Review: John Wick Chapter 4

John Wick: Chapter 4
Cert: 15 / 169 mins / Dir. Chad Stahelski / Trailer

Much like the Mission:Impossible series, I always seem to forget quite how much I enjoy John Wick movies until I'm watching one. Keanu Reeves returns for a another outing in Chad Stahelski's needless-yet-welcome fourquel about the put-upon hitman who hoped he was out, but no he's still back in again. No, again-again.

And, as one would hope and expect, it works well, a sort of live-action cartoon and brutal ballet which embraces overtly comic violence to rival classic Tom & Jerry. The film spends an admirable amount of time lining up its plot points, considering the audience are really here just here for the lensflare, blood-plumes and shell casings.

HANDLE

A fine and rounded supporting cast*¹ handle the bulk of the exposition, with the series learning from its past misdemeanours as good ol' Keanu only seems to have around 90 words of dialogue throughout the entire movie, which helps everyone immeasurably. Along with Neo and Morpheus in attendance, sly nods to The Matrix continue to trickle in*², with grandiose staircases, slow-mo nightclub scenes*³ and Bill Skarsgård channelling an adolescently pouting Merovingian.

At a tad under three hours, there's an overall steadiness of pace which doesn't feel so much like padding, but it's definitely an earned self-indulgence. Many have accused the film of being too long, but in all honesty this is just Stahelski enjoying atmospheric breathers between the violence. There is nothing in John Wick: Chapter 4 without beauty or purpose.

MAKE A STAND

Yet once again, the real stars of the movie are the cinematography*⁴ and fight choreography. A pleasing number of cut-free sequences of the former allow the latter to flourish, and just watching this is an exhausting experience in the best possible way. There are few belly laughs in the script, but chuckles aplenty.

John Wick: Chapter 4 is enormously satisfyingly fun. Sure it's More Of The Same, but when The Same is this well executed, is that such a bad thing?

*¹ As much as I enjoyed this, every scene with Hiroyuki Sanada made me wish I was watching Bullet Train again, and every scene with Donny Yen made me want to revisit Rogue One. But then, I am incredibly suggestible. ^{[ BACK ]}

*² I like how Laurence Fishburne will keep coming back for walk-on roles in John Wick, but apparently won't touch The Matrix< with a sh!tty broom handle. ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ Although Scott Adkins' performance as rent-a-villain nightclub owner Killa feels like Steve Coogan playing Rick Waller in a Bond parody. There, I said it. ^{[ BACK ]}

*⁴ Seriously, the only thing more dazzling than the lighting in this film is Ian McShane's veneers. Good lord. ^{[ BACK ]}

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: John Wick 3

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum
Cert: 15 / 131 mins / Dir. Chad Stahelski / Trailer



Well, if the second John Wick movie was a ballet of destruction, its successor is probably closer to a pantomime, although the whole thing is no less enjoyable for that. The closest you’ll get to restraint in this threequel is the full five minutes it takes for John to get round to killing someone at the top of the film. And in a bout of creativity which embodies the first act, he does this with a library book.

BROKEN

Once this seal is broken it’s business as usual however, and the bodies soon begin to pile up alongside the shell-casings and dulled blades. The over-earnest tugging on the audience’s heart-strings as a justification for unbridled murder is toned right down this time (in fact, it basically occurs in those five minutes back there), and this chapter just gets right to what the audience have arrived for: a trigger-happy orgy of righteous vengeance.

CRIMSON

It’s all massively self-indulgent of course, but by this point Chad Stahelski has more than earned it. Keanu glides along, right at home in his blood-splattered suit and sardonic demeanour, shining throughout. Likewise, while her screentime is somewhat more limited, Halle Berry steps up to the plate and is every bit as magnificent when it comes to doling out punishment. Not to be outdone, Ian McShane is just as flamboyantly, theatrically and infuriatingly lazy as he was in Hellboy. But we’d expect nothing less.

John Wick 3 is far too long of course, it begins not making too much sense and loses more narrative focus along the way. By the time the third act rolls around you can barely tell who John is fighting now and it matters even less.

And I absolutely loved it.

The first two John Wick movies, obviously. But there's also an air of The Raid to the final act, even if JW3 doesn't have that film's clarity or determination..



It is.

Speaking of such matters, how the hell is this a 15 cert when Beats gets an 18? Yeah alright there are 38 c-bombs in that movie, but it's basically teenagers getting mashed at a rave and being punched by the police. John Wick 3 has headshots. So. Many. Headshots…



It is.



Well, let's not pretend that everything Keanu touches turns to gold. He's been in (and continues to be in), some right old shite. But by the same token, the John Wick movies could easily have been some right old shite with anyone else in the lead. This is a case of the perfect performer in the perfect role..



Unlikely.



I think I heard a low-level one when the goons*¹ are sent in to clear out The Bowery King's pad, but I suspect that a Wilhelm in this movie would be loud and proud, so let's side with no.



Level 1: Tasu Leech is in this.





*¹ I mean some run-of-the-mill, henchman-type goons. Not The Goons.
That would have altered the tone of the film somewhat. ^{[ BACK ]}

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Hellboy (2019)

Hellboy
Cert: 15 / 121 mins / Dir. Neil Marshall / Trailer



Hang on, I thought we'd all agreed to stop putting King Arthur in movies for the next hundred years or so? It doesn't work. We know it doesn't work*¹. And it especially doesn't work when you open your movie with Ian McShane grasping the mantle handed to him by the departure of dear John Hurt, the faux-gravitas of his acerbic voiceover setting the scriptual bar at a clunkingly low level before stepping into the shoes of Professor Broom, erstwhile father-figure to David Harbour's Hellboy.

Born in the latter days of the Second World War from a crazed Nazi experiment to attain victory by channelling the forces of the netherworld, an infant demon has been raised to adulthood by Broom and the Bureau For Paranormal Research And Defense, now an agent for the organisation where he assists in keeping the world safe from unspeakable terrors. So far, so much like the previous two movies. But this relative harmony is shattered by the return of the Blood Queen, Nimue (Mila Jovovich), dismembered and scattered by King Arthur centuries earlier, but being gradually re-assembled for reanimation by her loyal henchman, Gruagach (Stephen Graham). Because, as with so many resurgent tyrants, she's coming back to ensure humanity's destruction...

IMAGINE

And it's even sillier than you'd imagine, somehow. As noted above, the film does not get off to a good start. Andrew Cosby's screenplay is clunky, preposterous and without a cast who can really carry off most of it. That said, within ten minutes Hellboy is all-in battling an errant demon at a Mexican wrestling match while Scorpions' Rock You Like A Hurricane plays over the top. If that's not a signpost for the weapons-grade silliness to follow, nothing is. Of course, it's at this point that the casual viewer may well think 'hang on, this has gone full 'Dusk Till Dawn' incredibly early - where is there to go from here?' The answer comes in the metaphorical form of director Neil Marshall pointing at a dial and saying "...but this film goes up to 11".

Despite this full-on action being activated from the off, the film's first act suggests that there's not really enough 'new' content here to justify a full cinematic reboot for the franchise (although it was initially slated to be an in-universe prequel). Without Guillermo Del Toro's melancholy touch*², Hellboy becomes Kingsman-meets-Nightbreed. And it turns out the differently-labelled bottle that no one asked for is the tonic we all needed.

SWEET LORD

It's difficult to un-learn Ron Perlman's anti-hero but Harbour makes this interpretation his own in short order, giving a surprisingly rounded turn (for this film) as a character with a demon's body, a hero's responsibilities and very human limitations. McShane barks his way through the script as only he can, yet he's still like Laurence Olivier compared to Milla Jovovich, gnawing her way through the scenery in full pantomime-mode. The plot structure is by now par for the course with this sort of thing, and scripting issues continue way past the opening scene-setting. It's unclear how much of this is inherent to a property which carries its corniness with more sincerity on the printed page.

But when the talking's over and it's time for action, Hellboy is good fun. Bloody good fun (and often very bloody). Perhaps more fun than someone like Guillermo knows how to have, in all honesty. It's a movie made by someone who seems to genuinely not care what the critics think; which is either the ultimate in artistic purity, or a staggering lack of self-awareness. Possibly both.

STAND TOGETHER

Basically a live-action horror cartoon, Hellboy is unapologetically schlocky. Whether this is a good or a bad thing will depend almost entirely on the viewer. Despite the many words which will be written about Marshall's project (including these), it's a film which boldly defies critical appraisal. Acutely aware of how daft it is and just not caring anyway. And is all the better for that. Marshall and Cosby initially do a solid enough job of starting things in medias res, with backstory left for the viewer to pluck from between the heavy-handed lines of conversation.

As things move on however, it becomes clear they're both buggers for an expository flashback, taking 'show-don't-tell' to startling new levels of superfluousness. They also absolutely adore a casual fuck-bomb. Hellboy more than earns its hard 15 certificate on the language alone, the vast majority of which is delivered with a very British facetiousness that may well pass over the heads international audiences*³.

Your humble correspondent went into this with no real baggage, struggled with its unwieldy nature, yet found himself grinning like an idiot by the third act. Mötley Crüe playing over a laboratory shoot-out? Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. Embrace the ridiculousness and it's one hell of a ride. There are industrial amounts of sequel-baiting going on, including mid- and end-credit stingers, but that's okay - a movie's got to at least try and leave its options open.

2019's Hellboy is demonstrably not a great film. And it's still the most gleefully excessive fun I've had in the cinema this year…

Oh, Drive Angry. Fuck yeah.



Well, me and about five other people on the planet think so.



With the best will in the world, see this BIG or don't bother.
As much as I love it, I'm not sure how it'll translate to the small screen.



I can't call that one. I absolutely loved Marshall's Dog Soldiers back in the day, but have to admit that it's not aged well.



Well it's looking that way, isn't it?



Not that I heard, but there's a shit-ton of screaming going on here, so I may well have missed it. Yet at the same time, a movie like Hellboy would wear a Wilhelm on its sleeve proudly, so let's go with 'no'.



Level 1: Well, there's a definite Taun-taun reference when they're at the chip shop, but also General Draven is in this.





*¹ Yeah, I just didn't go to see The Kid Who Would Be King, recently. Heard nothing but good things about it, yet every time I sat through the trailer in a cinema I could feel my ulcer loosening its belt another notch. That film looks custom-designed to annoy me and I see no reason to confirm that it fulfils its remit. ^{[ BACK ]}

*² While I don't actively dislike his work, Guillermo Del Toro is basically Tim Burton for film-snobs. There. I said it. ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ One of the film's low-key standouts is where Gruagach - the seven foot tall boar-headed demon with a thick Scouse accent who uses the fuck-word as punctuation - offers Nimue the Blood Queen some actual Jaffa Cakes. Fantastic stuff. This is hands-down the best product placement since Seabrook Crisps rocked up in The Fast & The Furious. ^{[ BACK ]}


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: John Wick - Chapter 2

John Wick: Chapter 2
Cert: 15 / 122 mins / Dir. Chad Stahelski / Trailer



After the adverts, trailers and more adverts have finished running, there's often a moment in the cinema where the whirring, motorised screen-edges widen, taking the aspect-ratio from 16:9(ish) to 2.35:1(ish). When this happens, my brain has one of three reactions. 1) This is as it should be, for the film I'm about to watch. 2) Well that's a pleasant surprise, considering the film I'm about to watch. 3) Get in, 33%(ish) more visible screen-death! There are no prizes for guessing which one of these crossed my mind before I read the BBFC-card for John Wick: Chapter 2…

Now it's not unfair to say that Chad Stahelski's sequel assumes (indeed, requires) that you enjoyed the first movie. In the first act at least, there's very little 'world building' going on and the film basically starts on 10 with a car-chase/shoot-up. A little more background is painted in later, but by then the adrenaline's been pumping so long that it doesn't matter how little sense the plot makes.

Still aggrieved about the can of worms he opened in the first movie*¹, Chapter 2 sees retired hitman John owing someone a favour, trying to get out of that favour, repaying that favour and then wishing he hadn't bothered when everybody's trying to kill him. Who'd make an honour-deal with a criminal overlord, eh? Keanu Reeves does his best concerned-face as he relies on old friends and acquaintances to help him out, and the action moves to Italy for Artistic Reasons™ (although not permanently). Floating vibrantly through the air, plumes of blood gently redecorate the walls of Roman catacombs as their ballistic forebears percussively counter them by taking chunks out of the stonework. John Wick: Chapter 2 is a ballet of destruction, fully aware of its own preposterousness but never breaking its poker-face.

As predicted, Reeves' acting-chops don't get any better, but I'm not sure they can now. Luckily, this is one of the rare exceptions where his mahogany-esque acting only adds to the charm of the film. Peter Stormare hams up the opening exposition, Ian McShane returns to chew the scenery in the film's down-time, and there's also some fantastic over-acting from Laurence Fishburne (it's pretty great to see Neo and Morpheus back together again). It's genuinely like a bunch of old friends going 'don't worry Keanu, we've got your back'.

Although the first movie wasn't exactly a passive-aggressive note left on the office-fridge door, the sequel seems to have taken some lessons from Kingsmen as far as the dark-humour is concerned. I found myself cackling at some nameless henchman's demise on more than one occasion. And in terms of the wound-resistant, globe-trotting, anti-hero murderer archetype, the film wipes the floor with the likes of xXx. John Wick hasn't got time excruciating flirting when there are sharply-dressed gangsters that need despatching. The one-hit kills of lesser movies are nowhere to be seen, as Wick double-taps his way through each set-piece, a spray of claret emitting from each insurance shot. Gloriously irresponsible, it's the cinematic equivalent of four pints of diesel and a round of tequila slammers on a Tuesday night.

If you enjoy John Wick: Chapter 2 for no other reason, spare a thought for cinematographer Dan Laustsen, tasked with setting up a prolonged climactic shootout*² in a maze of revolving mirrors, while ensuring the audience don't see the cameras. Outstanding work, sir…

John Wick, pretty much.



Big, loud = good.



Absolutely.



It's definitely up there, to be fair.



I shouldn't imagine so.



Inexplicably not.



Level 1: This film's got the (first) voice of Darth Maul in it.


*³


*¹ The first flick saw 84 people buying the farm because some hoodlums killed John's dog. The sequel features 128 people carking it because a photo of John's now-dead wife got burned. At this rate, John Wick Chapter 3 will be Keanu Reeves murdering 250 gangsters because one of them left the milk out on the side before going to work… ^{[ BACK ]}

*² At the point where John gets given a pistol and seven rounds (one for each million-dollars making up the price on his head), I thought 'Oh, is the film about to go a bit Deadpool and show us how economical a killing machine the man can be? Is he really going to get through the finale of the film firing only seven shots?. The film then answered this by essentially saying "Ha-hah, is he fuck". John uses all the rounds on the first foot-soldier he comes across before taking that guy's gun and escalating from there. Restraint? Not in this screenplay, sunshine. ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ For reasons best-known only to myself two years ago, I marked the first movie at 5 out of 7, despite having only good things to say about it and nothing but fond memories since. Perhaps I was judging it against the more earnest action-movies which it's clearly not trying to be. Oddly enough, a work-colleague of mine told me last week he'd gone to watch John Wick for the first time in anticipation of the new movie, but gave up after twenty minutes because of the atrocious acting. Whichever way, I marked it 5 so I must have been feeling that at the time. And while it's hard for me to say that Chapter 2 is a "better" film, it's definitely a 6, so there we go. Make of that what you will.^{[ BACK ]}


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Grimsby (aka The Brothers Grimsby)

Grimsby (aka The Brothers Grimsby)
Cert: 15 / 83 mins / Dir. Louis Leterrier / Trailer


Ah, Mr Baron Cohen, we've been expecting you. Striding blithely forth, the standard-bearer of 2016's first cinematic graveyard shift is Grimsby, a thinly connected series of comedy/spy set-pieces, overflowing with swagger and stupidity like the bastard-brother of Kingsman that only took two GCSEs and managed to fail those.

Never quite at his best on the big screen, Sacha is aided and abetted by a faintly embarrassed-looking Mark Strong; the perennial straight-man in an utterly mechanical screenplay which spends its short 83 minutes constantly searching for the comedic lowest common denominator; and managing to surpass itself time after time as it finds new thresholds of common decency to disregard. Ian McShane and Isla Fisher are confined to a black-ops control room and escape largely with their dignity intact, which is more than can be said for almost every other member of the cast, including Penelope Cruz who doesn't quite seem to know why she's there (and is arguably better-off for that). Perhaps most amazing of all is that the film's star, born and raised in London, has more difficulty holding on to his The North™ accent than his screen-wife Rebel Wilson. Who is from Sydney. On the other side of the actual world.

Fixated with exaggerated stereotypes that have already been flogged to death elsewhere, Grimsby chooses broad, easy targets and attacks them with the bluntest of instruments, attempting to satirise The Class of Jeremy Kyle whilst also selling them tickets and popcorn. Even the film itself isn't sure who it's actually for.

In fact, I can't really understand why I enjoyed it so much…*¹

The cruder aspects of Kingsman certainly, with shades of The Inbetweeners and maybe just a pinch of Bourne.



That's not really essential for this movie.



Grimsby aims low in every sense, so it probably does, yes.



Nope.



Nope.



Nope.



Level 2: Grimsby stars Ian McShane, who also appeared in The Golden Compass alongside Christopher 'Dooku' Lee and Daniel 'Suggestible Stormtrooper' Craig.







*¹ I can't even explain it, because if the film had starred Adam Sandler instead of Sacha Baron Cohen, I'd have fucking despised it. This is in no way, shape or form a good movie, either technically or artistically. But I enjoyed it very much.


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Hercules

Hercules (3D)
Cert: 12A / 98 mins / Dir. Brett Ratner




So as readers of the WoB Facebook Page will probably know, I wasn't expecting great things of Hercules, and dear old Brett Ratner has still managed to slightly disappoint me. Not massively; that's not his style. He just takes it to the line where you think "Oh, Brett. Was this really your vision for the project? Really, though?"

I don't have any real problem with undemanding entertainment in the cinema as long as there's a healthy dose of fun to go along with it. Sadly, the screenplay of Ratner's latest flick seems to have been written as part of a GCSE project and is a completely subtext-free zone, with characters explaining the plot at every turn; to the point where they even explain the emotions that Dwayne Johnson can't emote properly*¹.

By the time you add on Herc's super-team of allies; the mystical sage one (McShane), the wisecracking mercenary one (Sewell), the troubled beserker one (Hennie), the girl one (Berdal) and the young funny upstart one (Ritchie); you've basically got a live-action 1980's Filmation cartoon (but with the notable addition of a couple of 'Bastard's and one 'Fuck-Word', to get that 'edgy' 12A certificate).

Chronicling the last of the labours of Hercules (well, so it says - Ritchie's godawful narration mentions the twelve tasks in the opening scene, then only goes on to show/describe three of them*²), the screenplay lurches between mechanical and full-on laughable. At least the cast have the decency to look and sound embarrassed with some of the lines they have to deliver (John Hurt is an exception, see below). The fact that it's "based on" a a graphic novel strengthens the poor reputation that ink-to-screen adaptations already have, and the film betrays its 300-wannabe roots with an animated credit sequence which is marginally more interesting than the film which preceded it.

By no means the most poorly received film to bear the name this year, Hercules is nonetheless an unconvincing effort, made more prominent by the scattering of renowned names in its cast list.

Although the plot-nods to Star Wars and Seven Samurai could be described at best as "borrowing", Hercules saves its most profound cinematic homage to reference The Wizard Of Oz; in that the film displays remarkable courage, but no heart and no brain.

Oh, pretty much.



I laughed more than I was supposed to; that's about it, I'm afraid.



I'd be worried if it does.



Netflix, tops.



I doubt I'd expend the effort to vehemently disagree with you, no.



Can't see that happening, but who knows?



I think I heard one buried in the final battle scene where Everything Is On Fire. Although I was hoping there was going to be one earlier when people were getting shot off horses, as that would be the purest use of the effect. Alas, not.

John. John Hurt. What were you thinking? You're cheapening your own brand with this shit, really.
The others? They're made for this b-list stuff, and I know we've all got bills to pay, but I expect more from you.

*¹ I'm not trying to be unfair to Johnson, I've seen him be more than adequate on many occasions; but this really isn't the film for him, muscles or not. His character needs to portray grief and regret, neither of which are straightforward at the best of times.

*² And how come right, how come, we see Herc fighting a massive lion with his bare hands, then later we see him wearing a sort of feline-Davy-Crockett-hat fashioned from a lion which was clearly a third of the size of the one he apparently killed? Did he kill its kittens, too? What an absolute bastard.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.