'Ballerina' briefing

3 (out of 4)

            That Cuban interlude early in No Time to Die was so good it elevated the whole movie — hell it elevated the Craig era, or at least it did 90 minutes before the legacy was blown to smithereens — and it was in no small part due to what Ana de Armas brought to the table, not just as probably the last Bond girl proper but in disarming, mousy moxie. It was, for all intentions, an audition tape, one that made the announcement of John Wick’s first non-Chapter detour Ballerina (one of those spin-offs you never expect to make it anywhere close to fruition) seem like a damn good idea, even if the charming rookie energy of her character in Bond 25 had to be reduced to regular revenge motivations — I guess cute cheekiness is more permissible if you’re murdering people left and right for the CIA instead of living out the archetypal role of the righteously indignant, cold-blooded assassin.

De Armas doesn’t go for as grave as Keanu’s trademark stoicism, but her wrangled charisma and less ludicrous spite (gonna kill her cat or something?) are among the few less likable aspects of Ballerina, aside from any and every spin-off suffering from a sense of superfluousness. To no discredit, this fifth Wicked picture is unable to outstrip its small company of lady-led action thrillers, even by franchise alum — David Leitch assisted as director of the 2014 original uncredited and would immediately do what Ballerina does only better in the lucid, lean, lip-smacking Charlize Theron vehicle Atomic Blonde. Then of course it’s hard to live up to quasi-feminist, high-heeled carnage in touchstones like Kill Bill, Luc Besson’s boldest (namely the underground recruitment/revenge formula of La Femme Nikita) and Steven Soderbergh’s impeccable treat Haywire. You can throw The Villainess in there too, the most recent tragic-beauty-kicks-ass-in-some-extortion-cult scenario (Korean style!) as this franchise continues its nods in the direction of eastern influences akin to that pair from the Raid movies (Yayan Ruhian and Cecep Arif Rahman) popping up in Chapter 3 and, well, the whole Osaka sequence of Chapter 4 supported by Japanese legend Hiroyuki Sanada, with Donnie Yen beyond mentioning.

Even if it turns out to be one of the World of Wick’s worst (maybe I’m a soï for thinking this bests Chapter 2), it’s sure as shit sharper than similar RBF knees-to-the-nuts cinema fit for progressively duller career moments for Scarlett Johansson (Lucy/Black Widow), Angelina Jolie (Salt) and Jennifer Lawrence (Red Sparrow). And not that it means much, but Ballerina is director Len Wiseman’s finest hour by leagues — the guy hasn’t made a movie since the complete memory-holing of 2012’s stale Verhoeven recycle Total Recall and 2007’s shoddy Live Free or Die Hard (PG-13? For real?). Otherwise Wiseman’s claim to fame is Underworld and its beefed up sequel Underworld: Evolution, where in either case grave style (and no doubt Kate Beckinsdale in leather spandex) did the heavy lifting — this retains some of the hard-R larger-than-life backstabbery, swapping the strong suit of gothic edge for a clandestine, neck-deep dip in neon. However unlike the trashy, pontificating politicking of Lycan/vampire shadow wars, Ballerina insists on being as brisk in the action-comma-action-comma restlessness of its sister installment John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum. This is the best sorta numbing non-stop roller-coaster ride bullshit you could ever hope for, especially in trying to follow up Chapter 4’s slow, swelling setups to huge, sustained, orgasmic releases of tension.

In taking place during (and I suppose after?) the events of Parabellum, this primer for John Wick: Chapter 5 (Ballerina’s breather serves more as Reeves’ R&R than franchising) finds Lionsgate shoehorning Keanu’s character into the fray even before third act shenanigans, overplaying their already strong hand. I was already plenty pleased enough without his own personalized cutaway sequence on top of a “””fight””” with de Armas’ Eve Macarro in which he is conveniently completely holding back. But since the joke of John Wick is his role as the ultimate Gary Stu, despite her less legendary ledger you can’t accuse Ms. Macarro of flaunting the quite the same superhuman plot armor — she fights dirty and even goes full Karen in order to ensure her survival… however while in JW3 he gets pricked in the neck and needs a doctor in the first 15 minutes, Eve takes two nasty blows by blade to the back and it’s not a thing. But HEY Lance Reddick lives once more, my goodness!

Then, finally, spin-offs just always suck… this may be the most respectable ever made, since what, is Minions best in show for actually outstripping its progenitor? Ballerina positively dunks on the underrated Elektra, overrated Birds of Prey and, for garish excuses for fight sequences, Snake Eyes can eat it too. The fact that it feels about as assured as George Miller’s Furiosa (also key fem-revenge fare) is not too shabby… Sorry, I can’t qualify sequels to spin-offs, so Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and Logan don’t really count. Leitch directed the all too relevant Fast & Furious offshoot Hobbs & Shaw but Ballerina turned out so much better, cut more from cleaner cloth and just pound for pound very, very entertaining and infinitely more rewarding in its written-off ridiculousness.

What an altogether delectable waste of time, with great variations on the assassin antics popularized by Wick (gun-fu on ice! Interrupted gear-up sequences! Grenades-only extravaganzas!) that somehow doesn’t feel like a careless comedown after the exacting cinematic surge of Chapter 4 but rather like Wiseman afforded us more traditional action movie editing rather than a daft imitation of Chad Stahelski’s now signature wide-framed stunts-do-the-talking staging. Ballerina’s a mirthful, mindful extension of the most palpably exhilarating action franchise still breathing (since I’m taking Mission: Impossible’s mammoth curtain call on its word) so even if there’s nothing terribly indispensable about this action heroine amuse-bouche, more importantly there’s surprisingly little wrong with it. It economically skips the prerequisite cult-come-up after investing in necessary tragedy (of course her Dad looks like Reeves’ stunt double), is hardly over-sexualized and male-g(l)azey like all of F&F, reduces as many in-references as it can, the solid do-nothing villain courtesy of Gabriel Byrne doesn’t whip out karate or anything and, most importantly, they don’t pat themselves on the back for bravely presenting the LADY John Wick movie, so props.

There are maybe 5-6 sequences cascading thru the second act, so especially next to Marvel’s latest bouts of boredom (Thunderbolts has what, one SINGLE sequence, also I don’t give a shit about the characters? Sweet.) this movie is just what subversive blockbusters should be, like Wick 3 was in 2019, just a sensational, stubbornly self-indulgent, semi-sadistic respite of gnarly, bisexually-color-blasted, bloody good-spirited combat and life-taking, reveling in what choreography-driven showmanship can do for the CGI-dominated dilution of summer’s moviegoing delight. “Hell hath no fury” and all that jazz… Seriously who doesn't like watching an attractive female assassin beat the shit out of people?