★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
For just one moment in John
Wick: Chapter 2, Keanu Reeves looks old. Years of internet memes have tried
to convince us that the Point Break star
has barely aged a jot in almost two decades, but a tiny instant of greying
vulnerability is what sells the story to come and prevents the Keanaissance
from becoming a Keanuisance. Ex master assassin, John Wick, sits wearily on the
edge of his bed, replaying the same video of his deceased wife from the first
film, convinced that he’s finally escaped the clutches of self-destruction. But
then an incendiary grenade lands in his living room, and any chance of
retirement is quickly vaporised. A higher-up in the assassin’s organisation (Riccardo
Scamarcio on perfectly slimy form) delivers a fight-or-flight
ultimatum, and Wick is resigned to step back into hell, perhaps for good.
Every bit of behind-the-scenes reasoning for this film
appears to be “Because it’s cool!”, whether it’s an extended gunfight in a
swirling hall of mirrors, Laurence Fishburne as the head of a homeless spy
network or Wick bracing his rifle against an injured opponent’s chest so he can
reload. But I think it’s clear that director Chad Stahelski is far more
practical than that. His roots in stunt co-ordination lend the film a formal
construction that is conservative but never cold, a blend of efficient
narrative and burning neon visuals. The result can only come from someone who
understands gunplay, understands choreography, and – most importantly –
understands what’s so entertaining about both.
The opening shot makes an unabashed reference to Buster
Keaton and the wonderful physicality and comedy of silent cinema, and these
qualities are revisited time and again as the film progresses. A punch-up between
Wick and rival hitman Cassian (a fantastically brusque Common) leads to much
tumbling down concrete steps, at once thuddingly felt and smirk-inducing. A
later sequence sees the trademark display of firearm accuracy give way to two
duellists taking po-faced pot-shots at each other to the complete ignorance of
the crowd between them. The dialogue, too, is still played with a knowing straight
face, and writer Derek Kolstad retains those lovely "Oh sh*t" moments when a
baddie finds out who’s coming for them. Plus, if you thought Q from the James
Bond movies would be far more entertaining as a grinning gun fetishist, this
movie’s got you covered.
Understandably, the brutality of Wick’s descent back into
the underworld has drawn many comparisons to the head-crunching action of
Gareth Evans’ The Raid and its sequel.
A valid connection to make, though there is a marked difference: if the Raid movies are a ballet, the John Wick series is a disco. They’re
perhaps less refined and more accessible, but easily every bit as
eye-wateringly magnetic. And what a bankable DJ Keanu Reeves is. It’s so hard
to believe the force of nature who begins the movie punching goons with his car
is the same piece of balsa wood who bored us to death in The Matrix sequels. I'm
convinced the real Keanu was cryogenically frozen by a clone for 15 years and
now he's out, taking revenge on bad movies by starring in The Neon Demon and John
Wick but forcing the duplicate to take things like Knock Knock.
It’s just so good to see him back playing an actual
character, rather than the plaything of Eli Roth’s gross misjudgement or a
mouthpiece for the Wachowski’s philosophical mumbo-jumbo. I actually found
myself asking questions in the midst of full-blown firefights. Why is John so
swift to re-enter the fray? Is he addicted? It is a reflex action? Can he ever
truly retire? Did he just stab that man in his Mr. Happy? These are all very
similar to questions we’ve been asking since the first film (and we may have to
wait a couple of years for some answers), but they’re no less engaging. There
are attempts to expand the mythology of the world (admirable but unsuccessful,
as they upset the pacing), but John Wick:
Chapter 2 works best when totally focused on its anti-hero; asking us to
pity him as he frees someone’s stomach from their midsection with an
expertly-placed shotgun blast.
