Mesrine #1 ...

As a gangster film, Mesrine: The Killer Instinct has it all:

Guns – check
Action – check
Car chases – check
Tortured women - check
Handsome felon – check

But it also has so much more. I have to say I was slightly offended when I walked into the foyer and was asked by the ticket attendant “ah for Coco Before Channel are we?”. A presumption of my girly vanity and shallowness maybe reading too much into it but there was some serious backtracking that occurred next, underestimating my appreciation for men with guns. Is it odd to have such an obsession? Are these films limited only for men’s eyes? God no.

The significance and reputation of Mesrine embarrassingly has passed me by and with such notoriety in France it seems impossible to know why. It is the story of a bank robbing murderer who became a household name by manipulating the press and craving any attention possible. He met his demise with a chain of police bullets and it is the build up of this which is revealed in Jean-François Richet's superb film.

The man, the myth and the legend that is Jacques Mesrine is stunningly played by “Frenchman” himself Vincent Cassel. Cassel’s on screen presence is the epitome of captivating as my eyes rarely drifted from his continuously intense performance. An enigmatic quality that drives the film and it becomes hard to articulate just how spectaularly he plays Mesrine as it is clear there is no sympathy or adoration behind his portrayal, the 'heroics' of his actions are nowhere to be seen but instead are the clear and haunted workings of a thief. The balance of sexy charm and brutality is at the heart of this success. At the peak of his career it seems perfect that he adorn such a pivotal role. His portrayal of Mesrine is violent, destructive and deadly yet he manages to salvage some possibility of redeeming features. It may sit uneasy for us at times to side and support such violence but such a fluctuation of loyalty is vital to surge our interest in the film throughout its duration.

Tension starts and tension ends with no rest in between. From the first moment we are introduced to multiple split screens, a panoramic view of an older Mesrine, driving unknowingly to his death. The continuation of such momentum is an achievement in itself and is fuelled further by a story that you really couldn’t make up. A testament of this is the fact that I was made to jump out of my seat merely by the bark of a dog and a very clever music score. Although Mesrine himself was dubbed the man of a thousand faces, it is Cassel’s transformation which is most striking. His licentious swagger may not be a testament to authenticity, but adds a stylised edge to the film that should not be criticised. It glorifies violence, and so it should because all significant gangster films are supposed to and this then rightfully juxtaposed with his downfall which is also a vital aspect. It seemed that the era for films like Scarface and the Godfather we over and most certainly ‘of their time’ but Mesrine show a return to classical form, tradition but not regurgitation.

Masculinity in this film is unavoidable with the men drinking hard, smoking hard and playing hard. Violence is also not shied away from yet rather than just aimlessly presenting us with a severed arm or a gouged eye we are instantly told the root of Mesrine’s brutality and the reasons for such motives which are mainly due to his time served in Algeria with the army in with murder was a necessity not a choice. There is a presumed intelligence expected of the audience and in return we receive a level of sophistication that is deserving.

On his second spout in Canadian prison, a vulnerable raw Mesrine is revealed to us as we see him curled naked and placed under what can only be described as torturous conditions. This flux between the goody and baddy is something I fought with throughout the two hours and rightfully so as the decision of whether to admire someone so infamous should never be easy. In the back of my mind I knew the obligatory escape scene must be somewhere ahead and would be armed heavily with the normal clichés and spouts of righteous indignation. This is it; this would be the films downfall, the failure that I would have to accept. But I didn’t have to because before I knew it I was gripped and exasperated. As the camera flitted briefly from Cassel’s strong face to the police wardens tower I gulped and held breath, spurring on killers all in the name of freedom.

The womanising, the killing, the robbing all helped the time fly by and in the final words we were left with this: “As for Mesrine … End of Part One.” – And personally I can’t wait.


H xx