Never a dull moment as Keanu’s stamina is pushed to the limit
John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum 15 cert, 130 min
★★★★★ Dir Chad Stahelski
Starring Keanu Reeves, Ian Mcshane, Halle Berry, Laurence Fishburne, Anjelica Huston, Mark Dacascos, Lance Reddick, Jason Mantzoukas, Jerome Flynn, Robin Lord Taylor
The title of the third instalment of the John Wick trilogy is taken from the Latin para bellum (prepare for war). In contracted form, “Parabellum” also denotes a brand of First World War machine gun; a Luger pistol; a French punk rock group, a Colombian heavy metal one; and a Russian one that achieved brief fame in 2010’s Eurovision.
Keanu Reeves doesn’t use all of the above to tick off kills in his lavish capper to Wick’s tale, but he’s rarely short of deafening firearms. Even when he is, there are plenty of alternatives: throwing knives, an axe, two attack dogs, the back legs of several stallions, and a leather-bound tome in New York’s public library. It’s with this unsuspecting opus that John Wick fends off his first attacker, minutes before the clock strikes to render him persona non grata throughout the worldwide assassins’ guild to which every last character in these films belongs.
Wick broke the rules in Chapter 2, spilling blood on the sacred ground of the Continental Hotel owned by Winston (Ian Mcshane), and as a result, has lost access to its privileges. So it’s open season on his head, with a $14million bounty. Old allies such as the Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne), a pigeon fancier enthroned in rooftop splendour, are
powerless to help him, but he calls in some favours from thus-far-unseen sources – Halle Berry, as a Moroccobased hitwoman called Sofia, and Anjelica Huston, as a queenly ballet impresario called The Director.
As relentless action sequels go, Parabellum stands comparison with The Raid 2, with a meaty set piece every reel or so. The first half hour or so is propulsive and inspired, partly due to Wick’s impending exile deadline and his race to run certain errands before the time runs out. After all, he has a new dog, a charming grey bull terrier, to shepherd to safety, and has to stitch up one of his own flesh wounds, with surgery half completed at the witching hour.
The rest of the film feels openended, expensive, and a bit strained. Morocco is an incense-filled detour, giving Berry a decent showing, with her pair of trusty mutts leaping into the fray to savage prone baddies, usually in the crotch region. Jerome Flynn is a nice surprise, enjoying himself for one sequence as a suspiciously accented grand fromage.
If the film’s loose plotting has an affinity with lesser 007, it’s never dull. Asia Kate Dillon (Orange Is the New Black) dominates the New York scenes as a new character called The Adjudicator, a brutally polite, glovewielding emissary telling even underworld kingpins when their goose is cooked. Despite mainly vogueing and saying “gentlemen”, Dillon fares better than Mark Dacascos – Hawaiian kung fu star and regular action maven – who has some goofy moments as Wick’s biggest fan, craving the glory of being the one to take him down. Like most of the film’s stabs at humour, these sit oddly with the straight-faced portentousness.
The finale is generically entertaining, but something is off. The films have expanded around Wick without filling out the character. The best hint of his tidy samurai personality comes early – he’s the kind of guy to return a library book to its shelf after using it to snap someone’s neck. And, at 54, Reeves doesn’t have to feign exhaustion, holding his own against wave after wave of stuntmen half his age – he looks knackered.
His stamina in the part has got us to the finish line, but the sequels seem tailored to the audience, not him.