Woody plays mentor to a lass he trains, from a young girl, into a seasoned, hired killer of men. And we know she is seasoned, because even despite overwhelming discrepencies in muscle mass, weight, physics and biology, she can kick the living cra*p out of men. I mean to say, multiple, grown, rage filled, testosterone powered pschopaths, with an ease that only comes from really good 'seasoning'.
Anyway,
she is compelled, by virtue of hitperson code, to kill a Yakuza chieftain in front of his daughter, thus forcing her to reevaluate murder for hire as a fulfilling vocation.
So original, no?
She then informs her ever faithful mentor and trainer, Woody, of her decision and newfound longing to "retire". He seems measurably nonplussed and this is the very moment we realize we are watching a plot so trite; so commonplace; so threadbare, so hackneyed. That I won't even continue to use any more of the same words Google used to define 'hackneyed'.
Kate then dutifully finishes her last "job" and rewards herself by hiring an American Kagema(look it up) Oh, I left out that the story takes place in Japan, only because I knew most of you would simply intuit the fact because I already used the terms Yakuza and Kagema.
Very presumptuous, and lazy, of me.
So, then Kate's Kagema slips her the old Polonium 204 cocktail. No, that is not a euphemism, it represents a fictional deadly poison for which there is no known antidote.
Fun fact 1: There is a real radioactive element, Polonium 210, that is lethal in very small amounts(thanks Madame Curie).
Fun fact 2: Vladimir Putin has long been rumored to use Polonium 210 to neutralize political opponents and journalists and people he just doesn't agree with, who inexplicably chose to voice thier contradicting views publicly.
It is only after Kate accepts her fate that she embarks on a journey of self discovery, therapeutic-restorative interpersonal bridge building and .....
I mean to say, Kate kills anyone who can't help her find the person who is responsible for poisoning her, and she does it in a demostrably measured and unflappably serene manner that would leave Dexter awestricken.
And, after some well shot, yet entirely predictable, fight scenes, car chases, obligatory arterial spray and beautifully choreographed parkour, a final showdown scene so unimaginative, so made for TV, so very basic, simple, banal and anti-climactic that it's not even worth my time to spoil an ending everyone had already predicted 20 minutes into the film.
Woody did it.
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