Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me for years: the way Hollywood packages aging stars into action roles feels less like storytelling and more like a calculated algorithm. Take Allison Janney in Lou—a Netflix film that somehow managed to be both forgettable and oddly compelling. It’s the kind of movie that makes you wonder if we’ve all collectively agreed to watch Liam Neeson’s retirement party in advance. But here’s the kicker: Lou isn’t just another entry in this tired sub-genre. It’s a case study in how streaming platforms are reshaping (or maybe just recycling) the action thriller formula, and how even A-list producers like J.J. Abrams can’t seem to rescue a script that’s already been written in pencil.
Personally, I think the real tragedy here isn’t that Lou exists, but that it’s so perfectly representative of what’s wrong with modern cinema. Imagine this: a 70-year-old woman with a rifle, a dog, and a backstory so dramatic it could fund a mini-series. Sound familiar? It should. This is the same template that gave us Taken, The Foreigner, and every other film where a grumpy retiree becomes a reluctant action hero. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Lou tries to subvert that trope by giving its protagonist depth—only to then fall back into the same clichés. It’s like watching a chef attempt molecular gastronomy but end up serving grilled cheese.
Netflix’s problem isn’t just that it’s churning out these films—it’s that it’s doing so with a sort of clinical detachment. The platform’s original movies often feel like they’re made by a committee of executives who’ve never seen a movie they didn’t like. Lou is no exception. The cinematography is competent, the performances are solid, but the script? It’s a carbon copy of every other ‘two women teaming up to save a child’ plot you’ve ever seen. And yet, I can’t help but admire the audacity of it all. Who else would greenlight a film where a 1980s Washington hermit is the protagonist? That’s the kind of eccentricity that makes me wonder if Netflix is trying to be edgy or just desperate.
What many people don’t realize is that J.J. Abrams’ involvement here is almost a red flag. Yes, he’s a master of nostalgia and mystery, but Lou feels like a side project for him—a way to check off a box without actually caring. It’s the same reason his Westworld episode was so forgettable: he’s too busy trying to make everything ‘cool’ to let the story breathe. And let’s be honest, Anna Foerster’s direction, while technically proficient, is just another layer of polish on a product that’s already been over-sanded. The rain-soaked forests and gritty textures are nice, but they can’t mask the fact that this is a film that’s been through too many revisions to feel authentic.
If you take a step back and think about it, Lou is a microcosm of the entire streaming era. It’s a film that’s trying to be both a homage and an evolution, but ends up being neither. The script’s attempts at character development are undercut by predictable twists, and the performances, while good, are too often overshadowed by the sheer weight of expectation. This raises a deeper question: when every streaming service is competing to make the ‘next big thing,’ do we risk losing the nuance that makes stories resonate? A detail that I find especially interesting is how Lou tries to lean into its female-led premise but still defaults to the same male-centric action beats. It’s like trying to bake a vegan cake but using the same recipe as a meatloaf.
What this really suggests is that we’re in a golden age of mediocrity. The fact that Lou even got made is a testament to the industry’s obsession with brand names—Janney, Abrams, Foerster—but it’s also a reminder that talent alone isn’t enough to save a script that’s been written by a spreadsheet. And yet, I can’t help but feel a strange affection for the film. In a world where every action movie feels like a reboot of a reboot, Lou is a reminder that sometimes, the best we can do is watch a grumpy woman with a rifle and hope she doesn’t die. Because if she does, we’ll just have to wait for the sequel.
