In Lou, Allison Janney is a tight-lipped, tough-as-nails action heroine

Lou’s chosen introverted lifestyle works well in terms of her inevitable, softly developed, redemptive arc. Her motivation isn’t solely to rescue a pint-sized damsel in distress, though that’s one goal, but to make right some previous wrongs—even with the kidnapper. Unlike the hero at the heart of Nobody, who’s drawn back to violence because his ego takes a hit, she’s called into action to save someone greater than herself. That it offers a means to an end—possibly ending her life by helping someone else—helps her atone for past transgressions weighing silently on her shoulders.

The workmanlike fight sequences are scrappy, skillful and precisely executed, never populated with overused moves. Stunt coordinator Dan Shea and fight choreographer Daniel Bernhardt make use of everyday objects for Lou to fashion into weapons, whether that be a crudely opened soup can or a pot boiling on a stove. These gritty, grimy fisticuffs leave dirt under these characters’ nails. A climactic hand-to-hand combat sequence where two maimed characters duke it out amidst rough ocean waves is fueled by anger, sorrow and regret. The moment, relying heavily on composer Nima Fakhrara’s grim, mournful score, emphasizes there are no winners. Each has something major to lose, everything from their guilt to their glory.

In Janney’s capable hands, our heroine is fully fleshed out, yet lean with more gristle on the bone than meat. She delivers zingy one-liners as well as she does a knock-out punch. Her refreshing spin on this archetype, blending masculine bravado and bluster with feminine wit and wisdom, elevates the spartan material. Smollett’s performance doesn’t quite rise to the same level—unfortunate since she’s such a dynamic scene-stealer in Birds Of Prey and Spiderhead. Hannah’s desperation remains on the surface, but when she’s called upon to give further dimension to her ensuing pressure-cooker scenarios, she wavers. The scene where she exposes her scars to Lou is built to be a revelatory moment, but rather than broadening the emotional scope, it never evolves beyond the superficial.

Tiny innovative touches to the picture’s construction, from its narrative components to its technical elements, keep things compelling and propulsive. Foerster’s film isn’t interested in total reinvention, nor is it particularly concerned with deconstructing and challenging genre tropes. Lou’s success lies in streamlining the expected rhythms of a movie where a serious actor starts kicking ass, and the tweaking them ever so slightly to make every punch land with compelling—if not quite unique—power.