Mesrine: Killer Instinct

Apparently Vincent Cassel initially turned down the part of real-life French gangster Jacques Mesrine because he found the first script too black and white. Judging by the final screenplay, that one must have been a real stinker.

It’s not that Mesrine: Killer Instinct is badly made – there are plenty of well-staged action sequences, a great prison break-out and it’s certainly pacy – it’s just that the whole concept is absurdly dated. This is a film about men being men and women being grateful, in a time – the 1960s – when you could rob a bank, kill a policeman and still be in the bar for first orders wearing a creaseless tie and shirt.

Cassel, complete with ludicrous moustache, portrays the real-life character Mesrine, a man who learns the value of violence while in the army in Algeria. Back in Paris in the 60s he is tempted by a life of crime, and finds himself working for sleazy gangland boss Gerard Depardieu. His attempts at a ‘normal’ life (he gets married to Elena Ayala and has three children) keep getting waylaid by his criminal activities, gambling and whoring.

The main problem is that we are constantly being asked to sympathise with a character who is utterly obnoxious, despite being shown examples of his moral radar – beating up a prostitute’s brutal pimp, marrying the girl he deflowers, refusing to shoot a woman prisoner. The problem is the sheer inconsistency of his actions. An hour after refusing to shoot a female prisoner of war, he sticks a gun into his own wife’s mouth when she threatens to call the police. Problem two is that he is played by Vincent Cassel, who has all the charm and warmth of a dose of swine flu. Depardieu is a cartoon gangster, and even the great Ludivine Sagnier can do little with her role. Apparently Eva Green and Marion Cotillard were in the running for the movie, but it’s doubtful they would have risen above the clichés on show.

Mesrine’s adventures take him from Paris to Canada, where he forms a Bonnie and Clyde act with Cecile de France – a sudden reminder of how good romantic cinematic notions of crime can be.  However these two are no Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty and the director is no Arthur Penn. Mesrine is caught, brutalised in prison, escapes, gets dumped by de France and a gruelling two hours is over, only for the realisation that there is another film on the way that concludes the story. In France this tale might mean something, and men might secretly yearn for a hero who sticks a gun in his wife’s mouth before robbing a bank, but not me.

Overall Verdict: Dated story about one of France’s criminals which doesn’t translate.

Reviewer: Mike Martin