Review by Daniel Lima

One could generously attribute the lack of characterization of both the Western prisoners and Japanese jailers as an attempt to show they not so different as patriots willing to sacrifice anything for their country. The end result, however, is none of these characters have a single distinct personality between them. One American can kind of speak Japanese, one guard is sympathetic to their plight, but these qualities are not elaborated on beyond servicing the procedural plot. It is genuinely incredible that for all the time spent with this limited ensemble, by the end there is nothing to distinguish one from the other. This in turn cripples any sense of danger or emotional stakes, as there is nothing to engender the audience to any one of these people.

In fairness, that would already be undercut by the film’s structure. For some unfathomable reason, the opening scene is Scott Adkins storming into a Japanese dojo after the war, by himself, angrily asking to see the man who had tortured him back in the Philippines. On the one hand, no one who would watch this movie would ever doubt that Adkins would survive to the end; on the other hand, to confirm this from the jump, in addition to showing the survival of his compatriots will ultimately not affect the finale, adds absolutely nothing to the unfolding drama in the camp. It’s a baffling choice that only hurts the narrative.​

Once Adkins is captured, the film idles into a familiar routine: the Japanese commit some casual war crimes, Adkins shows off his martial prowess, he collaborates with the fellow prisoners in building an escape plan. Beyond the thin characters, a key issue is developing the escape plan is not thrilling in its own right. Adkins’ own invulnerability is assured, but the film also studiously avoids putting any of the other Westerners in any real danger, even though the Filipino prisoners are killed with impunity. Each new step towards freedom is taken with precious little effort or complexity, and so the movie idles forward with no sense of intensity or momentum.

Review by Daniel Lima

Review by Daniel Lima

“They just don’t make them like they used to.” These days I find myself thinking this about almost everything: cars, electronics, news publications, social policies. This particular lamentation feels the most powerful when I watch an old Hong Kong action movie, see the ornate choreography and death-defying stunt work, and realize that silly notions like unions and workplace safety mean these could never be made today. The closest that contemporary cinema comes to scratching that itch are the mainland Chinese streaming releases. Nine-Ring Golden Dagger is the latest example to get a stateside release from Well Go, and another solid example of recapturing a bit of that past glory.

The Generals of the Yang Family is less an individual epic story, and more a collage of different fictional accounts of the life of the very real General Yang Ye and his descendants across the 10th and 11th centuries. In this particular tale, two of his daughters seek to recover his blade from the enemy forces that killed him. Pursued by this foreign army, they hole up at an inn owned by a sympathetic wine seller, and plan an escape home.

It is important to note that General Yang Ye served the Han-ruled Northern Song Dynasty, and died fighting the Khitan-ruled Liao Dynasty (the Khitans being a nomadic steppe people that later assimilated into the Mongols). The film uses the term “Northern Expedition” to define the war he fought in, a term more commonly used for the war for reunification waged by the Republic of China in the 1930’s. Thus, the film makes a connection between the border wars of dynasties past, and the building of the modern nation state of China.

Review by Daniel Lima

The 2022 film M3GAN was at its best at its most absurd. When the titular little girl killer robot was breaking out in spontaneous song, or doing TikTok dances before executing people with a paper cutter, it managed to capture a deliriously silly energy that could power a story rife with cliches and dead air. M3GAN 2.0 promises to be a sequel that doubles down on these fleeting moments of unabashed camp fun, becoming something much grander than the original. That it then makes all the same mistakes is even more disappointing than the first time around.

This sequel sees Allison Williams attempting to juggle raising her niece, running her tech start-up, and her new anti-AI activism, all to varying degrees of success. When a new murderous AI based on the M3GAN source code breaks free of its controls, Williams finds herself wrapped up in the quest to stop it, and is forced to accept help from an unlikely source: M3GAN herself.

Gone are the horror trappings of the original, slight as they were. With this entry, the series has evolved into a sci-fi action thriller, jumping from set piece to set piece with not even the paltry attempts at tension that define modern Blumhouse slop. The comedy is emphasized even more, the emotional beats carry through from the first, this is through and through the same transition into crowd-pleasing tentpole that Alien and Terminator made. On paper, it should work.

It is constantly impressed upon the audience that the heroes are racing against the clock to stop the villain, and the film leans into its own ridiculousness, finding ways to engineer manga-inspired martial arts brawls and outright superheroics. It doesn’t take long, however, for the lack of visual flair to bog the movie down. The original also had a drab visual palette and perfunctory direction, robbing the narrative of momentum, but as a low budget horror film that was more forgivable. A film like this, so proud of its most zany elements, should try to sustain that energy throughout with expressive, dynamic camerawork and propulsive editing. Instead, it wastes ample time with dull exposition, in lifeless rooms, shot in plain shot/reverse shot.  

Much of this time is meant to set up the dramatic and emotional stakes of the film. Allison Williams still struggles in her parental role, her now teenage niece chafes against her, and M3GAN must prove that she is capable of real, genuine humanity. Credit where it’s due, the film does treat the interpersonal drama with a degree of seriousness, rather than choking it out with smug ironic detachment. Unfortunately, this dialogue is handled with the same brusqueness as the exposition. Given that explaining the plot machinations make up the bulk of the film, and that these characters never cross the threshold into the third dimension, the attempt at real pathos falls flat.

Given the lack of presentation through the rest of the film, it should be no surprise that the promise of truly outrageous set pieces falls short of expectations, amounting to derivative pastiches of familiar concepts and works. There’s a temptation to give partial credit for the hodgepodge of ideas here — artificial consciousness, tokusatsu fights, body hacking — and how each manages to be incorporated into the plot in an organic way. In execution, however, they lack the stylistic flourish and the thematic depth to be impressive or fun; the action is largely cut up and unambitious, the themes are undercooked. Given that there are plenty of films from around the world that actually have managed to deliver the gonzo genre thrills that Hollywood can never quite match, it’s hard to get excited over pale, tame imitations.

Is it funny? I can only say I laughed twice in a two-hour movie. Once again, the highlights of the film are Amie Donald’s physical performance and Jenna Davis’ voice performance as the titular AI: the former gives the robot body an uncanny, eerie movement that’s always just a bit off, and the latter manages to make bluntly impersonal dialogue absolutely drip in sarcasm. The latter does the heavy lifting here due to some plot contrivances, and it was a wise decision to spend as much time with the character as possible, but most of the material is just the juxtaposition of a dispassionate robot voice being mean. The best joke amounts to a callback to the first film.

The most interesting thing about M3GAN 2.0 is how it grapples with AI, and what it has to say about legal restrictions on the technology. Admittedly, it feels a bit silly to burrow into the political messaging of a movie where a little girl robot infiltrates a secure building by flying through the air in a wingsuit, but it spends so much precious capital on delivering this message — and tying in to the emotional core of the entire story — that it’s worth examining.

The first film is a none-too-subtle critique of our reliance on technology, particularly how it has come to supplant our ability to form meaning social bonds with other people. This fear is externalized into a killer doll, but in truth M3GAN was plenty creepy even before she got violent; seeing how utterly dependent on her the niece had become, and how it limited her ability to process her emotions, is enough to disturb. At the time, this messaging struck me as old hat “kids and their phones” moralizing. If the same movie came out today, I’d commend it for grappling with present fears so directly.

That is not, however, the message of M3GAN 2.0. The fact is, once you start building a film franchise around an AI you can’t be too critical of the technology. Here, it is made glaring obvious from the start that Williams’ anti-AI advocacy is a detriment to her own life, bordering on zealotry that blinds her to making levelheaded decisions. Her partner in the advocacy endeavor is portrayed as an unlikable fool. M3GAN herself follows in the footsteps of the T-800, on a quest of self-actualization that in the world of this film is plainly possible. Clearly, there has been a softening of the original position.

Of course, this is the kind of movie where a character attempts to run the program “morality” in a killer AI’s source code. Which is to say, it’s a bit of dumb fun that is deliberately avoiding being too sober on the topic of how exactly should we treat AI, beyond “carefully”. It does, however, still attempt to have that dialogue, and the fact that it is more toothless than the first film in spite of the current threat that AI poses to society is both surprising, and not at all surprising. Pretending to take a stand while ultimately saying nothing at all is the kind of bloodless, unmotivated, creatively bankrupt decision that is well in keeping with the rest of the movie.

All that said, M3GAN 2.0 is not horrible. There’s plenty of charm in the two performances that bring the titular character to life, it avoids the pitfalls of many unserious franchise films, it at least gestures towards interesting conceits. It’s just impossible to shake the feeling while watching that you could be watching something more substantive, more adventurous, more daring. It’s telling that the end credits feature more clips from the previous film than the one you just watched; there’s more to pull from.  

M3GAN 2.0 arrives in theaters June 27.

Rating: 2.5/5

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