From the World of John Wick: Ballerina

The point of a derivative work is to retain and contain as much of its progenitor as possible; it shouldn’t surprise that Ballerina, the inaugural spin-off of the successful John Wick franchise, is lavish tableau of orchestrated violence encased by a gossamer plot and singularly focused characters.  It was ever thus.

The series has grown in both logistical and philosophical ambitions as it has gone on, somewhat transcending its original conceit, so it’s easy to forget it started off with a joke: a hitman goes on a roaring rampage of revenge after the mob kills his dog.  (Does anyone even remember Wilem Dafoe was once a major character in this).  The silliness was part of the recipe and granted license to ignore the reality that it was an action movie, not only offering the barest of motivations for its set pieces but scoffing at the expectation that should offer any.  And it worked, so why expect more from its offspring when that is specifically against the purpose of the spin-off to begin with: the return of familiar milieu with a replacement of characters, ideally unnoticed in their exchange.  If you like hot dogs you’ll like corn dogs, they are essentially the same.

If only it were so easy.

Successful franchises are usually based around charismatic actors portraying dynamic or at least interesting characters; the very definition of lightning in a bottle.  Attempting it twice tends to increase your odds of being struck by the lightning bolt rather than snaring it.  John Wick power adroitly wielded Keanu Reeves’s taciturn stoicism and the surgical precision of its choreography as its twin pillars.  Replicating that with a fresh protagonist—Ana de Armas as a wrathful assassin searching for her own path to freedom—and a new director, Len Wiseman (Underworld), is a gamble. Ballerina attempts it with all the hallmarks of the Wick universe but also embracing its own droll humor, offering glossy visuals and gleeful excesses that reveal both the pitfalls and the potential of trying to extend a beloved action template.

Occurring ‘somewhere’ between John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum and John Wick: Chapter 4, we find Armas’ Eve as the only survivor of an assault on her family, rescued by the eternally urbane Winston (McShane) and sent to Angelica Huston’s mysterious Director to be raised as an assassin for her new family, the Ruska Roma—mirroring Wick’s own ascension. When a contract (Reedus) turns out to be hunted by the same cabal of assassins who orphaned Eve, she renounces her adoptive kin to find answers about why she was orphaned and the man (Byrne) responsible.  And if she gets to dish out healthy helpings of revenge in the process, so much the better.

What follows is a slow dance through Europe as Eve fights off rivals and follows a breadcrumb trail to her quarry’s mountain enclave, but Ballerina cares about that as little as we do.  The point is the fight, often erupting spontaneously into a rousing chorus of strange beauty like stumbling upon the Aurora Borealis.  Despite a new director at the helm Ballerina remains tethered to the franchise’s hallmark aesthetic—hyper-choreographed carnage against a pristine, almost antiseptic backdrop positioning Eve like a surgeon in an operating the theater.  Wiseman maintains continuity but doesn’t mimic.  He peppers Ballerina with humor, embracing sight gags and playful puns with genuine glee: a TV changing channels as Eve pummels a foe with the remote control; a helpful informant who must “be frank,” his name tag a winking signpost, enemies digging through a pile of plates looking for a hidden firearm. These flourishes do more than lighten the mood; they crystallize Wiseman’s willingness to “cast off reality” and go full-tilt toward the ridiculous.  Think the various sword and gun fights in the John Wick films were dynamic, creative and all around cool?  What if they replaced the swords with grenades, or the climactic pistol duel was recreated with flamethrowers?  Ballerina never apologizes for its cartoonish excess; it revels in it, daring audiences to suspend disbelief for spectacle.

Wiseman also brings a polished, studio look to challenge the main series more formalized gleam, but that’s about where the challenging stops and the impediments of replication begin.  John Wick’s kinetic bravura was undergirded by an existential undercurrent—its protagonists cognizant of the futility of their odyssey. Ballerina is not looking for that level of insight, it stops at the surface and delves no deeper, offering little options to generate its own identity.   Its reliance on familiar leitmotifs—well-worn locales, appearances from familiar faces including a final performance from Lance Reddick, and a more substantial presence from Keanu Reeves than anticipated—functions primarily as a balm for nostalgia.  As functions of comfort they work exactly as intended, particularly for Wick who – shed of the need to carry loss and obstacle as a core protagonist – is re-created as the unstoppable monster his enemies have always described.  These gestures serve as reminders that this universe remains, at its essence, another’s. Ballerina never severs its umbilical cord; nor does it aspire to, content instead to occupy a stylish interim.

All of which underscores a paradox: Ballerina is demonstrably superior to much franchise ephemera—its choreography remains a tour de force, and its visual excesses can dazzle—but it also reaffirms that further innovation, and soon, will be needed if the John Wick descendants are ever going to survive on their own. In its current incarnation, Ballerina is an exhilarating interlude, yet it is incomplete; a sumptuous appetizer that hints at the ambition of a full-course feast yet unrealized.

7.5/10

Starring Ana de Armas, Anjelica Huston, Gabriel Byrne, Ian McShane, Lance Reddick, Norman Reedus and Keanu Reeves. Directed by Len Wiseman.