The John Wick franchise created a distinct space in action filmmaking. Known for its creative martial arts and gunplay, it is also noteworthy what the franchise avoids: there are few explosions, for one thing, and car chases are infrequent (when they do occur, the vehicle is more like a weapon than a means of transportation). That is because director Chad Stahelski, who previously worked as Keanu Reeves’ stunt double in The Matrix trilogy, would rather focus on choreography than the maximalist spectacle you might see in a Fast and Furious sequel. In John Wick: Chapter 4, the franchise reaches its absolute peak: a long, relentless celebration of violent fight choreography that owes a lot to modern dance as well as martial arts.
The first action scene, one that has little to do with plot, serves as kind of palette cleanser. We see Reeves in the Moroccan desert, shooting at bad guys on horseback. The assassin, hell-bent on undermining the High Table – the league of assassins that wronged him – seeks yet another authority figure in an unlikely locale. Stahelski, along with screenwriters Shay Hatten and Michael Finch, must be aware this is a thin pretense for striking imagery – and an overt callback to a famous smash cut from Lawrence of Arabia. Audacious and excessive, the scene is an early signal of the film’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness. At just under three hours, John Wick: Chapter 4 is a long film, an attempt to give franchise fans exactly what they want. But what fans want may be more than what they really need.
After the business in Morocco, the film settles into a familiar pattern. The new antagonist is the Marquis (Bill Skarsgård), an ambitious member of the High Table, who wants to make an example of Wick. This means pursuing him all over the world, and sending an endless supply of mercenaries or assassins as backup. Wick finds an army of private killers in Osaka, Berlin, and finally Paris. Among the scores of pursuers, only two men are a real threat to Wick: the blind assassin Caine (Donnie Yen), and Mr. Nobody (Shamier Anderson), a canny hitman who travels with a well-trained attack dog. In between the action scenes, which are frequent, we get ponderous, borderline campy dialogue scenes where characters like Winston (Ian McShane) and The Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne) reflect on the unfair assassin economy the High Table has built.
Each of the major action sequences offer something slightly different. In Osaka, most of the action is built around swordplay, with Wick wielding a katana in one hand and a pistol in the other. Longtime action fans will recognize Hiroyuki Sanada, who pops up as a friend to Wick and dispatches bad guys with more grace than we typically see in these films. Still, the purest expression of the franchise might be in Berlin, where Wick fights in a dance club. Stahelski includes dozens of extras, all of them sexy-looking clubgoers who keep on writhing even as bullets whiz by them. This unwavering commitment to movement, to show creative ways of how bodies can twist and bend into each other, is what has always made these films distinct, and even though previous Wick films had scenes in nightclubs, the connection between action and dance has never been this explicit. Cinematographer Dan Laustsen is crucial to this effect: the movement is distinct and easy to follow, even in darkness, and the creative sources of illumination add a sense of style normally found in an innovative Broadway musical.
If Chapter 4 has the structure of a fancy meal, the kind of chef’s tasting where the director/chef chooses the menu, then the Paris sequence is the piece de resistance. Stahelski shoots all over the city, including the roundabout enshrining the Arc de Triomphe, and pulls all the stops. After three previous films, it is impressive they can find ways to top themselves, and nothing quite beats Wick fighting bad guys while fast-moving cars nearly clip them. This also where Stahelski reveals a streak of broad humor, using the staircase leading up to Sacre Coeur as an opportunity to lean into Wick’s constant, seemingly relentless suffering. But for all the violence and headshots – and there are many – the Paris sequence ends with something out of Barry Lyndon: an old-fashioned duel where ritual and patience create an actual sense of suspense.
While standalone sequences can be riveting or triumphant, Chapter 4 loses its power as a whole. It turns out there is a limit to how many times someone can be shot before the intended effect – stylized cinematic bloodlust – loses its appeal. Moreover, some sequences are so long that the cracks become easier to spot. Wick and his assassins wear Kevlar-lined clothing, for example, which means there are many, many silly moments where everyone hides their face under their jacket while shooting wildly. Yen is a welcome addition here, as his sense of movement is unique, although there is less mystery surrounding a blind warrior when we realize he is invulnerable only because that is what the plot requires. This is an action film that ends on a note of exhaustion, and not the satisfying kind. Longtime fans will debate how much is too much, and the inevitability of the debate suggests Stahelski could have made many judicious cuts.
Aside from the focus on movement and dancelike action, the other major asset in the John Wick films has been Reeves’ understated performance. Like the supporting cast, including Lance Reddick who recently passed away, Reeves underplays the role to suggest that – despite the grudges that inform the franchise – all the killing is about business. Their dialogue can deferential, even wry, which helps us remember that we should not take these films too seriously. But Reeves also does something tricky underneath that “polite” façade: he never lets us forget that his character is still grieving his dead wife, and that all four films are essentially about someone who is really, REALLY stuck on the second stage of the Kübler-Ross grief model.
If Wick finds closure at the end of Chapter 4, it does not mean Stahelski has gone soft to get there. Maybe that’s the point of exhausting the audience. After being overserved, a moment of peace is all the more welcome.
Photo courtesy of Lionsgate
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