Played by Anson Mount in a tight-jawed register, The Virtuoso is a killer for hire whose armour is starting to crack, ever so slightly, after a hit gone wrong.

The focus is on character, but ultimately the dramatis personae feel like puzzle pieces rather than people. Still, within the self-conscious narrative mechanics, Mount manages to find a droll edge from time to time, Abbie Cornish injects some heat, and Anthony Hopkins provides a bit of actorly gravitas, particularly in a nine-minute graveside monologue about what it means to be a good soldier.

Putting The Virtuoso behind the eight ball from the get-go, though, is an opening sequence so clotted with explanatory voiceover that it ends up feeling like an ad spoof for The Virtuoso! – your old-school gentleman killer. Mount's impeccably put-together assassin elucidates it all for us: the weapons, the timing, the risks, the fees, the necessity of a non-USPS mailbox.

An accomplished professional who has never known any other way of life, he lives in a state of constant kill-or-be-killed readiness. A suspiciously cute dog starts showing up at his isolated, off-the-grid cabin, sparking the first hints that a heart is indeed beating beneath the handsome, affectless veneer. Before encounters with the general populace, Mount's character practices basic human expressions in the mirror, feigning such reactions as interest, surprise and delight.

But it's real emotions that leave the icy-smooth pro reeling, in his way (i.e., flashbacks and one good scream), after a quick-turnaround job results in gruesome collateral damage. His handler, aka The Mentor (Hopkins), assures him, less than convincingly, that "it's me, not you" before explicating his cynical view of humanity and putting his protégé right back to work, this time in pursuit of a quarry so "special" that he can provide only the barest and most cryptic of identifying details.

Which leads to the puzzle sequence at the heart of the film: On a cold afternoon our hitman walks into a country diner, finds it more populated than he expected, and must figure out which of the patrons is his prey.

The setup abounds in classic noir elements, from the roadside cafe with the sultry-eyed burger slinger (Cornish) to the edge-of-town motel manned by a jittery desk clerk.

But the film is most alive, and its dialogue most effective, in the double-entendre-packed exchanges between Mount and a commandingly sensuous Cornish. Her waitress is at once grounded and mysterious, and she flirts with an exhilarating directness, almost melting the perma-paranoia of Mount's assassin.

All in all, The Virtuoso feels like a mildly intriguing genre exercise more than an involving story. The payoff makes sense, but it delivers far less than intended.

– Compilation