To clarify, John Wick is a movie that Ash and I bought on a whim for a dollar because, aside from movie-obsessed nerds like us, who buys DVDs anymore?
It is a very, very stupid movie dressed up very well, similar to Keanu Reeves's titular character donning a four-figure suit in which to go a-killing. It's almost a shame that this is clearly a contract movie, featuring Willem Dafoe, Michael Nyqvist, a Swede portraying a Russian gangster* whose accent gets lost somewhere in the middle, and Alfie Allen of Game of Thrones fame. It builds a fictional world where assassins have a secret underground economy complete with a no-kill upscale hotel and trade favors in gold coins. Either that, or it's a grim alternate reality where Ron Paul is Lord Sovereign Commander of God's Green Earth.
*Aside: Since when are all gangsters Russian? I guess the Very Serious People who write movies have decided that it's a good idea to make us afraid of stereotypical Ruskis because AK-brandishing brown people with funny accents was played out when True Lies did it and would somehow be less tasteful given world affairs? Give it time, VSPs, give it time.
Anyway, John Wick the character is a hitman with a heart, out of the business but reeling from the death of his wife to a fatal but unspecified illness. The day after her funeral, an adorable beagle puppy arrives on his doorstep and oh holy shit the dog is going to eat it, isn't s/he!? Of course! Look, he even gave it a friggin' bowl of cereal -- that dog does not have long for the world.
Yes, the dog dies. At the hand of Allen's character Iosef no less: a spoiled snot-nosed daddy's boy who gives spoiled snot-nosed daddy's boys a bad name. The seemingly random carjacking and dog murder connects all the way back to gang boss dad Viggo, Wick's ex-employer, and thus begins the highly symbolic and blood-soaked punishment for the two men's collective sins.
John Wick the movie falls into a lot of the obvious traps of dumb action movies: it's essentially a series of completely unrealistic bloody gunfights broken up by dialog that is supposed to be deep, with the usual pretention to maturity that makes every third word "Fuck!" or "Shit!" We get it, writers: these are bad men who trade in bad things, but at this point they all sound like a pack of 12-year-old boys who accidentally turned the dictionary to the FT-FU page.
Giving credit where it's due, the movie is stylized and consistent. Professional killers for hire hang out at clubs and hotel bars like high school teachers in the Atlantic City Tropicana for the NJEA convention. There's a "code" that gets mentioned but never fully explained, save that there's no killing in the hotel and "dinner reservation" is hit-speak for "I just murdered the ever-loving shit out of a lot of people and would like a new sofa." And a small personal enjoyment: the camera pulls back from the action and lets you see the stunts, unlike the now-popular Batman Begins formula, in which some film editor wanted closeups of Christian Bale's teeth instead of action. Another much better hitman movie Haywire did this as well to great effect. (Like JJ Abrams use of lens flare to cover up crappy graphics, close up fight scenes mock intensity but are really just pulling the camera in to show less detail because the stunts aren't particularly inventive.)
But the real high point amid reliably silly and overtly expository speech is one simple exchange between John Wick the character and Viggo during their eventual showdown. Viggo laments for simpler days when murder was business and business was good, and the better killer answers with, "Do I look civilized to you?" Maybe it's unintentional, but the first thing one learns about screenwriting is that in an insane world, insane things are normal. John Wick the movie takes this to its logical conclusion and then tears the rule book up with Wick's character. He's been out of the job for a few years living perhaps better than the everyman, but not shooting people in the face for a paycheck and presumably paying for groceries with normal, everyday dollars. And upon going back in, he's seen the outside and that it is better, and the world of paid killers he left behind looks as nuts to him as it does to us. For as dumb as the movie was, there was a real attempt at connection between the audience and the character that was not entirely unsuccessful.
So, props, I guess? If I had to make an analogy, John Wick is worth seeing for the spectacle: it's a kid whose clearly fallen asleep in class but tiny glints of brilliance reflect off the drool pooling around his face.
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