I’m old enough to remember when it was cool and knowing to slag off Keanu. ‘He’s going to play someone with no brain you say [Johnny Mnemonic]? How appropriate?”. How we laughed! I hope I’m also old enough to know better now. Of course, Keanu has been in his share of bad films and has been bad in a few films too. A glance through his back catalogue will also show how many damn good movies he’s been in. As I heard one critic put it recently, his strength doesn’t lie with his voice so much as it does with his body. And your body is a big part of the actor’s trade.
We come now to the third John Wick movie, a franchise that has put Keanu centre stage in the film-goers’ consciousness once more. I think the world is a better place for that. This is a series of films in which Keanu channels grief and its attendant stages – anger, denial, bargaining – through the tightly wound coil of his body, inflicting pain on anyone who crosses his path. By the end of this film, the whole set of three has only covered a few weeks of narrative at most. This is a man whose grief and his reaction to it is leading him further and further down the rabbit hole.
It’s utterly relentless, breathlessly entertaining. You feel every bone snap and every shattered pane of glass deep in your bones; there’s wit laced with the violence too. Death by horse, death by dog, death by book (carefully placed back on the shelf in the right place afterwards, naturally). The world of assassins with a moral code is expanded and doesn’t make sense, but somehow that’s all part of the fun. Asia Kate Dillon is particularly good as the person who makes seemingly arbitrary decisions as to what’s going on on behalf of the ever invisible High Table. There’s a staggering sequence on motorbikes that I would have liked to have lasted longer. There’s a direct quote from The Matrix, and several other cinematic nods besides. And there’s neon. So much neon.
It’s balletic, stylised violence by way of John Woo and The Raid films; the sort of thing Tarantino reached for in Kill Bill but never found as conclusively as he seemed to think he had. It’s absurd, but deliriously entertaining – if two hours of more or less relentless fighting and killing is what you’re after. It’s violence so choreographed as to not be exploitative; this is unreal violence as a spectator sport, as performance art. A man – Keanu – and others, bending bodies to their will, in service of a story and characters you come to love almost despite yourself.
It’s hard to imagine why you’d see this film if you didn’t know what to expect; for me, it was slightly weaker than Chapter 2, which I enjoyed more than the first film. Either way, this is one just to relax and go with. The world is a better place for having Keanu back in big films on the big screen, channelling grief and anger through a body that is cartoonishly unlikely to break. Long may this wick burn.