Review by Adam Donato

Review by Adam Donato

The main couple of the film played by Mason Thames and Nico Parker feel like Tom Holland and Zendaya were the blueprint. Thames doesn’t pull off geeky quite like Jay Baruchel did, especially with a lack of that iconic voice. Still a very serviceable performance. Unfortunately, the topic of conversation around Parker has been more about the color of her skin than anything else. It seems foolish to complain about a black Viking when dragons definitely don’t exist. She embodies the character well and her role is beefed up as her character aspires to be chief. The entire handling of Astrid’s character is the most “woke” aspect of the remake, but aren’t actual problems at all. Both of these characters are too cute. All of the other Vikings are properly ugly so the couple definitely stands out weirdly. 

At the end of the day, it’s the same complaint as every other live action remake. This story and these characters were designed to be represented in animation. Adapting it into live action and doing the exact same things only draws attention to how much of a useless downgrade this movie is. It’s not a bad film, but it provides nothing new. There should be zero sympathy for the film as it will gladly utilize the franchise recognition for box office success, therefore the film must be held to the standard of the franchise’s quality. The law of diminishing returns is strong in this one. 

Every movie borrows from movies that came before it, but How To Train Your Dragon doesn’t even bother making it its own in any way. This makes for a very disposable experience. It’s hard to imagine anyone preferring the live action to the animated version. This safety is good for the box office and theme park success, but its lack of ambition will make this movie fade away over time. It’s not necessarily a bad movie, but it’s not worth going out of your way to see. 

How To Train Your Dragon will be in theaters on June 13.

Rating: 3/5

Review by Daniel Lima

What is a John Wick movie without John Wick? The critical and financial success of the four films helmed by Chad Stahleski has made Lionsgate very keen to find an answer to this question, seeking to leverage that acclaim into a multimedia franchise. From the World of John Wick: Ballerina is the latest attempt to capture that essence, a proof-of-concept for the labyrinthine criminal underworld being a compelling draw even without Keanu Reeves. Though it fails in many ways to successfully justify its own existence, it ultimately does find the one key component that both distinguishes it from the John Wick movies, and makes it worthy to be spoken of in the same breath.

Ana de Armas plays Eve Macarro, a young woman raised within the Ruska Roma, the fraternity of assassins that also counts a certain man of few words as a member. Seeking vengeance for the death of her father years before at the hands of a mysterious group, she sets off on her own to figure out who is responsible. Her quest takes her around the world, and brings her face to face with some dangerous characters, as well as familiar faces.

Immediately, this film begins to clarify what has made the John Wick films so special. In that first 2014 release, just a quarter of an hour is spent establishing the emotional buy-in to the carnage that will unfold: we meet John while he is sad, we see a montage of him being happy with a little puppy, then the puppy is killed. That has been the foundation of hours of bloody revenge, with Keanu Reeves massacring scores of well-dressed assassins around the world who have absolutely nothing to do with that damn dog, and millions of fans have been entire satisfied with it. That kind of resonance goes beyond just a general love for man’s best friend; it is clear to the audience that for this character, the puppy means so much more. It’s a link to love lost, it’s a promise for a bright and peaceful future, and that is the kind of abstraction that humanizes an otherwise unempathetic character.

Conversely, the hero of Ballerina has a far more generic motivation. Certainly, the death of a parent is a traumatic experience for a child, but the manner it’s played out at the start of the film fits so neatly within genre conventions that it’s hard to take seriously. The random act of violence that kickstarted this franchise is the kind of nightmare within reach of most people; the same cannot be said of an army of masked men with matching scars storming your idyllic Mediterranean mansion and executing your dad after a heated gunfight. The film doesn’t even bother attempting to sell what the life that was torn out of the young girl’s hands looked like beyond a father/daughter dance that lasts all of one minute. This is what is supposed to power both the protagonist’s motivation, as well as the audience’s sympathies. To say that it is grossly insufficient is an understatement, and it has a directly negative impact on the rest of the film.

This is also about as much definition as Ana de Armas’s professional killer receives through the narrative as written. Almost as soon as she takes the reins, she is flung into a wide-spanning, fast-moving plot that is more about getting her to the next big set piece than fleshing her out as a person. John Wick is similarly underwritten, but that is both in service to the story and world of the films, and Reeves as a performer. After a life filled with violence and losing the one person who could pull him out of it, he has become a shell of himself, more myth and legend than man. What the audience learns about John is conveyed through how other killers react to him: apprehension, respect, deference, terror. It is also the kind of role that benefits the terse, clipped, awkward delivery of Reeves, and his limited range of physical motion (at least, compared to the career stuntpeople he is up against) further defines how John fights and kills.

Eve Macarro could have been played by anyone. That’s not to say that de Armas is bad in the role, but there is nothing to distinguish her from all the colorful characters in the world that she moves through. The lack of an emotional core means her quest lacks dramatic weight, there are few characters with a sense of shared history through which she could be further defined, and unlike John she is an unknown quantity with no reputation. That gives de Armas precious little to grasp on to as a performer, and so she ends up mostly conveying exposition and reciting action movie clichés. By the end of the film, she was just as amorphous as the start.

One of the most novel features of the series is the intricate network of professional killers operates just under the radar of the general public, in spite of the fact that it seems there’s at least a handful of hit men in any public gathering. They have their own economy, their own power structure, code of laws and ethics, nomenclature and social mores. Fans of these films know what it means to post up at a Continental, to live Under the Table, to visit a Sommelier or go for a Hunt. Some may balk at the complexity as it becomes increasingly byzantine, but this scaling grandeur is something that truly sets these films apart from other actioners. It certainly doesn’t hurt that it also allows for some unique settings for gunfights.

An important part of this, however, is that the cosmology of John Wick’s underworld is constantly expanding and iterating on itself. There are certain touchstones, characters, and ideas that recur, but each movie introduces a host of additions to the worldbuilding. Ballerina instead spends much of its runtime reminding the audience that it is, in fact a John Wick movie. Look, there’s the Continental! Winston and Charon, you know them, you love them right? Hey, there’s the man himself, the Baba Yaga!

All the allusions to the previous films keep this one in their shadow, interrupting the flow of this story while not allowing the world to grow beyond the boundaries previously set. It points to a worrying trend that has befallen many a media franchise, simply regurgitating the iconography that general audiences are already familiar with rather than experiment or creating something new within a particular universe. We are the cattle, this is the cud; we are the piggies, here is our slop. It’s what’s in vogue among the studios, and it remains as irritating and demeaning to the public as ever.

Even more frustrating is that the one new idea that Ballerina introduces is not even elaborated on. Over the course of the film, it becomes clear that the group that killed de Armas’ father has motivations that go beyond merely killing people for the sake of it. The reveal of those motivations introduces a level of moral complexity that is new to the franchise, questioning inborn assumptions about these kinds of revenge thrillers and how audiences tend to emotionally respond to these narratives… at least, they would, if the movie were at all interested in pursuing that line of thought. Any such nuance disappears into a hail of bullets and streams of flame, and in the film’s closing moments I couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone had stopped to tease involved in the production had stopped to tease out the implications of what had been put forth.

There are, however, those hails of bullets and streams of flame.

One of the most infuriating tendencies in those who would call themselves appreciators of art — cinema specifically — is the anti-intellectualism surrounds action cinema. With a handful of exceptions, it is incredibly hard to get otherwise erudite, thoughtful people to consider the craft and artistry that goes into choreographed violence on equal terms with, say, the latest arthouse-coded indie drama with awards prospects. No one would question whether the physical control displayed by a dancer in a production of Swan Lake, or the propulsive editing rhythms of a Bob Fosse movie, constitute art worthy of serious critique. Simulate a fistfight that calls for both precise physical control and editing, however, and it is populist drivel.

Action is storytelling, not an aberration in the middle of a story. Beyond the amount of grueling physical and mental energy that goes into building an action scene, these are integral parts of an artistic work. Whether a gunfight, a car chase, a big death-defying stunt, or an old-fashioned brawl, these scenes establish character, create atmosphere and tone, communicate broader ideas and worldviews that are particular to the identity of a given film and the artists behind it.

The John Wick films are some of the clearest contemporary examples of this. Series creator Chad Stahelski is an action veteran whose career goes back to working on direct-to-video productions in the early 1990s, and throughout his films he has had an action-forward design philosophy. Stuntpeople are front and center, with every set piece shot clearly to allow the audience to see the breadth of movement, every kick and every fall. There is a constant drive to experiment and incorporate new complications into the choreography, whether it be as simple as 3-Gun competition shooting or as radical as attack dogs. The capabilities of the actors are reflected in how they fight and kill on-screen, which in turn communicates aspects of their character in ways dialogue alone could never do.

Here is where Ballerina lives up to its predecessors. The same ingenuity and playful experimentation that drives those movies, that more than anything has cemented the film in the popular consciousness, is present through just about every action scene. Clearly, each set piece was designed to answer a particular question; “How many ways can we hurt people on ice?” “What would close quarters combat armed with only explosives look like?” “Does OSHA regarding fire safety apply if we’re shooting in Europe?” To answer all these, the 87eleven action team is put through their paces, showcasing not only some incredibly dynamic and fluid choreography, but some absolutely brutal stuntwork. Whether showcasing a diversity of falls like an 80s Golden Harvest film, or pushing the boundaries of how long you can have someone on fire, the film is as much a love letter to the capabilities of these performers as it is jaw dropping spectacle.

More than anywhere else, this is where the personality of the film begins to show. The John Wick movies all have a certain amount of comedy, but confided to some dry wit and some mean-spirited beats within the action. While there’s a handful of puns in Ballerina that serve as a bit of dumb fun, the main comedic thrust is actually slapstick. The graphic but deliberate and controlled violence of the series has always elicited incredulous laughter, but here it is elevated to straight up gags: hitting someone with a TV remote that starts channel surfing, smashing plates over heads straight out of a Three Stooges short, a goofy reaction shot before a grenade goes off. The comedy is synthesized with the violence in a manner that has eluded many an action comedy, without ever detracting from the gravity of the carnage. David Leitch, please take notes.

Most strikingly, the choreography provides the characterization to de Armas’ character that the script sorely lacks. Early in the film, a trainer advises her to “fight like a girl”, as she will always be at a size disadvantage and cannot allow her opponents to dictate the terms of combat. At first, it seems like this simply means she’ll occasionally kick men in the testicles, otherwise adhering to the gun fu style that this series has pioneered. As the film progresses, it becomes clear that she has taken that lesson to heart, and so every scrape she gets in sees her using the environment in every way she can. Where John moves like a shark through water, with deadly efficiency that expends as little energy as possible, Eve grabs every tool at her disposal no matter how outlandish, improvisational but confident. Although yes, she does still kick men in the testicles.

In spite of all this, the action is not perfect. It takes some time for the film to find its own groove, with most of the action in the first half feeling like a pale imitation of the clean shootouts and fisticuffs of the main series. At times, the choreography commits to some of the same shortcomings of those films, with people jumping in front of the camera only be to unceremoniously cut down being the main offender. Even the action in the second half of the film is hamstrung by its broader issues, namely the lack of worldbuilding and the lack of emotional stakes. The latter means that as thrilling and evocative as the action is, it doesn’t feel like it matters as much as the similarly thrilling and evocative action that populates the other films. The former means it lacks a bit of the character diversity and opportunities to build out the universe that motivates many of the series’ best moments. The last movie boasted Marko Zaror, Donnie Yen, and Scott Adkins in showy and memorable roles, that allowed for unique and personalized choreography, same as Reeves; here, you get a bit of Daniel Behrnhardt and human Chad meme Robert Maaser in nondescript roles. It’s not the worst problem to have, but a missed opportunity for sure.

There’s an open question of who to attribute the film’s strengths and weaknesses to. It is known that there was additional photography directed by Chad Stahelski himself, taking over from director Len Wiseman, but there are conflicting reports to the reasons behind them, the extent of what was reshot, and whether or not they were even reshoots in the first place. It’s easy to credit the best parts to the John Wick director, and the worst parts to the Underworld director, but things aren’t quite so clear; for example, the first action scene in the film happens to feature an actor who was only cast for additional photography, and it is clearly the worst. Who actually was behind what is bound to be something of a mystery for at least the length of this press tour, and I am curious to find out those details.

From the World of John Wick: Ballerina does manage to articulate a case for the franchise to exist beyond the confines of its titular character, but only by the skin of its teeth. The lack of faith in this movie to stand on its own its palpable, threatening to overwhelm the film by basking in what is already familiar rather than exploring the possibilities of this world. It is only through the series hallmark action design that the film finds its own identity, and in doing so recaptures the magic that permeates the series. 

From the World of John Wick: Ballerina arrives in theaters June 6.

Rating: 4/5

Review by Camden Ferrell

The movie is led by Nick Kroll and Andrew Rannells as Dom and Cole, respectively. Both stars bring a much-needed energy to the movie that helps keep it afloat even when its script is lacking. They both are able to fully lean into the more comedic and absurd aspects of this movie while having some pretty convincing chemistry between them.  ​

Despite my issues with the noticeable lack of depth in this movie, I can’t deny that it’s still fun. It breezes through its runtime (maybe a little too fast at times), and it’s still worth a handful of laughs. And it still has its fair share of tender and heartwarming moments that will still make you smile even if they lack the nuance that better development would have afforded it. 

Fans of horror and comedy alike will find something to enjoy in I Don’t Understand You whether it's the blood, romance, or quips. It’s a nice sidebar during the summer blockbuster season for those who want something a little smaller in scale while still being a fun way to pass an afternoon in the theaters. It may not persist in my memory much longer, but I liked it more than I didn’t. 

I Don’t Understand You is in theaters June 6. 

Rating: 3/5