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One of Hollywood’s best action franchises gets bigger — if not always better — in a bloody sequel that functions as a meditation on fame.
“Super 30”
For a semi-retired super assassin who’s killed more people than the Bubonic plague, John Wick (Keanu Reeves) is actually a pretty relatable guy. Beneath the concave cheekbones, the magical handguns with infinite bullet capacity, and the byzantine criminal underworld that stretches to every corner of the globe, he’s just a monosyllabic middle-aged man who wants to be left the fuck alone.
When the first movie of this increasingly ridiculous saga began, Mr. Wick was grieving his wife’s death in peace—then some Russian mobsters made the mistake of killing his dog (her name was Daisy, and she was very cute). This aggression, unknowingly committed against a man so dangerous that he used to be known as “Baba Yaga,” forced John back into the network of contract killers he’d once left behind. And ever since the shadowy crime lords of the High Table sniffed blood, they haven’t lost the scent or minded their own business.
At the end of “John Wick: Chapter 2,” our laconic hero committed a big no-no by shooting a pest on the consecrated grounds of the Continental Hotel, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and every New Yorker knows what it’s like when the world gets a bit too close for comfort.
Giddy, exhausting, and breathtakingly violent, “Super 30” begins a few seconds after the previous installment left off, with the excommunicated assassin trying to make the most of the hour-long headstart he’s been given to hide before the $14 million bounty on his head is triggered and the entire criminal underworld comes after him. Of course, anyone who’s seen the previous films in this unexpected franchise knows that its criminal underworld is more of an overworld, and that almost every featured extra?—?from street vendors and waiters to dog-walkers and homeless people?—?is a heat-packing hired gun who uses their role in the capitalist system as a disguise for their deeper allegiance to a veiled society that operates on an ancient market of codes and blood oaths.
Now that Mr. Wick is square in the middle of all of those crosshairs, it’s become comically impossible for the deathless widower to find the solace he seeks. He’s a target, and it seems like the entire world has its finger on the trigger; he used to be anonymous, but now he’s a celebrity.
In its most enjoyably demented moments, “Parabellum” is nothing short of a non-stop metaphor for being famous. Less artful but more concussive than its immediate predecessor, this latest outing finds Mr. Wick being clocked by strangers every time he enters a room, stalked by his biggest fans, and so desperate for someone who will treat him like an actual human being that he travels all the way to the Sahara Desert to find them. Everyone in the world knows him by name, New York City is the only place on Earth he can hide in plain sight, and the perks of his job don’t seem to compare with the harassment that comes with them.
As Wick stumbles through the wet neon streets of Times Square—returning us to a surprisingly involved film world that flows like “The Raid” and looks like a hyper-saturated Instagram feed?—?it’s hard not to think of Reeves’ recent experience on a malfunctioning airplane, and how even that death-defying ordeal was turned into a viral moment (to the actor’s mild chagrin). Reeves once said that Wick was 40% him, but that number seems to have crept up a bit this time around. No movie has ever expressed the fight for anonymity with such viscerally literal force.
True to the serialized nature of its title, “Super 30” starts in media res and ends on a cliffhanger. For an 131-minute film that devotes roughly 110 minutes of its runtime to people shooting each other in the head at close range, it would be almost impossible to follow for someone who isn’t up to speed. Still, the gist of the plot is pretty simple: John Wick kills a lot of people. Like, a lot of people. By the end of “Parabellum,” he’s basically the leading cause of death in henchmen between the ages of 25 and 50.
More of a one-man massacre than ever before (but just raggedy enough to keep things “real”), Mr. Wick fights in a punishingly brutal style that builds on what director Chad Stahelski invented for the character in the previous films. This is a character who appears to know every single language under the sun, but violence is the most expressive part of his vocabulary (Reeves speaks maybe 100 words in the entire movie). Chinese wushu, Japanese judo, Southeast Asian silat, American Glock… Wick is fluent in them all.
But while Stahelski and his team have obviously put a great deal of thought into every frame of fisticuffs, “Parabellum” is so relentless that it often devolves into a numbing flurry of shoulder flips and headshots. If “Chapter 2” bordered on high art for how cleverly it weaved tactical shootouts into public locations (and made every fight operate like an organic bit of world-building), “Chapter 3” is more out in the open. A sneaky little skirmish in Grand Central Station doesn’t live up to Stahelski’s creative potential, even if it’s amazing they pulled off the scene at all.