Both look furious: he, because of her cussing she, because she is a government agent and this old fart is going to blow her cover. Instead, she seems to enjoy developing muscles that could break not just walnuts but a henchman’s neck. Of course! It’s his daughter, Emma, whom he thought was a straight-A student and accomplished violinist who spent downtime being geeky with her twee fiance. “How’s my ass taste, bitch?” she asks, hopefully rhetorically.īrunner has heard that voice before. We cut back to the smoking woman whose thighs are by now pinning her foe in a chokehold. We cut to Arnie in closeup, as unreadably impassive as that moment 40-odd years ago when, having arrived from elsewhere on the space-time continuum, he stood butt-naked before a red-necked yokel and said: “I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle.” He has, he realises, seen that woman before.
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