Sometimes what surprises you most in a spy thriller isn't the action, but the silence. In Amateur, James Hawes avoids easy thrills to build a story where emotion weighs more than car chases or shootouts. Yes, everything you'd expect from the genre is there: agencies, betrayals, secrets—but the camera lingers more on the looks than the bullets. And that's, surprisingly, what makes it different. Rami Malek carries the film with a restrained performance that suits the character, though it might leave some viewers cold. He’s no Bourne, nor does he try to be, even if the comparison is inevitable. His journey is more internal than physical, and that doesn’t always translate into pace or spectacle. But if you play along, it works. The rage, the loss, the obsession—it’s all there, in his eyes, in his tense body, in the way he speaks softly and walks slowly. The script has its clumsy moments, no doubt. Some narrative choices feel forced, and the ending, while coherent, might not satisfy those looking for a classic climax. But there’s an honesty in the proposal that makes up for it. It doesn't try to be a franchise or revolutionize the genre—just tell a story about pain, wrapped in a world of codes and guns. Visually, Amateur chooses a sober style, with clean, understated cinematography. Everything serves the character, the conflict, the grief. It's not a perfect film, but it stays with you. One that prefers to suggest rather than shout. I liked it. Not because of what it has as a thriller, but because of what it hides underneath: an intimate, slow-burning story where the wounds aren’t always visible, but deeply felt. You have to watch it from that place—from loss, not from adrenaline. And if you shift your mindset, you’ll probably enjoy it too.