Review: Ballerina (dir. by Len Wiseman)

Posted on March 3, 2026 by Arleigh

“You don’t choose to be a killer, you are chosen.” — The Chancellor

Ballerina lands in theaters feeling like someone finally turned the volume up on the quieter, more balletic side of the John Wick universe. Anchored by Ana de Armas’s poised, ferocious turn, the film doesn’t reinvent the neon‑lit, bullet‑cartoon rules of the franchise so much as rearrange them into a new rhythm. It’s still a very familiar kind of action movie—assassins, codes, bodies on the floor—but it carves out its own niche by centering a woman who’s not just another lethal accessory to John’s world, but someone the world has already trained into a weapon.

At the same time, Ballerina leans hard on the style and flourish of the later John Wick films, and that’s both its main selling point and its biggest limitation. The way shots linger on gun grips, the way the camera circles around bodies mid‑spin, the way every hallway fight feels like stage choreography—it’s all very familiar, very polished, and very much a continuation of the franchise’s visual language. That’s great if you’re here for the aesthetic, but it also means the film sometimes feels more like an extension of the Wick universe’s attitude than a story that confidently stands on its own two feet.

Ana de Armas plays Eve Macarro, a young assassin who grew up in the shadow of the Ruska Roma and the Continental, groomed to kill long before she fully understood what she was doing. The story unfolds in a loose “between films” slot in the Wick timeline, so fans who care about franchise continuity will get their little Easter eggs and cameos, but the film smartly never gets completely bogged down in explaining how this fits into every rulebook. Instead, it leans into the idea that the John Wick universe is big enough that other hunters can walk around in it, following their own grudges and grief. Eve’s motive is straightforward: she wants to track down the people she believes killed her father when she was a child, and along the way she has to square off against both the old guard of her upbringing and the cult‑like killers who seem to operate just outside the established order.

Like a lot of John Wick entries, though, Ballerina is ultimately more interested in expanding the world and reinforcing its rules than drilling deep into its own plot. Eve’s revenge‑driven quest gives the film its spine, but the mechanics of that revenge are often secondary to the chance to show off another assassin enclave, another weird code, or another showdown that feels like a set‑piece first and a character beat second. You can feel the priorities: where she travels, who she bumps into, and how this underworld operates often matter more than whether her arc is especially surprising or emotionally rich. The plotting starts to feel like connective tissue between bigger, more stylized sequences, and that’s where the reliance on franchise style starts to hurt more than help.

The film’s greatest strength is how it employs the language of ballet and violence in the same breath. The title Ballerina might make you expect a lot of literal tutus and pirouettes, and there’s a bit of that in the opening stretches, but the real choreography is in the fight scenes. Eve’s movement is light‑on‑her‑feet one moment—a few spins, a quick sidestep—and then suddenly brutal, close‑quarters savagery the next. The camera doesn’t just document her skills; it dances with them, letting wide‑angle shots show off the architecture of a fight before snapping into tight, impact‑heavy close‑ups. It’s unmistakably a Wick‑style approach, only dialed into a slightly more feminine, almost theatrical register.

De Armas deserves a lot of credit for making Eve feel like a real person, not just a killing machine with a pretty face. She’s cold, yes, but there’s weariness under the surface, the kind that comes from being raised in a world where emotions are a liability. The script doesn’t drown her in backstory; it just lets small moments—a hesitation, a glance at a photo, the way she holds a gun—do the work. When she finally loses her composure and starts to scream, grunt, and visibly struggle during later fights, the effect is more powerful than if she’d been effortlessly killing everyone from minute one. She sweats, she bleeds, she gets thrown around, and that makes her victories feel earned, not just cool.

Stylistically, Ballerina is very much in line with the rest of the franchise: glossy, slightly over‑the‑top, and hyper‑aware of its own aesthetic. The camera work is sleek, the color grading pops, and the score leans into synth textures that feel like a slightly more elegant cousin of the usual Wick pulse. There are also some deliberately playful musical choices—bits of Tchaikovsky and other classical motifs that echo in the background during key scenes—which tie the idea of ballet back to the film’s emotional core. The setting shifts from the familiar New York–style Continental spaces to a quieter, almost fairy‑tale European village that houses a different kind of assassins’ retirement community. It’s a neat trick: the filmmakers give us something that still feels like the same universe but just enough of a different flavor that it doesn’t feel like a rerun.

But that lush style also underlines how much the film is prioritizing world‑building over a tight narrative. Conversations about the Ruska Roma, the Continental, and the cult‑like assassins’ outpost are there less to advance Eve’s inner journey and more to remind us that the John Wick universe is vast, layered, and full of hierarchies. Fans who love the lore will probably eat that up, but if you’re hoping for a more self‑contained narrative, it can start to feel like you’re watching a very expensive lore compendium. The emotional core is there—it just has to fight for space amidst all the visual flexing and mythology maintenance.

Where Ballerina becomes a bit uneven is in its plotting. The basic “one girl, one very long night of revenge” template is solid, but the script doesn’t always give it enough depth or surprise. There are too many conversations where characters explain the rules of the world to each other, or recap what’s already been established, rather than using those moments to add nuance to the characters or relationships. The side figures—like various crime bosses, elders, and reluctant allies—do their jobs entertainingly enough, but they don’t all get the same level of interior life that Eve has. Some of the supporting performances are strong across the board, but the material doesn’t always push them to do anything more than punctuate the action beats.

Keanu Reeves drops in briefly as John Wick, and the cameo is handled with the kind of restraint that makes it feel like a favor rather than a stunt. He doesn’t hang around; he makes a sharp, efficient entrance, has a few quiet exchanges, and then exits, leaving the movie firmly in Eve’s hands. That’s crucial, because one of the criticisms of earlier spin‑off ideas was that they’d feel like vanity detours or glorified cameos. Here, John’s presence actually reinforces the idea that this is someone else’s story now, and that he’s just another player in a much larger ecosystem of killers.

The film’s worst moments are also some of its most visually striking: the bigger, more outlandish set‑pieces that lean fully into the franchise’s “go‑no‑go” action logic. The final third, in particular, is one long, almost goofy crescendo of fights, stunts, and absurdly lethal props. It’s a lot of fun in the moment, but it also underlines how thin the actual plotting can be. When the camera is spinning around a flamethrower‑wielding Eve or a hallway of assassins dropping in from the ceiling, the movie doesn’t always give us enough emotional context to care about who’s living or dying beyond the immediate spectacle. It’s the kind of sequence that will make fans cheer in the theater, but might look a bit clumsier on a second viewing.

One area where Ballerina arguably improves on the core series is its handling of gender dynamics. Eve isn’t fetishized; she’s allowed to be both emotionally grounded and physically dominant without being framed as some kind of fantasy object. The film nods to the idea of “girl power” in the assassin world, but it also lets the character operate within familiar constraints—tradition, hierarchy, and expectation—instead of pretending she’s a one‑woman revolution. She’s tough, but she’s also vulnerable, and that balance keeps the tone from tipping entirely into empty empowerment sloganeering. The way the movie treats her relationships—with her father’s memory, with her mentors, and with the people she’s ordered to kill—adds a layer of emotional sophistication that earlier entries in the franchise often glossed over for the sake of pure momentum.

If you’re coming into Ballerina expecting a radical reinvention of the series, you’ll probably leave a little underwhelmed. It doesn’t rip up the rulebook or deliver a huge thematic twist on what we already know about this universe. Instead, it refocuses the camera on a different kind of protagonist, lets the familiar style breathe a little differently, and proves that the world of John Wick is big enough to house more than just one lone wolf. It’s a stylish, violent, occasionally silly, definitely pulpy action film that knows exactly what it wants to be: a long, bloody ballet in which the lead is a woman who’s finally ready to dance on her own terms—even if the choreography sometimes matters more than the story it’s supposedly telling.

John Wick Franchise (spinoffs)

John Wick: Chapter 4 (dir. by Chad Stahelski) Review

Posted on March 2, 2026 by Arleigh

“Those who cling to death; live. Those who cling to life; die.” – Caine

John Wick: Chapter 4 is the kind of action movie that doesn’t just lean into the spotlight—it steps into it, throws a flak vest over its suit, and then spends the next three hours filleting an entire world of assassins with brutal, balletic precision. At this point in the franchise, you’re either all‑in on the rules of the High Table, the Continental, and Wick’s endless mourning for his wife Helen, or you’re just here for the sheer spectacle of seeing Keanu Reeves beat up a continent’s worth of bad guys. The film not only respects that split audience, it tries really hard to satisfy both with a mix of operatic emotion, globe‑trotting locations, and a ridiculous amount of meticulously choreographed carnage.

One of the first things that stands out in John Wick: Chapter 4 is how much the world has expanded since the first film. The script doesn’t reinvent the core idea—Wick wants out, the system wants him broken, and the only way he can be free is by killing his way to the top—but it does layer on new zones, new factions, and a whole supporting cast of assassins who feel like they’re pulled out of their own B‑movies. From Morocco to Berlin, from New York to Paris, the film leans into a kind of hyper‑theatrical world‑building where every hotel lobby, nightclub, and underground fighting arena looks like it was designed by a comic‑book artist with a fetish for brutalism and neon lighting. That’s not a bad thing; it makes the universe feel lived‑in, even if it occasionally borders on self‑parody. The film also shuffles in a few fresh faces that give the usual assassin lineup some new flavors, including Donnie Yen as Caine, the stoic, blind assassin who carries both lethal efficiency and a quiet moral weight; Hiroyuki Sanada as the disciplined Shimazu, whose traditional demeanor and craftsmanship with a sword add a very grounded, almost old‑world element to the chaos; and Rina Sawayama as the high‑ranking assassin Akira, whose presence brings a mix of ruthless professionalism and a genuinely intriguing emotional arc that doesn’t feel like an afterthought.

There’s also Scott Adkins playing against his usual type as Killa Harkan, the head of the German Branch of the High Table, showing up in a surprisingly decent‑looking fat suit that gives him a grotesquely imposing presence while still hinting at the physicality audiences know from his other action roles. The character leans into the film’s tendency toward the theatrical, but he’s not just a walking gag; he fits into the world as one of the more visually exaggerated enforcers of the High Table’s rule. Alongside him, Shamier Anderson brings a lean, relentless energy as the Tracker, Wick’s shadowy, almost dog‑like pursuer whose loyalty to the system makes him more than just another interchangeable goon, while Marko Zaror crops up in the Berlin arena sequences as a brutal, wiry fighter whose style adds yet another distinct flavor to the movie’s unusually diverse fight roster. Taken together, these additions don’t just pad the body count; they give the film a sense that the John Wick universe is big enough to host everyone from classical swordsmen to modern martial‑arts specialists and even a few horror‑movie‑style fanatics, all orbiting the same doomed man.

The villain this time around is the Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont, played by Bill Skarsgård, and he’s the kind of High Table emissary who exists purely to make John’s life harder while reminding the audience that the system is more bureaucratic than it is mysterious. He’s got the cold, manipulative air of a corporate executive who’s never actually touched a gun but still has the power to ruin people’s lives on paper. His presence allows the film to spend more time on the politics of the assassin underground, which in turn forces John to pull in a wider network of allies, return favors, and, in a few cases, rebuild old friendships that were already on thin ice. That network includes the Bowery King, Caine, and the rest of the new cast, all of whom add texture to the usual slug‑fest even if the plot’s core emotional arc is still very much about a man who keeps remembering the wife he can’t get back.

Where Chapter 4 really flexes its muscles is in the action, and nowhere is that more obvious than in the extended Paris set‑piece that basically becomes the film’s centerpiece. It starts on the open city streets at night, with Wick already on the move, guns blazing and bodies piling up as the camera weaves through car‑chase energy and close‑quarters shoving. The chaos then escalates when the sequence shifts to the Arc de Triomphe roundabout, where the circular layout turns the whole area into a spinning, three‑dimensional shooting gallery. Cars whip around the monument, bullets ricochet off stone and metal, and the sheer spatial awareness of the choreography makes it feel like you’re watching a real‑time videogame map being systematically cleared in concentric circles, except the “map” is an iconic piece of Parisian infrastructure.

The escalation doesn’t stop there. The action migrates into a mostly empty, half‑abandoned apartment complex that feels like a brutalist concrete maze, each floor and hallway turning into a new arena for sprinting, reloading, and last‑minute dodges. The geography of the building becomes a character of its own, with shots that snake down stairwells, peer through doorways, and frame John as a lone figure ducking and weaving through a vertical death‑trap. It’s inside this apartment complex that the film drops one of its most memorable visual flourishes: a frenetic, prolonged shootout using dragon’s breath shotgun shells—incendiary rounds that send flaming pellets spraying outward—captured from an isometric, top‑down angle that directly evokes the look of indie action‑game favorites like The Hong Kong Massacre. The camera rides high above each room as Wick storms through, watching clusters of fire and bullets explode outward in geometric patterns, turning the interior layout into a living level map. It’s a moment that feels less like traditional cinema and more like a loving, hyper‑stylized homage to the way videogames can turn gunplay into a choreographed light show.

The final stretch of this extended Paris gauntlet is the brutal climb up the Rue Foyatier stairway to the Sacré‑Cœur steps, where the film’s choreographic and camera work reach their most expressionistic peak. The wide shots of Paris looming below, the narrowing of the stairway itself, and the way the camera sometimes drifts into an almost dreamlike, slightly elevated angle all combine to make the sequence feel like an endurance ritual rather than just another fight. By the time Wick reaches the top—after being hurled back down and forced to claw his way up again—the audience feels just as exhausted as he looks, which is exactly the point.

That’s part of what makes the film work when it isn’t just going hand‑to‑hand with you for nearly three hours. Beneath all the shooting and stabbing, John Wick: Chapter 4 is also quietly insistent on the idea that this is a tragedy. John Wick isn’t just a guy who happened to fall into a secret society of killers; he’s a man who has been reshaped by grief, loss, and the realization that every compromise he’s made along the way has only made his cage tighter. The film doesn’t over‑explain this; instead, it lets you watch him limp, cough up blood, and drag his battered frame through one more ambush, as if his body is the only thing strong enough to keep him breathing. The supporting characters—especially those tied to the High Table or to his past, including the newer faces like Caine, Shimazu, Akira, Killa Harkan, the Tracker, and the arena fighters—get a few moments to show that they’re not just cannon fodder, either. They have responsibilities, hierarchies, and codes that clash with the arbitrary cruelty of the Table, even if most of them still end up in the path of Wick’s bullets.

On the flip side, the movie is also unapologetically aware of how silly it is. There’s a knowing winking about the dialogue, the neon‑lit set designs, and the way lines like “You have until sunrise” are delivered with the gravity of a Shakespearean prophecy. The film doesn’t try to make you forget that this is ultimately a high‑end first‑person‑shooter turned into a live‑action ballet. It leans into the absurdity of escalating stakes, the way the world keeps conspiring to throw more and more assassins at John, and the fact that even when he’s bleeding out, he still insists on finishing a fight with a signature flourish. For some viewers, that will feel like a strength, a kind of self‑aware celebration of the genre. For others, it’ll feel like the moment the franchise tips from cool to camp, especially when the pacing starts to drag a bit in the middle section and the mix of formal duels, fat‑suited branch leaders, and endless negotiations begins to feel a little overstuffed.

The film’s length is its biggest liability. At around 169 minutes, John Wick: Chapter 4 is not shy about giving you more than enough time to live inside its world, but it also doesn’t always feel like it needs every last minute. The middle act, in particular, spends a lot of time on formalities, treaties, duels, and metaphysical negotiations with the High Table, which can slow the momentum when what you really want is for John to do another hallway‑fight or another truck‑pile‑up. There are times when the script feels like it’s stretching itself out to keep the spectacle going rather than tightening the storytelling, and that’s when the silliness of it all—like the deliberately over‑the‑top presence of Killa Harkan and the packed gallery of new faces—can start to work against the emotional weight the film is trying to build. A leaner, more ruthless edit would probably make the overall experience feel sharper and more focused.

Still, there’s a lot to admire in what the film manages to pull off. The sound design, the camera work, and the way the choreography is almost always shot in wide, relatively clear takes all combine to make the action feel substantial rather than edited into incomprehensible chaos. The supporting cast—Donnie Yen, Hiroyuki Sanada, Rina Sawayama, Scott Adkins, Shamier Anderson, Marko Zaror, and others—add texture and personality to a world that could otherwise feel like a series of interchangeable goons. They’re not just there to get shot; they’re there to give the film a sense of a larger, more complicated ecosystem of killers, each with their own rules and reasons.

In the end, John Wick: Chapter 4 is less a strict narrative continuation and more of a cinematic endurance event. It doesn’t reinvent the franchise, but it pushes the Wick formula into more extreme, more theatrical, and more emotionally committed territory. It’s messy in places, overstuffed in others, but it also has a few moments of pure, jaw‑dropping action that will probably end up in “best of the decade” lists among genre fans, especially that Paris mega‑set‑piece that starts on open streets, spirals through the Arc de Triomphe, invades an empty apartment complex for that dragon’s‑breath top‑down firefight, and climaxes on the Rue Foyatier stairs. If you’re someone who cares about emotional coherence and tight plotting, the film will probably test your patience. If you’re someone who’s here for the ballet of bullets, the operatic bloodshed, the eccentric new cast, and the sight of Keanu Reeves refusing to stay down no matter how many times the universe tries to kill him, then John Wick: Chapter 4 is a pretty satisfying send‑off—or at least a very loud, very stylish stop on the way there.

Weapons used by John Wick throughout the film

Glock 34 (TTI Combat Master Package) – His primary pistol early on, including the Morocco sequence against the new Elder and during the Osaka Continental battle.
Agency Arms Glock 17 – Used by Wick during the garden fight at the Osaka Continental after he takes it off a High Table enforcer.
TTI Pit Viper – The “hero gun” of the movie, custom‑built for Chapter 4, used heavily in the Paris staircase and duel lead‑up sequences.
Thompson Center Arms Encore pistol – custom-made single-shot pistols created specifically for the Sacre-Couer duel.
TTI Dracarys Gen‑12 – The dragon’s‑breath shotgun he grabs during the Paris apartment sequence, used in the isometric top‑down “videogame” style scene.
Spike’s Tactical Compressor carbine – Used by Wick after he takes it from High Table enforcers during the Osaka Continental fight.

John Wick Franchise (spinoffs)

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum (dir. by Chad Stahelski) Review

Posted on March 1, 2026 by Arleigh

“Nothing’s ever just a conversation with you, John.” — Sofia Al-Azwar

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum launches straight from the previous installment’s shocking finale, hurling John into a frantic dash through New York’s underbelly as a $14 million bounty turns every shadow into a threat. This chapter dials the franchise’s signature intensity even higher, plunging you into an assassin underworld bound by ironclad rules that start to fracture under pressure. The action explodes with creative savagery, though the storyline sometimes buckles beneath its ambitions, offering a pulse-pounding yet slightly bloated addition to the saga.

The movie opens with John scrambling through New York streets, his excommunicado status ticking down like a bomb. He’s got one hour before every killer in the city turns on him, and boy, do they. Keanu Reeves is back in top form, looking battered but unbreakable, his puppy-dog eyes conveying more grief and determination than any monologue could. The film’s Latin subtitle, Parabellum—meaning “prepare for war”—sets the tone perfectly as John grabs weapons from the oddest places, like a horse stable or a knife shop where he gets to use blades almost like guns with each throw.

What makes this entry stand out is how it expands the Wick-verse without losing that gritty intimacy. We dive deeper into the High Table’s bureaucracy, with the Adjudicator (Asia Kate Dillon) showing up as this cold, efficient enforcer who judges allies like Winston (Ian McShane) and Charon (Lance Reddick) for helping John. It’s a smart addition, adding layers to the rules that have always governed this world—markers, blood oaths, no business on Continental grounds. Halle Berry pops in as Sofia, an old flame running a Moroccan palace full of attack dogs, leading to one of the film’s wildest sequences where pooches tear into bad guys alongside John. Mark Dacascos as Zero, the sushi-loving villain who’s bald and sports a penchant for movie quotes, brings some quirky charm, even if he’s no Santino from Chapter 2.

Director Chad Stahelski, a former stuntman himself, continues to treat action like high art, and man, does Chapter 3 flex its muscles here harder than ever. The choreography is balletic and brutal, blending gun fu with knives, swords, and even books—there’s a library fight where John uses a volume as a shield and club, then politely reshelves it, which is peak Wick weirdness. Fights escalate from motorcycle sword duels slicing through rainy streets to hall-of-mirrors mayhem that nods to Enter the Dragon, with reflections multiplying the chaos into a dizzying ballet of blades. Indonesian martial arts legends Cecep Arif Rahman and Yayan Ruhian, The Raid 2 alumni who make their franchise debut here, light up the massive finale melee, trading blows with John in a flurry of fists, elbows, and blades that feels like a love letter to silat and caps the chaos perfectly.

Every sequence feels meticulously planned, relying on practical stunts that make CGI-heavy blockbusters look lazy and fake—think real falls, real crashes, real bone-crunching impacts that leave you wincing. The gun fu style—precise headshots amid flips, slides, and reloads—never gets old, evolving with fresh twists like pencil kills upgraded to book barrages or horse-mounted shootouts. The film’s true strength lies in these set pieces: they’re not just fights, they’re symphony-like spectacles where camera work syncs breathlessly with the violence, spatial awareness stays razor-sharp so you track every bullet and block, and the escalation feels organic, building from claustrophobic knife scraps to epic rooftop brawls. It’s the kind of action that honors the genre’s legends while pushing boundaries, making you forget any plot gripes amid the sheer kinetic joy.

That said, it’s not all flawless, and one drawback from Chapter 2 creeps back in here: the film leans heavily into more world-building of its universe, which puts character development on the back burner. John’s arc—fighting to earn back his freedom—repeats beats from the previous entry, and some twists, like Winston’s apparent betrayal, land more as fan service than emotional gut-punches. At 131 minutes, it drags in spots, especially during quieter moments that try to humanize John but end up repetitive, while the dialogue stays sparse and stylized, leaving characters like the Elder (Saïd Taghmaoui) feeling underdeveloped. But then again, the franchise has staked its claim on being action-focused from the jump, so if fans are bought into this wild ride by now, they’re probably here for the balletic bloodshed over deep psychology anyway—it’s like the film loves its assassins’ code more than fleshing out motivations beyond revenge.

Visually, it’s a stunner. Dan Laustsen’s cinematography turns New York into a neon-soaked hellscape, with rain-slicked streets and ornate Continental lobbies popping in crisp 2.40:1. The Morocco desert scenes add exotic flair, though they borrow heavily from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Tyler Bates and Joel J. Richard’s score pounds with industrial electronica, syncing perfectly to the violence, while select tracks like Team Rezo’s “Pray for Kaeo” amp up horse chases. Sound design is Oscar-worthy—the thud of fists, crack of gunfire, all mixed to immerse you in the carnage.

Keanu Reeves carries it all, 54 at release but moving like a man half his age thanks to rigorous training. His physical commitment sells John’s exhaustion; you see the toll in every limp and gasp. Supporting cast shines too—McShane’s suave Winston steals scenes with dry wit, Reddick’s Charon is unflappably loyal, and Berry holds her own in dog-assisted fury. Dacascos adds levity, slicing foes with a sunny disposition, but Dillon’s Adjudicator is more menacing presence than fleshed-out foe. It’s ensemble work in service of spectacle, not drama.

For fans of the series, John Wick: Chapter 3 delivers bigger, bolder chaos that honors stunt performers as the real stars. It celebrates cinema history with nods to Buster Keaton (a horse chase echoes The General) and Hong Kong action flicks, all while pushing practical effects. Critics raved about the thrills, calling it “blissfully brutal” entertainment that shames neighbors like generic superhero fare. Audiences loved the over-the-top kills and Reeves’ stoic heroics.

To keep it fair, though, this isn’t exactly groundbreaking stuff. The simplicity that charmed in the original—a widower’s rampage—has bloated into a globe-trotting saga chasing its own tail. Female characters, while badass like Sofia, still orbit John’s story, and the violence, though stylish, borders on cartoonish excess. Some felt it lost narrative steam, prioritizing set pieces over heart, turning Wick from grieving everyman to invincible machine. Compared to Chapter 2‘s operatic betrayal, this one’s more procedural, like a video game level grind.

Ultimately, John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum is a love letter to action cinema, casual fun if you’re in for the mayhem. It’s not deep, but damn if it doesn’t make you cheer as John unleashes hell. Grab popcorn, dim the lights, and prepare for war—you won’t regret it, unless you’re after Oscar bait. Solid 8/10 for pure, delirious popcorn thrills.

Weapons used by John Wick throughout the film

TTI STI 2011 Combat Master: Iconic pistol from the armory scene—John’s “2011” choice with optics, extended mags, and flawless reliability for extended shootouts.
Glock 19 / 19X / 17: Multiple pickups during mint guard fights in Casablanca and Continental siege; versatile Glocks he commandeers mid-battle.
Walther PPQ / CCP: Snagged from assassins during the motorcycle chase; quick-use comped models for on-the-run defense.
TTI SIG-Sauer MPX Carbine: Siege standout with Trijicon MRO sight, Streamlight laser, and +11 mags—John’s signature stance shines in hallway clears.
SIG-Sauer MPX / MPX Copperhead: Casablanca mint raid grabs; compact 9mm shredders with red dots and grips for close-quarters fury.
Benelli M4 Super 90: Climactic Continental siege with Charon; armor-piercing slugs, extended tubes, ghost rings—devastating hallway blasts.
Benelli M2 Super 90 (TTI Ultimate package, implied variants): Siege support; Charon favors these, John grabs similar for enforcer waves.

John Wick Franchise (spinoffs)

John Wick
John Wick: Chapter 2

John Wick: Chapter 2 (dir. by Chad Stahelski) Review

Posted on February 28, 2026 by Arleigh

“You stabbed the devil in the back and forced him back into the life that he had just left. You incinerated the priest’s temple, burned it to the ground. Now he’s free… What do you think he’ll do?” — Winston Scott

John Wick: Chapter 2 picks up right where the first film left off, diving headfirst into a world of high-stakes assassinations and stylish revenge with Keanu Reeves back as the grieving, unstoppable hitman. It’s a sequel that doubles down on the balletic action and expands the mythology without losing that raw, personal edge from the original. Directed by Chad Stahelski, it delivers non-stop thrills but occasionally stumbles with its sprawling plot and relentless pace.

John Wick is trying to lay low after avenging his dog’s death and reclaiming his car, but fate—or more specifically, a blood oath called a “marker”—drags him back into the game. An Italian crime lord named Santino D’Antonio cashes in that marker, forcing Wick to assassinate his own sister so Santino can take over the family empire. What starts as a reluctant job spirals into a city-wide manhunt, with Wick racking up bodies across New York and Rome while navigating the Continental Hotel’s strict no-kill rules and the politics of a shadowy assassin network. The story is still simple at its core—do a job, get betrayed, fight your way out—but it peels back more layers of this underworld, introducing gold coins as currency, tailors who outfit killers like runway models, and sommeliers who pair firearms with clients like fine wine.

Keanu Reeves owns the role here, his stoic intensity and physical commitment making every punch and headshot feel earned. He’s not exactly stretching himself as an actor—his deadpan delivery borders on monotone—but in this context, that restraint works, turning Wick into a mythic figure who’s equal parts broken widower and relentless killing machine. The supporting cast adds plenty of flavor: Common shines as Cassian, Santino’s loyal bodyguard and Wick’s equal in a fight, with their subway duel using silenced pistols becoming an instant standout for its mix of tension and dark humor. Ian McShane returns as Winston, the Continental’s suave manager, bringing a dry, almost amused detachment to the chaos, while Ruby Rose makes an impression as Ares, Santino’s mute enforcer whose sign-language threats and sharp physicality speak louder than words. Laurence Fishburne appears as the Bowery King, chewing scenery and hinting at deeper rivalries to come. Not every character is fully fleshed out—Santino himself sometimes veers into cartoonish villain territory—but the ensemble keeps the film lively and fun to watch.

The action is where John Wick: Chapter 2 truly shines, cranking the first film’s gun-fu into something close to operatic. Much of the authenticity in the gunplay choreography stems from Keanu Reeves’ legendary dedication to his craft—he trained extensively with celebrity gun trainer Taran Butler and Taran Tactical Innovations, becoming an expert 3-gun practitioner in the process. Taran Tactical not only provided the custom guns for this film and its subsequent sequels but also helped craft the realistic, fluid shooting sequences that feel like a masterclass in tactical movement. The opening car chase and warehouse brawl set the tone, with Wick dismantling goons using everything from knives to close-quarters takedowns. Later comes the much-teased moment where he turns a humble pencil into a lethally precise weapon. The Rome sequence is a highlight: Wick moves through catacombs and nightclubs like a walking arsenal, turning ancient corridors into a bullet-riddled maze, then facing a relentless wave of assassins amid concert lights and stone arches. The stairwell brawl with Cassian is brutal and almost slapstick in its escalation, as the two tumble down step after step, refusing to quit. A hall-of-mirrors shootout plays with reflection and distortion, turning gunfights into something visually playful as well as deadly. The camera stays steady and clear, letting you appreciate the choreography instead of hiding it behind shaky cam and quick cuts, which makes the violence feel both visceral and strangely elegant.

Visually, the film is a neon-soaked feast, trading the first movie’s moody blues for more varied, vibrant palettes. Cinematography leans into bold colors and strong compositions: the Continental’s warm golds, Rome’s stony greys and rich reds, New York’s cold night streets lit by harsh white and electric signage. The production design sells the assassin world as both stylish and slightly surreal. You get bespoke atelier shops that sell tactical suits lined with experimental ballistic-resistant fabric, underground vaults where every weapon looks museum-ready, and Continental sommeliers who double as gun experts, recommending the best weapons for whatever task is at hand. The score and sound design lean heavily into pulsing electronic beats and percussive hits that sync with the rhythm of gunshots and blows, giving big set pieces a musical, almost dance-like quality.

That said, the film is not without its flaws. At a little over two hours, it sometimes feels like it’s indulging its world-building at the expense of pacing. The explanation of markers, excommunication rules, and the High Table is cool in theory, but the movie occasionally pauses too long to explain its own lore when you’d rather keep the momentum going. Compared to the raw emotional drive of the first film—where a dead dog and stolen car were more than enough to get you fully on Wick’s side—this one’s central motivation feels more mechanical. He’s bound by honor and obligation here, which makes sense for the character, but doesn’t hit with the same gut-level impact. There’s also less room for genuine character development; Wick mostly shifts between “tired” and “angry,” and the supporting cast, as entertaining as they are, tend to orbit him rather than grow in their own right.

Tone-wise, John Wick: Chapter 2 leans even harder into heightened, borderline comic-book absurdity. The idea that there are assassins on every street corner, all answering the same call, is fun but pushes the world toward parody if you think too hard about it. The body count is enormous, the kill shots are almost always headshots, and the film rarely slows down to let the gravity of that register. There are moments of humor—deadpan exchanges, visual gags, Wick’s resigned reactions to yet another betrayal—that keep it from feeling grim, but they’re more like pressure valves than fully integrated wit. If you’re looking for commentary on violence or a deconstruction of the hitman myth, this isn’t that movie. It’s more interested in giving you the cleanest, slickest version of the fantasy and trusting you to go along for the ride.

On representation and subtext, the movie is pretty standard action fare: mostly male, mostly focused on coolness over any deeper exploration of gender, race, or class. Characters like Ares and Gianna D’Antonio hint at more interesting female perspectives within this world, but they’re quickly sidelined or removed from play. The Bowery King’s network suggests a class-conscious angle—homeless people as invisible eyes and ears of the city—but the film doesn’t dwell on it beyond the “secret army in plain sight” trope. None of this ruins the film, but it does keep it from feeling particularly fresh outside of its choreography and design.

Where the movie really succeeds is in firmly establishing John Wick as an ongoing franchise rather than a one-off surprise hit. The ending pushes Wick into even more precarious territory and sets up a larger arc without feeling like pure sequel bait. It expands the playground, raises the stakes, and leaves him in a place where you genuinely want to see what comes next. If the first film was a tightly contained revenge story, John Wick: Chapter 2 is the moment the series decides to become a full-blown saga.

Overall, John Wick: Chapter 2 is a stylish, hyper-violent, and extremely entertaining sequel that leans into its strengths—choreography, world-building, and Keanu Reeves’ physical presence—while showing a few growing pains in pacing and emotional weight. It may not have the purity or surprise factor of the original, but it compensates by embracing a larger, crazier canvas and delivering some of the most memorable action set pieces of the last decade. If you’re on board with the idea of a grief-stricken assassin turning his pain into an art form of meticulously staged carnage, this chapter absolutely delivers.

Weapons used by John Wick throughout the film

Glock 34 (TTI Combat Master Package): His go-to sidearm early on, customized by Taran Tactical Innovations (TTI); dual-wielded in the catacombs and against Gianna’s guards in Rome.
Heckler & Koch P30L (compensator-fitted): Opens the film disarming a henchman; buried post-use along with first-film gear.
Kimber Super Carry Custom (reverse two-tone, compensator): Provided by the Bowery King and used chasing Santino.
TTI TR-1 Ultralight (AR-15 carbine build): Iconic Rome rifle from the sommelier, with BCM mods, Trijicon scope, and PRI compensator; catacombs massacre shootout.
Benelli M4 Super 90 (TTI customized): Sommelier special in Rome; shredded through catacombs enemies.

John Wick Franchise (spinoffs)

John Wick

Review: John Wick (dir. by Chad Stahelski)

Posted on February 27, 2026 by Arleigh

“John is a man of focus, commitment, sheer will… something you know very little about. I once saw him kill three men in a bar… with a pencil, with a fucking pencil.” — Viggo Tarasov

John Wick kicks off with a simple, gut-punching premise that hooks you right away. Keanu Reeves plays the titular character, a retired hitman trying to leave his bloody past behind after the death of his wife. She leaves him a beagle puppy as a final gift, symbolizing a chance at normalcy, but some punk Russian mobsters steal his prized Mustang and kill the dog, setting off a revenge rampage. It’s a revenge story done right—straightforward, no frills, and fueled by raw emotion rather than convoluted twists. Directed by Chad Stahelski and David Leitch, who share a stunt background, the film feels like a love letter to classic action flicks from the ’80s and ’90s, but with a modern polish.

What sets John Wick apart from the glut of forgettable action movies is its relentless focus on craftsmanship. The action sequences are balletic and brutal, blending gun-fu—a mix of precise gunplay and martial arts—with practical stunts that avoid overreliance on CGI. This gun-fu draws directly from the Center Axis Relock (CAR) system, a real-world self-defense close-combat technique where the pistol is held close to the chest at a forward cant for better retention and control in tight quarters. Reeves, at 50 when the film was made, moves like a man possessed, his long-limbed frame perfect for the choreography. Watch the nightclub shootout: bodies drop in waves as Wick reloads with one hand while pistol-whipping foes with the other, all grounded in CAR’s principles that have since become a staple in action films. It’s exhilarating, almost musical in rhythm, thanks to a thumping soundtrack featuring artists like Aloe Blacc and Kaiser Chiefs that amps up the tension without overpowering the visuals.

Keanu Reeves carries the film on his stoic shoulders, and it’s one of his best turns since The Matrix. John Wick isn’t a chatterbox; he’s all simmering grief and quiet menace, his thousand-yard stare conveying depths of loss that words don’t touch. That opening montage of him and his wife—tender beach walks, her terminal illness—hits hard because it’s so understated. Reeves sells the puppy’s death not with histrionics but a single, shattered sob, making his vengeance feel earned. Supporting players elevate the mix too: Michael Nyqvist chews scenery as the mob boss Viggo, Willem Dafoe shines as a sympathetic mentor figure, and Ian McShane adds suave authority as the Continental hotel’s manager. Alfie Allen, pre-Game of Thrones fame, nails the cocky antagonist role without caricature.

The world-building is another standout, introduced efficiently without info-dumps. The Continental Hotel emerges as a neutral ground for assassins, complete with gold coins as currency and strict no-business-on-premises rules—hints at a larger universe that sequels would expand. It’s a clever nod to pulp noir and spy thrillers, giving the violence a code of honor. Stahelski’s visual style, with its neon-drenched nights and stark lighting, evokes The Raid while carving its own path. The Mustang chase is a highlight: tires screech, bullets ping off chrome, and Wick dispatches goons from the driver’s seat with cold efficiency. Production design shines in details like the mobsters’ gaudy mansions contrasting Wick’s minimalist home, underscoring his outsider status.

John Wick isn’t flawless. The plot is paper-thin, essentially “bad guys kill dog, hero slaughters 100 dudes,” with little character depth beyond Wick. Supporting characters get one-note arcs; Viggo monologues about Wick’s legend, but we learn more through reputation than growth. Some viewers find the 101-minute runtime padded by repetitive shootouts—after the first dozen kills, the thrill dips into redundancy for all but the most action-addicted. Women are scarce and sidelined: Wick’s wife appears mostly in flashbacks, and the few female roles are functional at best. It’s a dude-bro fantasy at heart, prioritizing spectacle over substance, which alienates if you’re craving nuance or social commentary.

Pacing stumbles early too. The first act drags with somber setup, mourning the wife and puppy, before exploding into chaos. Once it hits gear, though, it rarely brakes, building to a cathartic finale at Viggo’s compound. Some criticize the violence as gratuitous—headshots galore, blood sprays like a Tarantino wet dream—but it’s stylized, not sadistic, with clear rules (headshots for efficiency) that heighten tension. Compared to contemporaries like Taken, which leaned on gruff one-liners, John Wick opts for silence, letting deeds speak. It’s refreshing, but purists might miss emotional beats amid the bullet casings.

Stylistically, the film borrows heavily yet innovates. Influences from Hong Kong cinema (Hard Boiled, John Woo) shine in the balletic-style of action, while the “gun fu” term coined by critics fits perfectly, elevated by that CAR-inspired hold that’s now echoed in blockbusters everywhere. Cinematographer Jonathan Sela’s work—wide lenses for spatial awareness in fights—makes every room a battlefield, unlike shaky-cam hacks. The music for the film was courtesy of Tyler Bates and Joel L. Richard, pulsing with industrial beats that sync to gunfire like a heartbeat. Budgeted at $20-30 million, it grossed over $86 million worldwide, proving audiences craved this stripped-down revenge tale amid superhero fatigue.

Reeves’ commitment deserves props; he trained rigorously in judo, jiu-jitsu, and firearms, selling every beatdown with authentic CAR posture. Stahelski, his longtime stunt double, directs with intimacy, framing close-quarters brawls to feel visceral. The film’s legacy? It revived Reeves’ career, birthed a franchise (now four films deep, plus spin-offs), and influenced action design industry-wide—expect “John Wick”-style choreography, complete with Center Axis Relock grips, in everything from Netflix shows to indies. Yet its simplicity invites backlash: online threads buzz with “overhyped” takes, arguing it’s style sans soul. Fair point—it’s not Heat‘s operatic depth—but as popcorn entertainment, it delivers uncut adrenaline.

Culturally, John Wick taps male grief mythology: the Baba Yaga legend (Wick as unstoppable boogeyman) mirrors real loss through mythic fury. No preachiness, just catharsis. Drawbacks persist—predictability (you know Wick wins), thin Russian accents straining credulity, and a sequel-bait ending that feels calculated. Still, it revitalized the genre post-Avengers dominance, proving solo heroes endure. For fans of Die Hard or Léon, it’s essential; others might yawn at the body count.

In a landscape of quippy Marvel flicks, John Wick stands tall for earnestness. It doesn’t pretend to be profound, owning its B-movie roots with A-grade execution. Reeves mourns, fights, repeats—rinse with blood. Flaws and all, it’s a blast: taut, stylish, and unapologetic. If action’s your jam, dive in; just don’t expect Shakespeare.

Weapons used by John Wick throughout the film

Heckler & Koch P30L: His signature primary pistol (custom compensator), used throughout—from the home invasion to the Red Circle club.
Glock 26: Backup compact pistol, pulled out during the bathhouse shootout when ammo runs low.
Coharie Arms CA-415: Short-barreled rifle (HK416 clone) for the church assault and parking lot shootout.
Kel-Tec KSG: Bullpup shotgun commandeered from goons after church assault and parking lot shootouts.

Review: Constantine (dir. by Francis Lawrence)

Posted on January 11, 2026 by Arleigh

“Heaven and Hell are right here, behind every wall, every window, the world behind the world. And we’re smack in the middle.” — John Constantine

Constantine is one of those mid-2000s comic book adaptations that never quite hit mainstream classic status but has quietly built a loyal cult following, and it is pretty easy to see why once you revisit it. On the surface it is a supernatural action movie about a chain‑smoking exorcist stomping demons in Los Angeles; underneath, it is wrestling with guilt, faith, and whether redemption is even possible for someone who does not think they deserve it. The film is messy in spots but strangely compelling, and that tension between pulpy cool and spiritual angst is a big part of its charm.

Keanu Reeves plays John Constantine as a tired, bitter man who has seen way too much of both Hell and humanity to have patience for either. This version of Constantine is loosely adapted from DC’s Hellblazer comics, but the film leans into a distinctly Hollywood noir vibe: he is not a wisecracking British punk in a tan trench coat so much as a burnt‑out L.A. exorcist in a black suit who chain‑smokes like it is a survival mechanism. That shift understandably annoyed some comic fans, but taken on its own terms, this Constantine works. Reeves’s usual reserved style actually fits a guy who has emotionally checked out; he moves through scenes like someone who has accepted that his life is transactional and almost over, and there is something darkly funny about how little awe he shows when confronted with angels and demons. Even when the script gives him on‑the‑nose lines about damnation, he plays them with a kind of deadpan resignation that keeps the character from turning into a parody.

The basic setup is simple enough: Constantine can see “half‑breeds,” angelic and demonic entities who nudge humanity toward good or evil while technically obeying a truce between Heaven and Hell. As a child, he tried to kill himself because of these visions, and that suicide attempt has doomed his soul to Hell. Now he works as a freelance exorcist, trying to earn his way back into God’s good graces, not out of pure faith but out of sheer self‑preservation. That dynamic gives the movie a strong hook—this is a protagonist who is doing the “right” thing for profoundly self‑centered reasons. When he gets pulled into a mystery involving a police detective, Angela (Rachel Weisz), investigating her twin sister’s apparent suicide, the film folds in a noirish murder case, religious prophecy, and a scheme that could break the balance between Heaven and Hell. It is all a bit overstuffed, but there is a certain pleasure in how seriously the movie commits to its supernatural mythology.

Visually, Constantine is where the film really separates itself from a lot of its contemporaries. Director Francis Lawrence leans hard into a grungy, stylized urban Hellscape—Los Angeles feels damp, sickly, and spiritually polluted even before anyone literally steps into Hell. When Constantine does cross over, Hell is portrayed as a blasted version of our world, frozen in an eternal atomic blast, buildings shattered and howling winds full of ash and debris. It is not subtle, but it is memorable, and many of the images still hold up surprisingly well for a 2005 effects‑heavy movie. The demon designs are gnarly without becoming cartoonish, the exorcism sequences have a tactile, physical quality, and the movie uses practical effects and lighting cleverly to smooth over the limitations of its CG. Even small visual touches—like holy relics turned into weapons or tattoos used as mystical triggers—help sell the idea that this world is saturated with hidden religious warfare.

The cast around Reeves does a lot of heavy lifting. Rachel Weisz brings warmth and vulnerability to Angela, grounding the story whenever it threatens to float away in theological technobabble. Her dual role as both Angela and her deceased twin gives the plot some emotional weight beyond cosmic stakes. Tilda Swinton’s Gabriel is one of the film’s secret weapons: androgynous, cool, and quietly menacing, Gabriel feels alien in a way that fits an angel who has spent too long watching humans from a distance. Then there is Peter Stormare’s Satan, who shows up late in the game and somehow steals the entire third act with a performance that is gleefully gross and oddly charismatic; his version of Lucifer is barefoot, in a white suit stained with tar, amused and disgusted by Constantine in equal measure. These performances keep the movie watchable even when the script gets tangled in its own mythology.

Tonally, Constantine lives in an odd space between horror, action, and supernatural thriller. On one hand, it has jump scares, grotesque demons, and a very dark sense of humor. On the other, it features extended action beats where Constantine straps on a holy shotgun and goes demon hunting like a paranormal hitman. The film is at its best when it leans into slow‑burn dread and eerie atmosphere—scenes like the early exorcism or Angela’s first encounters with the supernatural feel genuinely unsettling. When it shifts into more conventional action territory, it is fun but less distinctive; some sequences play like obligatory “we need a set piece here” insertions rather than organic escalations of the story. The score and sound design help stitch it all together, layering in ominous drones, choral elements, and sharp sound cues that emphasize the hellish undertones without getting too bombastic.

One of the more interesting aspects of Constantine is how it treats belief and morality. The film’s theology is a mash‑up of Catholic imagery, comic‑book lore, and Hollywood invention, and if you are looking for doctrinal accuracy, you will probably walk away frustrated. But as metaphor, it works better than it has any right to. God and the devil are treated almost like distant power brokers using Earth as their battleground, the angels and demons as middle management enforcing a “rules of the game” structure that Constantine constantly pushes against. What saves it from feeling totally cynical is that the film does not ultimately let Constantine win by gaming the system; his big climactic play hinges on a genuinely selfless act. There is a sense, however stylized, that grace and sacrifice still matter, even in a world that treats salvation like paperwork. At the same time, the movie is very much a product of its edgy 2000s era, and at points it flirts with the idea that faith is mostly about loopholes and bargaining, which might put some viewers off.

That brings up another key point: Constantine is absolutely not a family‑friendly comic book movie. It is full of disturbing imagery, body horror, and bleak subject matter like suicide, damnation, and spiritual despair. The violence is often grotesque rather than purely action‑oriented, and the general mood is closer to a horror film than a superhero romp. The R rating is well earned. For some audiences, those elements will be exactly what makes the movie interesting—a comic book adaptation that is not afraid to be nasty and heavy. For others, the relentless grimness and graphic content will feel excessive, especially when paired with a mythology that is, frankly, all over the place.

Where Constantine stumbles most is in its storytelling clarity and pacing. The film loves its jargon: half‑breeds, the Spear of Destiny, balance between realms, rules of engagement, obscure relics tossed into dialogue with minimal explanation. If you are not already inclined to meet the movie halfway, it can feel like a pile of cool‑sounding concepts that never fully cohere into a clean narrative. The central mystery—what really happened to Angela’s sister and why—is engaging early on, but as the plot widens into apocalyptic stakes, some of the emotional throughline gets lost in exposition. The pacing can be uneven too, moving from slow, moody sequences to abrupt bursts of action, then back to dense dialogue. It is rarely boring, but it can feel disjointed.

Compared to the Hellblazer source material, the film definitely sandpapers off some of John Constantine’s rougher, more politically charged edges and transplants him into a more conventional action framework. Fans of the comics often point to the loss of his British identity, the absence of his punk roots, and the more simplified view of magic and the occult as major flaws. Those criticisms are fair if you are judging the adaptation on fidelity. As a stand‑alone movie, though, Constantine carves out a distinct identity: a moody, grimy, spiritually obsessed supernatural noir built around a protagonist who is more tired than heroic. It is less about clever schemes and more about a man who has done terrible things realizing that the only way out is to finally stop acting in his own interest.

In the years since its release, Constantine has aged better than a lot of early comic book movies. The visual style remains striking, the performances are still strong, and its willingness to be weird and bleak makes it stand out in a landscape that increasingly favors quip‑heavy, crowd‑pleasing superhero fare. The flip side is that its flaws—clunky exposition, a sometimes incoherent mythology, and a very specific grim tone—are just as apparent as they were in 2005. Whether it works for you will depend a lot on how much patience you have for religious horror dressed up as action cinema. Taken as a whole, Constantine is an imperfect but memorable ride: stylish, occasionally profound, frequently ridiculous, and ultimately more interesting than many cleaner, safer adaptations.

Scenes That I Love: Keanu Reeves in John Wick

Posted on September 2, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Today, we wish a happy sixty-first birthday to the one and only Keanu Reeves!

Today’s scene that I love comes from the film that made Keanu an icon for a whole generation of moviegoers who had blocked The Matrix sequels from their collective memories, John Wick. In this scene, Keanu explains that it wasn’t just a dog that he lost.

There’s not a pet owner in the world who doesn’t understand exactly what John Wick is saying here. And it must be said that Keanu, who has definitely grown a good deal as an actor over the years, really sells the emotions in this scene.

Film Review: From the World of John Wick: Ballerina (dir. by Len Wiseman)

Posted on June 5, 2025 by Leonard Wilson

It seems almost inevitable that Ana de Armas would make it into the John Wick franchise. Having worked with Keanu Reeves in multiple films since 2015’s Knock Knock, she has great chemistry with him on camera. De Armas has also proven she can handle action both with 2021’s No Time to Die and 2023’s Ghosted, with the latter also boasting a bit of comedy. From the World of John Wick: Ballerina (or just Ballerina for the sake of this writing) puts Ana in the mix of all the madness as Eve Maccaro. While it doesn’t have the tightest story in the world when compared to the rest of the John Wick saga, Ballerina does hold its own at least as a showcase for the stunt work. If you enjoyed Atomic Blonde or any of the Underworld films, you really won’t have any problems here.

The story for Ballerina takes place during the events of John Wick 3 – Parabellum. As a child, when Eve loses her father to a crew of armed men sporting a brand on their wrists, she is taken in by The Continental’s Winston (Ian McShane). Winston introduces her to the tribe of killers known as the Ruska Roma, lead by The Director (Anjelica Houston), who train her to become like them. Those familiar with the John Wick franchise will recall that the Ruska Roma was John’s tribe before some action caused a split between him and them.

In addition to her pointe practices (which look painful), she’s trained with knives, guns and other tactics. Unlike the assassins that normally frequent The Continental, the Ruska Roma aren’t fully ruthless and can be a force of good. After handling various tests, she discovers a clue leading to the people who killed her father and the man who leads them (ironically played by Point of No Return’s’ Gabriel Byrne, given the film moves in similar circles). Can Eve get her vengeance in the shadow of the legendary Baba Yaga?

While Eve’s story is a still a tale of vengeance as much as Wick’s, there are two distinct differences. As taught by her trainer Nogi (Sharon Duncan Brewster, Dune: Part One), being a girl has some merits and flaws. She might not have the strength to go toe to toe with some of her male opponents (and try telling Ana this, she throws herself deep into the stuntwork), she can move for weakpoints and cheat her way though to victory. “Fight like a girl” becomes the motto. The other difference is that Eve has to work within both the rules of the Ballerinas as well as those the High Table puts on their Hotels. I thought that was an interesting touch to things.

With those stunts, I really would like to know if Ana or any of the stunt team were hurt in any way making this film. Eve goes through a lot and doesn’t have that protective Armani suit of Wick’s. Into walls, over dressers, through glass and even fire, but she keeps getting up and giving that damage right back to her targets. I hope this becomes a contender for the Academy’s new award for stunts. It’s an easy lock for a Nomination.

Casting-wise, you’ll see some familiar faces. Winston and Charon (the late Lance Reddick) are both on hand, as well as stuntman/actor Daniel Bernhardt (The Matrix Reloaded, Nobody, that awesome “ronny/lily’ episode of HBO’s Barry). Some new faces include Norman Reedus (The Walking Dead) and Anne Parillaud (Innocent Blood, La Femme Nikita).

Len Wiseman hasn’t directed a feature film since 2012’s Total Recall, but watching Ballerina you really couldn’t tell. Some of the locales do look like they were borrowed from Wiseman’s Underworld films, but that actually works in Ballerina‘s favor. The film flows well from scene to scene and the action is visible enough that there’s little to miss. There are very few lulls in the action. Though the film was written by both Derek Kolstad and Shay Hatten, who both previously worked on pretty much the entire Wick Franchise along with Nobody, it’s a different flavor to things. You won’t any any major info on the High Table and how all that works, though. This more of a contained story that flutters through the rest of the universe.

I only had one major problem with Ballerina, which was the way in which they chose to cameo Keanu Reeves as John Wick. Unless I’m wrong, I think the story makes a mistake in the John Wick timeline at some point by bringing Wick and Eve face to face (and the trailers already alluded to this). Their meeting appears to occur after Wick’s branding and ex-communication from the Ruska Roma (“You can never come back.”, she told him in John Wick 3), so the events leading up to the meeting didn’t entirely make sense to me (though it was wonderful to watch). It doesn’t mar the film, it’s still enjoyable. It’s just that tiny question that digs in the back of your skull like “If Old Biff gave young Biff the Almanac, and Young Biff changed the future, how did Old Biff exist long enough to return the DeLorean back to a 2015 timeline that shouldn’t exist anymore?” – a question I still ask every now and then.

Overall, Ballerina is a pretty good addition to the John Wick franchise. Ana de Armas gives it her all and deserves all the kudos for that work she puts in. Here’s hoping that we get a bit more of her action (and of that universe) down the road.

Guilty Pleasure No. 81: The Replacements (dir by Howard Deutch)

Posted on May 1, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

2000’s The Replacements finds America in crisis!

With the season already underway, football players are going on strike! They want better contracts. They want more money. They want …. well, they want a lot of stuff. Meanwhile, the fans just want to know who is going to make the playoffs. There are only four games left in the season and the Washington Sentinels need to win three of them to make it into the playoffs. The owner of the team (Jack Warden) recruits burned-out coach McGinty (Gene Hackman) to take over a team that will be made up of replacement players. McGinty says that he wants to pick his own players and he doesn’t want any interference from the team’s owner. Anyone want to guess how long that’s going to last?

McGinty’s team is made up of the usual collection of quirky misfits who show up in movies like this. Tight End Brian Murphy (David Denman, who later played Roy on The Office) is deaf. One of the offensive linemen is a former SUMO wrestler. Orlando Jones plays a receiver who has a day job at a grocery store. The kicker (Rhys Ifan) is a Welsh soccer player. (Okay, a footballer, I don’t care, call it whatever you want.) Jon Favreau plays a berserk defender who is a member of the police force. Leading them on the field is Shane Falco (Keanu Reeves), a quarterback with a confidence problem. Cheering for them from the sidelines and falling in love with Shane is bar owner-turned-head-cheerleader Annabelle (Brooke Langton). Backing up Annabelle is a cheer squad made up of former strippers, the better to distract the other teams.

It’s not often you see a film where the heroes cross a picket line but that’s what happens with The Replacements. Then again, it’s not like the folks on strike are driving trucks or unloading freight for a living. They’re multi-millionaires who want even more money and don’t even care about whether the team wins or loses. When the replacement players actually start to win games and become beloved in the city, the striking players react by starting a bar brawl. In the end, striking quarterback Eddie Martell (Brett Cullen) doesn’t even stick with his principles. He crosses the picket line and creates a quarterback controversy, just in time for the last game of the season.

The Replacements is thoroughly predictable but also very likable. The cast gels nicely, with Hackman especially standing out as the gruff but caring coach. Keanu Reeves is not totally believable as a quarterback with a confidence problem. You take one look at Reeves and you don’t believe he’s had an insecure day in his life. But, as an actor, he’s so likable that it doesn’t matter. The same goes for the entire cast, whether they’re on the playing field or singing I Will Survive in jail. I don’t particularly care much about football but I did enjoy The Replacements.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Guilty Pleasure No. 80: Point Break (dir by Kathryn Bigelow)

Posted on April 15, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Some films are so ludicrous and self-aware of their absurdity that you can’t help but love them and that’s certainly the case with 1991’s Point Break.

Consider what Point Break offers us:

First, you’ve got Keanu Reeves playing a former college football star who, after blowing out his knee, ended up joining the FBI. Keanu, who looks like he’s barely out of high school in this film, plays a character with the wonderful name of Johnny Utah. Keanu gives a relaxed performance. You can tell that he’s having fun in this movie and Johnny Utah’s enthusiasm is infectious. Personally, I prefer Johnny Utah to John Wick.

Secondly, you’ve got Patrick Swayze as Bodhi, the ruthless bank robber who is also a surfer. Much like Reeves, Swayze could occasionally be a stiff actor but in this film, you can tell he’s having fun and again, it’s hard not have fun watching him as he spouts his surfer philosophy, jumps out of planes, and dreams of dying while mastering a 50-foot wave. Swayze is so charismatic as Bodhi that you totally buy that Johnny Utah would like him despite all the times that Bodhi tries to kill him.

You’ve got Bodhi’s bank-robbing gang, who call themselves the Ex-Presidents. Bodhi wears a Ronald Reagan mask. Other members of the gang wear LBJ, Nixon, and Carter masks. “I am not a crook!” Nixon says. The wonderful thing about the Ex-Presidents is that they seem to truly enjoy robbing banks. Of course, they also enjoy surfing.

Gary Busey plays a character who is not Gary Busy. Instead, he’s Johnny’s partner. Everyone in the FBI laughs at him when he says the bank robbers are surfers but guess who knows what he’s talking about! Seriously, though, it’s always interesting to see Gary Busey in the years when he was still a somewhat serious actor.

John C. McGinley does the uptight boss thing. Lori Petty is the waitress who teaches Johnny Utah how to surf. The surf footage is beautifully shot. A soaked Johnny give the camera a thumbs-up. Director Kathryn Bigelow keeps the action moving quickly and, just as she did with Near Dark, uses the film’s genre trappings to explore the bond that holds together a group of outsiders.

It’s an over-the-top and cheerfully absurd film and it’s impossible not to love it. I haven’t felt the need to watch the remake. Why would I? The original has everything I need.

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