Where have all the Ellen Ripleys gone? The Sarah Connors that, for rage, survival or justice, step into the conventional hero role because no one else is qualified for the job? For a brief, shining moment beginning in the late-1980s we seemed to be on the right track. That could have been a reaction to Reagan-era traditionalism but the girls were allowed to flex some muscle. However filmmakers everywhere seem to have reverted to a far more comfortable state, with girls behaving-and more importantly looking-like girls; there to be acted upon instead of actors in their own stories.

The world's biggest female action star is arguably Angelina Jolie, and she hardly looks like she could actually do any damage. In the wake of Hamilton's semi-retirement, we've had Jolie, Jessica Alba as the least convincing superhero ever (in Fantastic Four and note the almost identical, bust-enhancing skin-tight "uniform" Alba and Jolie wear) and assorted rom-coms with an action spin hoping to make us buy into the myth of Katherine Heigl, Anne Hathaway (in the upcoming The Dark Knight Rises) and (gulp) Kristen Stewart (Snow White and the Huntsman) as hardcore. With Asia, and Hong Kong in particular, getting out of the kick-ass chick flick business-remember the days of Heroic Trio, Naked Killer and anything with Brigitte Lin in it?-the pickings are even slimmer. Despite its title, Park Chan-wook's Sympathy for Lady Vengeance is more about redemption than mayhem. Even the patron saint of rock 'em sock 'em women, Michelle Yeoh, has left her kung fu roots behind in favor of biographical drama (like The Lady). In
the torrent of superhero movies of late, where is Wonder Woman?

So with cautious optimism we rejoice in Steven Soderbergh's scandalous (scandalous I tell you!) decision to build a film that wasn't an insipid rom-com around a woman, mixed martial arts superstar Gina Carano, after he saw her display some impressive pugilistic talents on television. Soderbergh's Haywire is without a doubt a Carano showcase, and you know what? That's okay. Countless male athletes and "athletes" have been forged into movie stars in the past (Jean Claude Van Damme, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson) and there's little here to suggest Carano can't be just as effective. She's not there to die and serve as emotional fodder for the male lead, as the current go-to tough girl Michelle Rodriguez (The Fast and the Furious) is. This is her movie, and Soderbergh is just a crafty enough filmmaker to find a balance between the demands of the revenge thriller and audience expectation of the female lead.

At one point puppetmaster Kenneth (Ewan McGregor) tells hired gun Paul (Michael Fassbender) that, "You shouldn't think of her as a woman. That would be a mistake." Here is Mallory Kane (Carano) and that line begs the thorny question as to whether it's a compliment or an insult. Is he suggesting Mallory's femininity be debased because she knows how to maim a foe with her bare hands? Or is it an implication that she is every way the special ops equal to Paul she appears to be? That single line makes Haywire more complicated than its simplistic narrative indicates.

The action starts in a backcountry roadside diner, with Mallory and a colleague, Aaron (Channing Tatum), having a conversation about Barcelona that shockingly devolves into fisticuffs, which Aaron loses. (Does this gender role reversal belittle violence against women? Discuss.) Mallory hijacks bystander Scott (Michael Angarano), and a gruesome story of betrayal and revenge unfolds as the two flee the scene. After sending Mallory to Spain on a covert rescue mission at the behest of some shady government types, Rodrigo and Coblenz (Antonio Banderas and Michael Douglas), Kenneth requests a professional favor that turns out to be a complex, globetrotting set-up. Cue quest for revenge aided by many broken bones.

Haywire is an efficient, breezy action lark, an Ocean's Eleven with a touch of Traffic's color-coded pacing with no purpose, other than as vehicle for its star. David Holmes' funky Shaft-ish score buoys the European retro-exoticism-which makes not a lick of sense. Mallory hops from one close call to another, in Dublin, in upstate New York, she's tracked and stripped of any baggage, yet she manages to get across international borders. Coblenz seems to be the boss, but it's unclear if he is indeed government. The object of the initial rescue, a journalist called Jiang, is wanted by a dastardly French... industrialist? Politician? He could be an academic after Jiang for poor footnoting for all the reasoning behind it.

Soderbergh and writer Lem Dobbs (Dark City, The Limey) are anxious to get from one scrappy, silent, aggressively unglamorous fight scene to the next, which are the film's raison d'etre. Allegedly influenced by '60s Hong Kong kung fu cinema, each of the main fighting segments is shot reverentialy, Holmes' music backburnered every time, and it's here that Carano really shines. She's clearly a rookie actress (but it should be noted there are much, much poorer actresses out there), but there's no denying she has presence, equally gorgeous dolled up in a ball gown as in fatigues and war paint. And she's totally convincing. When Mallory runs after a bad buy, she runs. There's none of this delicate jogging and arm flailing business. And the film's highlight, a hotel room smackdown with Paul, is notable for some of the most vivid juxtapositions of sex and violence in recent memory.

Haywire is ultimately less memorable for what it is than for what it might be saying. It's no secret Carano's voice was digitally lowered in post-production (so, she can look like a woman but can't sound like one?), and without a direct comment, it's impossible to determine if that was a bid to inject Carano with (unnecessary) sex appeal or if she's a latter day John Gilbert. You want to make us a female action hero that we believe and whose fight we get behind for 90 minutes? Then you might start with creating a narrative that's as strong as its star. It's been a long time since the '80s.

Haywire opened in Hong Kong on Thursday.