I saw Atomic Blonde...

For the record, I'm a big-time Eric Stanton fan. Stanton, in the event one is unaware, was a cartoonist/illustrator who specialized in female domination and related fetish themes. (Awright, my secret is out, but then as most know, I do fancy the off-kilter.) Stanton's ladies were tall, beautiful and powerful as hell, enough to strike down their male opponents in an instant. (When need be, they'd also administer prolonged torture, but that's another salacious topic for another salacious time.) At any rate, I'm happy to report that this summer's latest, high-profile, action flick, "Atomic Blonde", embraces Stanton's swell tradition. 

Based on the Anthony Johnston/Sam Hart, Oni Press graphic novel, "Coldest City" (and not AC's Femforce character), "Atomic Blonde" has been refashioned by Johnston and screenwriter Kurt Jonstad for director David Leitch, who tested his cinematic prowess on the hard-edged "John Wick". All the same, "Atomic Blonde'"s format stacks Stanton's implacable influence in spades.

The plot (like the graphic novel upon which it's based) occurs 1989, just as the Berlin Wall is set to fall: a historic, Cold War cap, indeed (and an indirect means to give the context some Bond, Bourne and U.N.C.L.E. intrigue, while sparking the scene with pulsating, Reagan Era tunes), but the setting only exists to let the femdom antics zing and roll. It’s Charlize Theron's long-legged Lorraine Broughton we’ve come to see, and by gosh by jingo, do we ever get our blow-by-blow money’s worth.

As anyone who's witnessed the film's trailers knows, Broughton looks mighty, damn fine when destroying her opponents. For the sake of a feature-length film, however, it takes more than a few Stanton-like panels to fill the time. To pad Theron's provocative presence, we're offered plenty of exciting scene hopping (and yep, that ballyhooed stairwell/apartment/chase sequence lives up to the hype), as our explosive Mata Hari cuts through Berlin to unravel the death of a fellow spy and locate a wrist-watch encoded with double-agent info.

Characters bounce off and revolve around our heroine as the passages ricochet: nice fodder until we re-enter the lusty stuff. The supplemental gang consists of Daniel Bernhardt; James Faulkner; John Goodman; Sam Hargrave; Johannes Haukur Johanneson; Toby Jones; Roland Moller; Til Schweiger; Bill Skargard and Eddie Marsan (who's closely linked to the coveted dossier): quite a distinguished, character-actor ensemble, which brings the bridging pieces a nice sophistication. 

However, it's Sofia “The Mummy” Boutella’s sultry, French operative, Delphine LaSalle, who stands out from the supporting-player pack, engaging our heroine in the type of tryst that (for some) is as much a part of the fetish scene as femdom. Man, oh, man, when these gals get it on, does the temperature ever rise!

James McAvoy’s David Percival, on the other hand, bolsters Broughton's smoking drive as the story's leading man. For a time, his presence gives us fellas a snappy spy with whom we can identify...if we wish. I mean, it isn't really a necessity when one has Theron to ogle; besides, in the world of double agents, is any dashing gent all that identifiable?

Again, Theron's presence is the film's overpowering thrust, as much as Scarlett Johannson is in “Ghost in the Shell”, but "Atomic Blonde" takes its femme-fatale concept to a whole new level, rivaling even the sexy zest of Emma Peel, Honey West, Nikita (any version) and those gutsy gals of "D.O.A.", "Charlie's Angels" and "Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!", if that can be believed.

Because of its provocative nature, "Atomic Blonde" could go down as Theron’s signature role, though the highbrows will probably prefer her ghastly guise in “Monster”. Sorry, but that look (though admirable for artistic cause) ain't my cup of tea. When one has such a stunning lady at one's disposal, it’s wise to let her beauty and strength shine through. (Okay, Theron was smudged-up in “Mad Max: Fury Road”, but that was in an exotic, not repugnant way; and even when she's bloodied and bruised in "Atomic Blonde", she pretty much resembles a goddess in abstract body paint--not at all unpleasing). I'm just glad that, in the glamour and violence departments, new Hollywood got it right for a change. 

There's no doubt that somewhere out there, dear ol' Stanton is beaming with approval.