rated PG-13

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a little girl named Hanna. She grew up in a tiny house deep in the forest with only her father to keep her company. A wise old huntsman, he taught her how to speak and read and cook. And to kill. Like, murder. Like, in cold blood. Like, to kill a man twice without blinking before he hits the ground. So, yeah, Hanna is an odd little duckling. 

Turns out, dad (all around badass Eric Bana) is an ex-CIA super-spy on the run from the Company and the woman (Cate Blanchette, with malevolence set to a full 10) who betrayed him and killed Hanna’s mother. He explains to Hanna that if she ever leaves their idyllic woodsy retreat, this woman will stop at nothing to erase her from the face of the Earth, and hence, it’s up to Hanna to find the witch and put her down. 

But when Hanna finally decides to fly the nest and meet the real world, it becomes rapidly, brutally clear that neither is really prepared for the other. Her only exposure to the outside world having come from a ratty old encyclopedia, she’s an absolute innocent, but in the same way the xenomorph from “Alien” was an innocent. By the second reel of the movie, she’s plowed quite efficiently through about 30 armed guards in a military stronghold and escaped, surreally enough, into the Moroccan desert to find her way back to rendezvous with her pop in Berlin.

Played with an ethereal, almost eerie composure by 16-year-old Oscar nominee Saoirse Ronan, Hanna comes off as a beguiling blend of Tinkerbell, The Bride from “Kill Bill,” and Chance Gardner from “Being There.” Ronan completely rises to the challenge, striking a captivating balance between the opposing forces of a very complicated character.

It’s a bit of a shame, however, that the rest of the film doesn’t live up to her example. Director Joe Wright is well known for making the types of movies you’d expect to find your sister or mom watching when they’re sad. Having won fair accolades with his adaptations of “Atonement” (which also featured Ronan) and “Pride and Prejudice,” it’s a fascinating shift for him to stretch his wings with a contemporary action flick. As first tries go, he makes an admirable attempt, but his strengths continue to be in the quieter moments. As Hanna, hitching a ride with a nice British family of hippie tourists, starts discovering her world (she’s never heard music, met anyone her age, or even seen a light bulb), the camerawork—lingering, meditative and just dripping poignancy—goes beyond just capturing scenes and into full explorations of the sounds and textures of the environments. 

The action scenes—not so much. Despite having professed a desire to completely avoid the overused “Bourne”-style shaky-cam and heavy quick cuts to emphasize the action, it is precisely this upon which he relies. Though effectively propelled forward by a throbbing, thumping and thoroughly abstract score by The Chemical Brothers (which nearly becomes a character of its own), the overall effort falls regrettably short. 

One could surmise that Wright had meant the film to be its own kind of poison apple—a candy-colored delivery system for a grown-up examination of important ideas. Commendable a concept as this may be, Wright pushes the Grimm undercurrents to nearly insulting extremes (literally turning to plastic in the final scenes in a dingy abandoned Fairy Tale play park), and ultimately each direction serves only to distract from the other. One can’t help thinking it’s Wright speaking to us, not Hanna, when she says (twice), “I just missed your heart.”