The American. If Clooney didn’t shoot his girlfriend in the first scene* (not even out of any particular malice, nor accident, but mere professionalism) you’d still know here is a man who is carrying around the burden of painful experience, so much so that he might as well have ‘KILLED A WHOLE BUNCH OF PEOPLE’ tattooed on his forehead, thanks to the acting involved. Clooney faces a small cast of gentlemen with extremely seamed faces, a cool assassin, and a lovely Italian prostitute. Probably being hunted, he takes on a job to build a custom weapon for the assassin, gets too involved with the prostitute, but everything turns out fine.
Hahaha, does it fuck. The film is gorgeous at least, spectacular Italian scenery being the easy bits for cinematographer Martin Ruhe, who manages to make the world look like a cooler, classier version of ours. Director Anton Corbijn, who has absolutely no problem going at his own pace, steers without any hurry, and puts together an elegant, quiet film.
*George Clooney has almost certainly never shot a girlfriend, I meant the character.