She’s neither motivated enough nor ridiculous enough to make her quest for comeuppance feel like a reasonable effort to undertake.
Why she’s chosen vengeance and not to either (a) stay at the hospital where she can pass in peace, or (b) pull up a stool at the nearest bar and get drunk is never made clear. Kate’s rushing through the streets, although bloody and badass, fails to achieve an organic pace - playing more like a clunky collection than serpentine sequence. That grim premise and the remarkably stagnant tone with which it is explored make for a surprisingly weak narrative. From the moment Kate starts yanking rotted, bloody teeth from her head in a dirty public restroom, Winstead makes it clear: She’s playing a spectacularly screwed dead woman walking, not the face of a new multi-film franchise. Winsetad’s remarkably stoic performance matches the cool detachment of her character's approach to certain death, and lays the ground for one stark revenge arc. Over the next 1 hour and 46 minutes of screentime, Kate methodically hunts for her killer among a group of Yakuza she suspects are responsible for dosing her with the toxin. But these are just the first symptoms of acute radiation syndrome, the brutal condition that will put Kate in agonizing pain as her body rapidly deteriorates in a day or less. Polonium-204, a doctor explains, is responsible for Kate’s sudden headaches and vomiting. Set against the backdrop of neon-drenched Tokyo nightlife, this hyper-condensed whodunnit kicks off with the titular hitwoman discovering she’s been poisoned. That’s the action-packed premise Mary Elizabeth Winstead takes on in Netflix’s Kate - a so-so thriller made immeasurably better by the fearless star’s do-or-die performance. In Mitchell’s, it has just much allure and menace as the requisite bombast, making it clearer why this man decided that being the star of his own show wasn’t just fun, but a defiant act.With 24 hours left to live, a highly-trained assassin seeks to solve and avenge her own murder. (He also gets a boost from Sam Keeley’s nuanced performance as Joe’s erstwhile obsession John Finlay, which becomes even sharper in retrospect once Nat Wolff’s relatively simple Travis enters both the picture and their bed.) In lesser hands, the role of Joe Exotic could have been a blunt, cartoon disaster. Mitchell, a uniquely sharp actor with a talent for portraying uniquely compelling queer men, proves perfect casting within seconds of taking the screen. Carole” stars Mitchell as Joe Exotic, the theatrical “Tiger King” himself, as he struggles to keep his grip on his zoo empire despite Carole’s best efforts to shut him down. Either way, though, McKinnon never quite manages to sell any tone other than “offbeat” - which becomes more of an issue as the show does its best to straddle several tones at once.
If you don’t know anything about the real Carole Baskin, the casting of 38 year-old McKinnon might not immediately rankle as much as if you realize that she’s meant to be playing a fiftysomething mom. In the episodes containing her pink-tinged flashbacks, Carole’s fraught past with abusive husbands and as a struggling single mom come to light, though still with the singular comedic timing that defines McKinnon’s performance in the present day timeline, too. Carole” executive producer) Kate McKinnon in a workplace comedy about a kooky woman married to a mild-mannered man (Kyle MacLachlan, because why not) on a mission to save big cats all across the country. The show about Baskin stars “Saturday Night Live” stalwart (and “Joe vs.
Carole” ends up feeling like two different shows sandwiched together. Throw in the fact that one actor is a perfect fit for his character while the other seems wildly miscast, and “Joe vs. Carole” fight keeps each physically separated from the other in almost every meaningful sense. The trouble with that structure is that with Joe Exotic in Oklahoma and Carole Baskin in Florida, the “Joe vs. Carole” focuses almost entirely on the rivalry between Joe Exotic and Carole Baskin, though with occasional flashbacks to each of their backstories to further contextualize their extreme actions. As the title suggests, Etan Frankel’s “Joe vs.
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