Heart of Stone – Netflix’s latest absurdly budgeted, instantly forgettable action vehicle – asks too much of its audience. Are we really meant to believe that Gal Gadot, an actor best known for playing pop culture’s favourite immortal demigod Wonder Woman, could ever be a meek, entry level field agent who visibly panics at the sight of Swarovski crystal gowns and blackjack tables?
Her character here, conveniently named Rachel Stone, may or may not be engaged in subterfuge – I won’t spoil it, but it barely matters anyway. No one, on screen or off, is buying Gadot’s ruse. She doesn’t put on a pair of dorky glasses. She never stammers or hesitates. She can’t even scrub the Elysian sheen out of her hair. Gadot remains Gadot, and there’s no hope that she might transform into something new because Heart of Stone can’t imagine its existence without her star quality.
