The neon glow of Tokyo’s rain-slicked streets reflects off a bloodied knife as Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s Kate collapses against a dumpster, her breath ragged, her body betraying her. Kate (2021), directed by Cedric Nicolas-Troyan and written by Umair Aleem, is an action thriller that wears its influences on its sleeve—John Wick’s hyper-stylized revenge fantasy meets the gritty nihilism of Atomic Blonde. It’s a film that thrives on momentum, where every frame pulses with adrenaline, but it’s also one that stumbles when it tries to slow down and ask for something deeper.

Winstead is the driving force behind Kate, delivering a performance that anchors the film in its most chaotic moments. There’s an unhinged energy to her portrayal of the titular assassin, a woman who has spent years numb to violence but now finds herself racing against time—both literal (a ricin-induced death clock) and emotional (a reckoning with her past). The film’s opening scene, a brutal, silent takedown in a dimly lit alleyway, establishes Kate as a force of nature. Winstead’s physicality is the standout element here; she throws herself into fights with a reckless abandon that makes every punch and kick feel visceral.

The supporting cast is a mixed bag. Woody Harrelson, as the smug and sinister Varrick, brings a magnetic menace to his role, chewing scenery with relish. His scenes opposite Winstead crackle with tension, their verbal sparring matches almost as thrilling as the action sequences. Miku Martineau, as Ani, the young girl who becomes an unexpected moral compass for Kate, is serviceable but underdeveloped. The film’s attempts to explore her relationship with Kate feel rushed and superficial, lacking the emotional weight needed to make their bond resonate.

Nicolas-Troyan’s direction is the film’s strongest asset. He stages action with a kinetic precision that keeps the audience on the edge of their seats. A standout sequence—Kate’s battle against multiple assailants in a neon-lit bar—is a masterclass in choreography, blending brutal hand-to-hand combat with inventive use of environment. The fight spills through tables, smashes bottles, and leaves bodies in its wake, all while maintaining a frenetic energy that never lets up. Nicolas-Troyan’s choice to shoot these scenes in long takes adds an immersive quality, making the violence feel immediate and tangible.

Where Kate falters is in its storytelling. The plot is formulaic, following a well-worn path of revenge thrillers: wronged protagonist seeks vengeance, forms an unlikely bond with a vulnerable figure, and ultimately confronts the big bad in a climactic showdown. There’s little originality here, and the film’s attempts to inject emotional depth feel half-hearted. Kate’s arc—from hardened killer to reluctant guardian—lacks the nuance needed to make it compelling. Her internal struggle is often overshadowed by the film’s relentless pace, leaving her character feeling one-dimensional at times.

Thematically, Kate grapples with ideas of redemption and legacy, but these themes are never fully explored. The film’s ending, while satisfying on a visceral level, feels rushed and inconclusive. It’s as if Nicolas-Troyan and Aleem were so focused on delivering an adrenaline rush that they forgot to give the audience something meaningful to hold onto once the dust settled.

The film’s aesthetic is undeniably striking. Nicolas-Troyan bathes every frame in a cool, blue palette, punctuated by bursts of violent red. The cinematography is sleek and modern, with an emphasis on long takes and intricate camera movements that keep the action fluid and engaging. The use of practical effects and stunt work over CGI lends the film a gritty realism that sets it apart from more glossy action fare.

Kate is a film for fans of high-octane action who don’t mind a lack of depth. It’s not trying to reinvent the wheel—it’s content to be a stylish, violent ride through Tokyo’s underworld.