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A wolf crosses a deserted street in Los Angeles.
The city of angels at night, night angels: demons.
The lights of the buildings, traffic lights, and neon signs illuminate two lives, two fates.
Men are the microbes of the universe.
Fates.
Collateral is one of the best thrillers of recent years and, in my opinion, the absolute masterpiece by Michael Mann. The American director paints a stylistically perfect work, with visually breathtaking bird's-eye shots, music that highlights a rare melancholic night atmosphere, and a succession of narratively impeccable scenes.
An endless taxi ride lasting one night, in which the lives of "taxi driver" Max (Jamie Foxx) and hitman Vincent (Tom Cruise) will change forever.
The characterization of the characters is superlative. There are no clear distinctions between good and evil, but small nuances: the cynical and cold Vincent is not just a ruthless killer but a disillusioned man who loves jazz, has never known his mother, and knows that dreams will always remain such, smoky, ethereal, destined to fail. Max, from a simple and honest dreamer, will discover he is not so different from Vincent.
No hate.
Just coincidences.
Fates that intersect.
The two protagonists are not enemies.
They could have been friends in different circumstances.
So different as to be the same.
A film that alternates deep monologues, sudden action, moments of tension, rarefied calm, and dialogs that can elicit more than a smile (especially the one where Vincent forces Max to tell his employer to "shove his damn taxi up his ass," or the dialogue about Miles Davis at the Jazz Club).
Good triumphs over evil without triumphalism or sermons because there is no hate, it’s just a job. The bad guy is not a bad guy.
"In Los Angeles, a man dies on the subway. Who will notice?"
In the end, even the night is destined to end.
And no one will have seen anything.
Perhaps indifference is the real evil.
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