A grieving mother transforms herself into a vigilante following the murders of her husband and daughter, eluding the authorities to deliver her own personal brand of justice.
The people behind Peppermint need to hear the more uncomfortable discussions their movie provokes. They need to listen, take note and realize that in 2018 they should be better than this.
Unless you're a card-carrying member of the Jennifer Garner Fan Club who is determined to watch every last entry on her IMDB page, there's no justifiable reason to recommend Peppermint.
With so many plot holes, a paper thin attempt at a story, and detrimental stereotypes, Peppermint is more frustrating than anything else and is an example of the ways in which Hollywood needs to shed its own biases.
The title, with its slight echo of the 1973 Pam Grier vehicle Coffy, promises a sticky confection of feminism and violence, but the movie it's selling is a desultory drag.
Whatever moments of fun there are watching Garner infallibly tear through the ranks of the drug gang are canceled out by the movie's lack of creativity and imagination.