Fonda never convinces as a feral junkie or a deadly assassin, and Badham doesn't have the chops to sell her via formal bravado; it's just "ooo, look, pretty girl with a big gun." Throw in an obnoxiously intrusive Hans Zimmer score; a script that instantly retracts anything remotely interesting ("If I do this job for you, will you promise to help me get out?" "No. [Exactly one scene later] Okay"); and dear god Dermot Mulroney at his Dermot Mulroniest, and the pain rarely stops comin'.
Point of No Return is the type of movie that cinephiles are trained not to like. It is full of grandiloquent stylistic flourishes, 'cool' scenes of violence and death borrowed from John Woo, and a heavy overlay of pop classics on the soundtrack: in other words, the complete early '90s ambience... Yet Point of No Return — precisely because of, not despite, its plastic, artificial, slick qualities — is a movie I find as poignantly expressive today as in 1993.