John Wick

I like Keanu Reeves.  He makes fun movies like 47 Ronin, he seems like a decent fellow, and he’s nice to Alex Winter. 

I think that Reeves’ greatest appeal as an older movie star (as opposed to his goofy early-20s persona) is his aura of detached, zen-like cool.  He seems like the embodiment of all those platitudes that show up on Facebook about being centered, and mindful, and in the moment.  Thus, it’s absolutely wonderful when, in the emotional climax of John Wick, he completely loses his cool and releases a howl of pain, rage, and vengefulness that shocks the complacent action-movie fan right out of his seat.

Here’s the setup: John Wick is the kind of unstoppable, nigh-invincible former hit man we’ve come to know and love as fans of the action genre.  Since all such characters must be either about to retire or actually in retirement, we meet him as he grieves for his recently-deceased wife and consoles himself by caring for an adorable puppy.  Then bad men come to steal his car and do mean things to his dog.  Vengeance must be had, so away we go for ninety or so minutes of fast cars, fisticuffs, and shooting people in the face.

There are lots of movies like this, but there are three things that make John Wick special.  First, there’s the aforementioned Mr. Reeves.  He’s perfect for this role, and his background in martial arts serves him well as he navigates the film’s hand-to-hand combat sequences.  Second, there’s the supporting cast, from primary antagonist Michael Nyqvist (of the original Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) to assorted members of John Wick’s stylized underworld including the nearly-always wonderful Willem Dafoe (whom I’m willing to forgive for The Grand Budapest Hotel), The Wire’s Lance Reddick, Deadwood’s Ian McShane, Games of Thrones’ Alfie Allen, and Chef’s John Leguizamo (and really, you must see Chef).  They prove, once again, that there are no small roles.  Each of them is note-perfect, and they add a sense of seriousness to what could be a very silly film.  

The hard work behind the camera really shows, as well.  Seasoned second-unit directors and stuntmen Chad Stahelski and David Leitch know how to set up and frame action so the viewer never loses track of who’s doing what to whom, where, and why.  As photographed by Jonathan Sela and edited by Elisabet Ronalds, John Wick does something almost unheard of: it eschews the jump-cut aesthetic of so much modern action filmmaking, and instead offers us longer takes that showcase the hard work of fight choreographer Jonathan Eusebio, the principle performers, and the stunt doubles who practice and practice and practice to make every fight look real, and visceral, and exciting.

As you can tell, I enjoyed the heck out of this movie.  John Wick is a great time at the movies and the start of what should be a lucrative franchise for Keanu Reeves.  Good for all involved, and good for him.  It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

Her

Her is the kind of movie that makes me love movies.  It’s a challenging piece of science fiction, a moving drama, and a piece that illuminates the human condition.  It’s brilliant.

The film, set in a washed out, near-future Los Angeles, follows an emotionally damaged man, one reeling from divorce, as he tries to reconstruct his life.  He downloads a new, artificially intelligent, operating system on his computer.  It cares about him.  It understands him.  It sounds like Scarlett Johansson.  Of course, he falls in love.

The AI, self-named Samantha seems real.  In some ways, she is real.  But she isn’t corporeally there.  She isn’t human.  What kind of a life has this man, brilliantly portrayed by Joachim Phoenix, bought into?  What kind of connection can he sustain with a glowing screen and a voice in an earpiece?

We could see this film simply as a wry commentary on the smartphone generation, but I think it has more to say.  I think it’s a commentary on all the things that draw us from human connection: our obsessions, our hobbies, our games - whatever it is that beckons us away from those who do, or those who would, love us. 

Her, however, isn’t just vehicle for late-night navel-gazing.  It’s also a finely crafted, beautifully performed and scored drama that quietly, subtly draws us in and invests us not only in the emotional life of Mister Phoenix, but in that of Johansson’s disembodied voice.  You could plug Her into your device of choice, plug that device into your car stereo, and just listen to it on a long drive – I suspect you may have an even more moving an experience than did I, watching it on a laptop in an airport lounge.

In short, Her is a thing of beauty, not to be missed.  I want to watch it again – this time, with people.