One glance was enough to understand Delon’s beauty and magnetism, with Jef’s stoicism a perfect vehicle for his stature and looks.

As the investigation gets underway, we are introduced to Francois Perier’s delightfully slimy yet sincere police inspector. After rounding up and interviewing the suspects (and of course Jef gets called in as he did not bother changing from his highly recognisable outfit), Jef’s alibi proves strong, yet the inspector retains his doubts and orders his men to spy on Jef. As he approaches an empty train station to collect his payment, his employers withhold the payment and violently expresses suspicions over Jef’s recent visit to the police. From this point, I am upright and engaged, as a wounded Jef engages both sides on a cat and mouse chase through the streets and metro of an ever-picturesque Paris. The frenetic metro chase acts as a clear precursor to the coked up bombast of the climax in Carlito’s Way, which, until Le Samourai, was at the top of my underground chase scenes in film, firmly sat atop the likes of Skyfall, F6, and the second John Wick. To avoid spoiling even more than I have, I leave you, the viewer to watch and discover this masterpiece for yourself.

Notably, The Killer by David Fincher shares more than a similarity with Le Samourai, following an aloof assassin through a taut and carefully plotted few days. However, if Melville unfurls Jef through his character and actions, Fassbender’s eponymous killer engages in an ongoing monologue verging on incellectual. The camerawork and theme are oddly reminiscent of Christopher Nolan’s work, especially in Tenet. While there are many more directors whose work this film has inspired, it is difficult to extol the greatness of Melville in less than two pages, let alone deconstruct the deep histories of neo-noir and the French New Wave. I still need to catch up on the 1930s Hollywood classics that laid the groundwork to make Le Samourai possible, and all the films that followed. As far as genre exercises go, this noir is firing on all cylinders, while never leaning on pyrotechnics and sensationalism. A hallmark of a great film, it has inspired me to continue unearthing the archives of French cinema and Delon’s filmography.

Hopefully this inspires you to avoid the latest schlock on Netflix, and up your insta aesthetic knowledge through stylish European cinema. Yes, I know, sounds very pretentious, yet another film nerd elitist is telling you to go watch good old boring black and white because it is “foundational”. Absolutely not, I enjoy a Drew Barrymore romcom as much as an obscure Japanese horror. The two can coexist and if anything, the ground in-between is where it gets interesting. Distributors like A24 and Neon, as well as arthouse streaming on Mubi have made these movies more accessible than ever. If this article leaves you with one message, it is that for every Emily in Paris, make sure you watch a Parasite too.

Some related articles you might love…