Review: ‘The Killer’ brings a Hong Kong action genius back to the site of his own crimes

After years in the wilderness, director John Woo has been back at target practice, and if his aim isn’t what it once was, it’s worth remembering that, onscreen at least, marksmanship was never the point. Rather, it was the pose, the look, the scowl, while running, leaping, somersaulting, sliding and staring. In Woo’s world, guns kill people, but gunplay slays audiences.

Last year’s wordless “Silent Night” showed the Hong Kong legend trying to get loud again with American audiences, except it didn’t go off as planned. Now he’s gone back to one of his seminal showdown epics, 1989’s “The Killer,” with a Paris-set rewrite (co-scripted by “L.A. Confidential” Oscar winner Brian Helgeland), an international cast including French superstar Omar Sy, and a straight-to-streaming debut on Peacock. Home viewing won’t replace the experience of seeing Woo’s landmark action lollapaloozas in a theater. But if you watched the Paris Games this summer on Peacock, you could tell yourself this is one more make-or-break round — in shooting, what else? — for an esteemed cinematic Olympian. It’s a worthy silver.

Sy isn’t the one in the Chow Yun-fat role, incidentally. It’s “Game of Thrones” alum Nathalie Emmanuel, a gender flip that may not feel as fresh anymore but helps us reimagine the stakes. Emmanuel has an easygoing charm that doesn’t betray the role’s ruthless side. Dubbed the Queen of the Dead in the Parisian underworld (and by day a homebody who loves crosswords and her pet guppy), Emmanuel’s British transplant Zee carries out high-powered hits — of the “they deserve it” kind — for her mentor Finn (Sam Worthington with an Irish accent), who works for a fearsome gangster (Eric Cantona).

But during a gig wiping out a bunch of baddies at a nightclub, a young American chanteuse (Diana Silvers) is blinded. Feeling remorse, Zee leaves her alive, then gets pushback from her bosses about not finishing her off, too.

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Visiting the hospital in disguise to complete the job, she thinks twice and offers to save the singer. But it puts Zee in the sights of a dedicated cop (the effortlessly charismatic Sy) who’s investigating a missing drug shipment and believes there’s more to the story. Sounds like a certain conscience-stricken assassin with a protective side and a buck-the-rules lawman searching for the truth should find a friendly middle ground, which, in Woo’s trademarked visual signaling, means weapons drawn face to face but firing past each other’s heads to kill the real threat. (Mutually assured hearing loss to be forgiven later, one assumes.)

The old-school Woo isn’t hiding. There are pigeons. The music is in no way cool. And remembering that we wouldn’t have such memorable franchises as “John Wick” or “The Transporter” without Woo’s mayhem is what lends a soft-buzz nostalgia to this inferior but still enjoyable remake.

On the con side of the balance sheet are two understandable sops to modern moviemaking: the flatness of digital cinematography and transparent artificiality of CGI bloodletting, neither of which can compare to the earlier films’ epic squib work and what real celluloid can do for the heightened drama of slo-mo craziness.

But on the positive side, Woo has lost none of his love for the practical bravura of elaborate, ludicrous stunts, nor any of his way with camera movement and editing that complements choreography. He may have tamped down some of his more sentimental and tragic impulses, but he definitely flexes for the climactic melee in a deconsecrated church, which is beautifully bananas, but also, in a funny way, a personal statement on the intimacy that quality action filmmaking should create.

Is it strange to suggest that, 35 years on, after becoming numbed by synthetic superhero kinetics, Woo’s brand of over-the-top now feels more grounded? Decide for yourself as you watch a master not so much try to outdo an oldie, but earn a modestly rousing encore. If we’re being honest, though, I hope he leaves “Hard-Boiled” alone.