It’s becoming apparent that George Clooney (“Up in the Air”) has a singular distaste for being tied down. Why else would he keep agreeing to movies in which his character undergoes the same basic life transformation?

The American

At Quality 16 and Rave
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An isolated man obsessed with his career who only commits to brief flings involving occasional sex — this tagline could describe Clooney in real life, the man he plays in the award-winning “Up in the Air” or the life of his newest character, an assassin of sorts (either named Jack or Edward depending on whom he’s talking to), in “The American.”

While this Anton Corbijn (“Control”) movie is well directed and well cast, there is little to sink your teeth into until almost the very end. Meaning, not a lot “happens” in this movie. It's based on a book called “A Very Private Gentleman,” and it appears this gentleman truly didn’t say much.

It’s clear that most of the story in the novel occurs in Jack/Edward’s mind. While this almost invisible plot style works in a novel, it’s a bit awkward when transferred to the screen. That said, if you’re going to stare at one stone-faced actor this year and ask, “What’s going on in there?” it might as well be Clooney.

When things do happen in this story, they seem to carry more weight than they would were the plot full of confusing action scenes and choppy dialogue. You can count the number of real conversations that take place in this film on your fingers. The sparse dialogue becomes more memorable and refreshing, like oases amongst the silence that dominates most of the 105 minutes.

This ominous and dramatic silence provides the movie with its greatest strengths and its most glaring weaknesses. While it does heighten the tension and anticipation in the viewer — whose patience is rewarded with a perfectly twisted ending — the lack of dialogue and action forces the camera to do a lot of the story’s work itself. This can feel slightly annoying and heavy-handed at times, and by the one-hour mark you might find yourself saying “Okay, we get it!” to many of the things the screen insists on showing you.

We get it: Clooney has sex a lot. We get it: Clooney has a dark past that he doesn’t want to talk about.

Even the de facto mentor and “moral opposite” to our antihero, a priest whose character borders on stock, is a bit overdone. He looks like Tommy LaSorda and sounds like Vito Corleone. We get it. He’s Italian.

Nevertheless, the film ends by bringing its mumbled themes together in a creative way that almost forces you to agree with what Clooney seems to be saying (by deciding to be in this movie) about the potential consequences of settling down with one woman and taking your eyes off “the mission,” so to speak. Women have hindered Clooney’s character from accomplishing his assassin-style tasks in the past, and “The American” ends with what, by Clooney and his character, is considered the most dangerous of human endeavors: falling in love.

There are conclusions and analyses of the struggle between the desire for career-driven independence and allowing your fate to fall out of your hands — by falling in love — that can be made for years to come, but “The American” basically tells us something we already know.

We get it: Clooney, you’re the best.