6 hours ago
3
Telly assassins have many good qualities, as well as one obvious red flag. We admire their prowess, method, patience and improvisation. We may be jealous of their efficiency, or their extraordinarily brief phone conversations, some of which merely involve listening to the words “Is it done?” or “Call me when it’s done.” The Assassin (Friday 25 July, Prime Video) features a supremely confident title and many of these aspects. It is also funny.
The set-up is low-key. Journalist Edward Green visits his estranged mother Julie on a Greek island. Following an attempt on her life, which she settles with brutal efficiency, he discovers she is actually a deactivated hitwoman. Fleeing across Europe, he attempts to learn about her past as they untangle a giant conspiracy threatening their lives. There’s also a mystery around who his father is, so it’s a bit Mamma Mia, too.
“Are you really not going to tell me why you’re some kind of perimenopausal James Bond?” Edward boggles, after she dispatches another assailant. Actor Freddie Highmore spends a lot of time in this mode, trailing his mother with anxiety and admiration, like a live-action Rick and Morty. Keeley Hawes has more fun as the reluctantly maternal asset, whether kicking a child’s football into the sea or stabbing someone in the neck. David Dencik, as a shrewd IT specialist, has a Peter Lorre skittishness, while Alan Dale makes a villainous boss, though I still think of him as Jim from Neighbours.
Acting schmacting. The Assassin opens with an intense, one-shot sequence of a younger Julie carrying out a mission, like something out of The Raid. Later fight scenes are more cartoonish, which isn’t to say sanitised: fingers are as disposable as Ikea pencils. There’s a blood specialist credited, so corners are the one thing not being cut. While the physicality of the performers isn’t on a par with the best of this type of action, it is able to wield humour with violence – and that is a very specific set of skills.
I don’t usually like killing capped with a zinger. My taste is for the clean lines of Chad Stahelski-choreography, or the scrappy but character-revealing grit of a film like Nobody. Snappy dialogue undermines reality, in the same way as physics-defying choreography. That’s why it’s better to choose one.
The Assassin, though, understands visual wit. That intense opening sequence is capped by Julie, still at the kill site, checking a pregnancy test and swearing. In another scene, she uses a cheese fork as a lethal weapon, elsewhere a sauna as an interrogation device. There are shades of last year’s Mr & Mrs Smith, which similarly explored domesticity through extreme conflict. Still, I’d be happy with a little less conversation, a little more action.
The scenes between the Greens play best. Julie has lied about her job his whole life – although as half-truths go, calling herself a “headhunter” is pretty good. Edward repeatedly calls out her casual deception, violence and ease with backstabbing. Accurate but painful, she concedes. “That should be on your business card,” he responds. For her part, she thinks her son is boring and pale. On the run across Athens, France and Libya, he’s unlikely to remain either. But can motherhood be exciting enough for Julie? It’s a provocative question.
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There is a traditonal MacGuffin, in the form of “Chantaine”: a secret guarded by Jim from Neighbours, which connects all the characters in some way. Four episodes in, we don’t know what Chantaine is. It might be an AI, assassin training program, a password or a white wine. Moreover, many of the actors pronounce the word so it sounds like “Sean Penn”. There are frequent scenes of characters demanding “What is Sean Penn?” which is distracting.
These types of shows generally feature a monastic, taciturn, near sociopathic lone wolf, almost invariably male. By centring on a retired, middle-aged mother’s relationship with her son, the show kicks away most of the genre’s crutches, forcing itself to do something new. All in all, its confidence is earned. For contract killers and mothers alike, there’s no room for diffidence.
