Atomic Blonde

Atomic Blonde (2017)
Do NOT talk to Charlize before she's had her morning coffee.

To the extent that there are James Bonds in the real world — dashing, highly skilled secret agents who can kill enemies with a rolled-up newspaper — surely by now there are also Jane Bonds. Yet Hollywood has offered few lady spies worthy of the comparison, leaving a void now filled by “Atomic Blonde,” a banging Cold War thriller starring Charlize Theron as an MI6 agent who could break every bone in 007’s body (especially Pierce Brosnan).

Her name is Broughton, Lorraine Broughton. She comes from a graphic novel called “The Coldest City” (by Antony Johnston and Sam Hart), adapted for the screen by Kurt Johnstad (“300”) and directed by David Leitch, the stuntman who co-directed “John Wick” with a similar (though flashier) way of presenting stylized, well-choreographed violence. Most of the action is set in Berlin in November 1989, on both sides of the Wall that is days away from being torn down. Sometime after this, Lorraine is back in London telling her MI6 boss (Toby Jones) and an unwelcome CIA visitor (John Goodman, always welcome) everything that happened in those final days of a divided Berlin.

She’s sent to Germany when a fellow MI6 agent, Gasciogne (Sam Hargrave), turns up dead and a valuable piece of intel goes missing. That intel: a list of all the secret agents on both sides, i.e., the same list that falls into enemy hands in 75% of all spy movies. (Maybe they shouldn’t keep an actual list?) Lorraine connects with MI6’s David Percival (James McAvoy), a manic loose cannon who has “gone native,” selling Jordache jeans and other Western treasure on the black market in East Berlin. They are in pursuit of the list and of a suspected double agent known only as Satchel, all while evading the various Germans and Soviets who want to kill them.

It’s standard espionage fare, diverting from the formula only in being set in a very specific time and place and having a lead spy who’s female (though it’s worth noting that no one in the film seems to find that remarkable). The story adheres comfortably to the James Bond model, save for a few turns that I shan’t reveal and a sleek, high-tech modernity that is at odds (though not unpleasantly so) with the very, VERY ’80s pop soundtrack.

[Continue reading at Crooked Marquee.]

B+ (1 hr., 55 min.; R, a lot of harsh profanity, a lot of graphic violence, brief strong sexuality and nudity.)