A gruelling gimmick thriller, pitched at dead-eyed graduates of the Matthew Vaughn school of cinematic sociopathy. Working girl Salma Hayek scrabbles to save her daughter while confined to a Yakuza-run cathouse; she does so in kitten heels and a push-up top that gets clingy when the sprinklers go off.
Such abject cynicism would have been easier to take cut with any wit, style or momentum, but the contrivances prove exhausting, the digital camerawork is as crude as the stereotyping, and it’s no kind of star vehicle: it identifies Hayek as a sexy punchbag from minute one, then displays a reprehensible glee in laying into her.
