Atomic Blonde is an amalgam of tired and unsavory tropes – cult graphic novel adaptation, Cold War spy thriller, breathlessly brutal real-time actioner – that after one to many beige retreads, any one facet of its personality should tell us exactly what we’re in for. But this aint beige, it’s neon – and all those cliches are tossed out for something quite inspired. Surprise: with slithering freshness, the film is both the most chic and thrilling film of the summer.
Twist meister M. Night Shyamalan is back in popular favor after a long string of disasters (and the modest success of The Visit) with multiple personality thriller Split. But the return to form is a somewhat measured success – miles from the gobsmacking stupidity of his greatest follies but still a far cry from his strongest, most beloved works. M. Night still just doesn’t understand how people think and sound, or how that basis in reality enhances his chilling moments. The more outlandish elements of Split are more believable than the necessary, the simplest dialogue or minor details archly silly. He’d do better to just listen to everyday conversations for his next film instead of thinking up new shockeroos – remember how understated and real the final car scene in The Sixth Sense was?
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