I think he's dead.
Good guess.
You killed him.
No, I shot him.
Bullets in the fall killed him.
This single statement delivered with commanding morale
exemplifies the most terrifying aspect
of Tom Cruise's character Vincent's philosophy.
An absolute manipulation of truth that lets the audience
know the next hour and 40 minutes
will be bent to this man's will, but what
is it that bends us as well?
What makes Vincent one of the most horrifying villains
in film history?
Released in 2004, Collateral was a neo-noir film
steeped in the night of Los Angeles directed
by Michael Mann.
Starring Jamie Foxx as our protagonist Max.
A taxi driver with dreams of starting his own business.
And Tom Cruise's Vincent as one of cinema's most
manipulative and cold villains.
A hitman charming as he is lethal.
[GUN SHOTS]
Collateral's plot is classic bare bones pulp.
Vincent is in Los Angeles under contract
to assassinate five witnesses and enlists Max
to unknowingly drive him to each murder.
After the first goes awry, the night
spirals into abrupt violence and controlled mayhem.
And controlling that chaos is Vincent.
His charm is almost enviable in its confidence.
Dressed in a simple gray suit with well kempt gray hair,
he says things so a matter of factly
with such an air of authority that you almost
can't help but to agree.
Now, we've got to make the best of it.
Improvise, adapt to the environment, Darwin, [BEEP]
happens, I Ching, whatever man, we got to roll with it.
When Vincent explains his disdain
for L.A. and larger cities in general,
there's an odd sense of warmth.
His dislike for the beloved Metropolitan
stems from a lack of human interaction.
70 million people.
This is going to be the fifth biggest economy in the world
and nobody knows each other.
Even going so far as to tell a story
about a corpse riding unnoticed on a train for an entire night.
To Vincent, this perfectly represents the humanity
he has built in his mind.
One that is indifferent and cold.
Self-absorbed in his own existence.
And Cruise sells it so well.
He looks out of the taxis window to hundreds
of city lights framed by Mann and cinematographer Dion
Beeb with equal parts disgust and yearning
for something that might be just beyond the skyline.
It's here we're given our first glimpse of how
Vincent eases his way in and begins
to chip away at our defenses.
The ability to make us not only trust him,
but wonder how we ever believe differently in the first place.
It's a common manipulation technique.
He quickly establishes himself as the authority
and continuously demonstrates his power.
Sometimes it appears to be in the benefit of Max,
but the end is always to further his own wants and desires.
When Max's boss radios to ask about the taxis cracked
windshield, damage caused by Vincent,
Max is threatened with being held financially accountable.
Vincent overhears and aggressively
jumps in to defend the cabbie.
You know goddamn well your collision policy
and general liability umbrella will cover the damages.
And what are you trying to pull, you sarcastic [BEEP]??
It's a bit of wish fulfillment on both Max's and our part.
The confident and intelligent alpha who tells our boss off,
but all this is really just to further his own needs.
It isn't so much a one to help as it is a circumstance slowing
him down.
But for Max, it feels good.
Almost good enough to make him wish that he was that strong.
And Vincent exploits that want.
When he first meets Max, he immediately
begins to size the cabbie up.
Max continuously says bigger things are on his horizon.
I'm not in this for the long haul.
Just filling in.
You know, it's temporary while I'm
getting some things shaped up.
This is just temporary.
But quickly changes the subject when asked
about a romantic interaction.
To Vincent, these are signs of weakness.
Something to be exploited and used for his benefit.
And everything that happens throughout this movie
is at the will of Vincent.
In one of the film's more intense scenes,
Vincent takes Max out for a drink at a jazz club,
even after Max admits to not liking jazz.
As the two watch the trumpet player on stage,
Vincent again turns the experience
into a reason to monologue about how he sees life.
He waxes philosophical about the way jazz
is all improvisation, adaptation with disregard to structure,
and melody while moving within the music.
After the trumpet player joins them and tells
a story about meeting Miles Davis,
one point sticks out particularly to Vincent.
Hearing that Miles Davis stayed in the zone,
that he was not able to be spoken to
or bothered while he was working.
And with Vincent looking at the actor
like he's the only one in the world,
he seems enraptured in the story.
When it's revealed that the trumpet player is
next on Vincent's list, Max tries desperately
to talk Vincent out of the kill, only
to be silenced and told by Vincent, I'm working.
That concise, perfect, plain spoken line
immediately sends shivers down the audience's spine.
And we make the connection, if this character has spent
that much time doing something so evil,
how many lives has he destroyed?
It's here we see Vincent at his most villainous.
A disconnect between any sort of personal feeling
and what he does for work.
These murders, these crimes are all a means to an end.
This sort of single mindedness runs throughout film's history.
From Anton Chigurh, Hannibal Lecter, or even Dracula,
it's a disconnect between our villain and humanity.
The moral empathy we believe or hope lies in everyone.
When we're presented with that lack of empathy,
it breaks our hearts and haunts us all at once.
That disconnect is directly tied to the heart
of what keeps terrifying us about Vincent more
than a decade later.
One of the filmings happiest accidents
led us to one of the most profound visual metaphors.
Mann had stated that the crew came across the Coyotes
while filming.
He instantly knew this was a perfect moment to capture.
It was almost like L.A. itself offered one more moment to show
Vincent as he was, a predator hunting the gritty asphalt
because it's in his nature.
The L.A. Mann presents is gritty, haunted,
maybe a direct retaliation to the glitz and glamor most see.
The L.A. here is the darkest bits of Bukowski or Tom Waits.
A city that is survived and endured.
As we watch Vincent navigate its dark alleys and dimly lit
streets, we know he's adapted himself to not
just endure, but conquer.
We learn his justification and coldness
has taken him this far.
His terrifying logic broken down so simply
it sounds almost bulletproof.
As the two drive toward the second hit,
Vincent begins the first of many arguments and rationalizations
about humanity's engagement with death and murder.
Why should a death in your direct proximity,
even one against the hood of your car,
be more impactful than the death of thousands
occurring every day in a war torn country?
Have you ever heard of Rwanda?
Yes, I know Rwanda.
Tens of thousands killed before sundown.
Nobody's killed people that fast since Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
Did you bat an eye, Max?
What?
It's cold and terrifying to see life reduced down to numbers,
but the real world's villains always have.
With Vincent, even those single deaths
are just a means to an end.
That sort of twisted rationalization
is so horrifying because we know it's not alien or fantastical.
Vincent isn't a metaphor or creature from folklore,
he's a fictional representation of the darkest parts
of humanity.
There are bits of backstory we get
from Vincent that might inform how he became the way he is.
An abusive father and troubled childhood,
but honestly, his justifications show someone
who is just broken and evil.
The bodies he leaves in his wake throughout the night
and his complete disregard for anything other
than finishing his work shows a villain at their most horrific.
In true noir fashion, Vincent fulfills his own prophecy.
After a shootout with Max on an empty train,
he's fatally wounded.
There's no lashing out against death, just a quiet resignation
as he walks to a seat and slumps down to sit.
Max sits across from him, and Vincent can't help but attack
one more time.
But he doesn't try to hit him or fumble
with another clip for his pistol,
he simply looks across the train car
and asks Max if he thinks anyone will notice.
Tom Cruise's performance here is pretty unparalleled.
It would be easy to play the scene up, but he doesn't.
He stays restrained, calm, and collected.
What makes Vincent's dying question so scary is Max
doesn't answer.
Not after a night where his reality was
shattered into pieces, each splinter
reflecting a part of himself.
The city and humanity he never knew existed.
Vincent's power and terror doesn't rest solely
in his aptitude with guns and violence,
it's also in his powers of manipulation.
His ability to inspire envy and jealousy to the point
of breaking a spirit.
And that is the magic trick that only someone like Cruise
could bring to life while still coming across as endearing.
The performance is so powerful.
It's a wonder he hasn't attempted a similar role since.
Maybe there's a justification there we don't realize.
Cruise has always aired on more heroic and uplifting roles.
That could just be the legacy he wants to leave,
not one shrouded in moral ambiguity and dark shadows.
But the terror he portrayed as Vincent
is an idea that continues to haunt us.
Despite what Vincent says, the world
is more connected than ever.
And as that connection grows tighter,
the poisonous ideas he represents
are never further away than our pants pockets or desks.
And while the ideas might not be what breaks us,
their vitriol and embittered malice could.
So what do you think?
Should Cruise do more roles like this?
What other villains would you like
us to cover in future episodes?
Please let us in the comments down below,
and thank you for subscribing to Nerdstalgic.
[MUSIC PLAYING]