![]() ![]() He's almost entirely presented as befuddled, stumbling and a glorified liability during the film's many (handsomely staged if completely impersonal) action scenes and rendered the butt of jokes that in turn makes you root against his further involvement. Alas, this second go-around A) returns to Michael and Darius hating each other all over again for no good reason and B) triples-down on Reynolds' displeasure with the scenario while stripping his protagonist of his competence. The notion of a trained bodyguard trying to save the day without leaving a trail of corpses added a nice contrast to the usual R-rated action template. While Michael wasn't precisely Ethan Hunt or John Wick in The Hitman's Bodyguard, he was exceptionally good at his chosen profession. It also pushes its long-suffering title character toward cartoonish-ness. ![]() This is yet another sequel where the climactic status quo of the previous film is needlessly undone, under very implausible circumstances, so that the key characters can essentially go on a near-identical adventure with near-identical character interaction. It's a nice change from "trying to control the world's information" or "trying to destroy the world to prevent climate change." Alas, this bigger-budget follow-up, with an even splashier cast, pushes the tone so egregiously toward farce that it undercuts both the present-tense narrative and the events of its predecessor. I again appreciated that the film's evil plot was loosely connected to real-world politics. Long story short, the Kincaids have gotten involved in a scheme by mafia kingpin Aristotle Papadopolous (Antonio Banderas) to destroy Europe to avenge Greece's crippling EU sanctions. Alas, minutes into his holiday, violence ensues as Sonia Kincaid (Salma Hayek, the "hitman's wife" of the title) snatches Bryce off a poolside chair and thrusts him into a globe-trotting adventure. However, for reasons that make no sense, Bryce's climactic heroism has resulted in him being further ostracized from the unofficial bodyguard club, with a company-mandated shrink arguing that he should take a break from trying to break back into the field. At the same time, the professional protector and the professional murderer have reached a level of mutual respect and situational friendship. By the end of the film, sorry for the spoilers, justice is done, honor is restored. It was a "real movie."įor those who came in late, The Hitman's Bodyguard starred Reynolds as Michael Bryce, a grumpy but hyper-competent, low-level bodyguard indirectly tasked with delivering professional killer Darius Kincaid to a court date. Jackson as an infamous assassin-turned-witness against Gary Oldman's genocidal tyrant). It featured strong practical actions sequences, just a hint of real-world topicality and winning chemistry between its straight man (Ryan Reynolds as a former top-tier bodyguard brought low by a high-profile failure) and its creator of comic chaos (Samuel L. Patrick Hughes' The Hitman's Bodyguard was no classic, but it was a big, R-rated, star-driven meat-and-potatoes action-comedy that remembered to balance the meat and potatoes. In a less IP-driven time, original or new-to-cinema franchises of this nature were Hollywood's favorite happy accidents. In theaters.The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard isn't the first "unexpected" sequel to a surprise smash hit to fumble the ball regarding artistically justifying another installment and/or remembering what made the original click. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard Rated R for farcical violence and a filthy mouth. Any takers for “The Hitman’s Wife’s Surrogate’s Bodyguard”? Yet, hearing Sonia wail over the disappointing dimensions of her vagina, I also heard the hoofbeats of the next movie. The performance is at once exhausting and awe-inspiring, making Sonia’s frustrated desire for a child one of the film’s more horrifying subplots. ![]() Hayek, thankfully, harbors no highfalutin illusions about Sonia, whose Chaucerian way with a curse is matched only by her double-D libido and industrial-strength vocal cords. Morgan Freeman shows up in a role I won’t spoil, and poor Frank Grillo - apparently unaware he’s in a cartoon - plays a Boston cop-turned Interpol agent with an admirably redundant solemnity. For Jackson, that means being so laid back at times he’s almost supine for Reynolds, whose character sustains more abuse than a crash-test dummy, it means reminding us that wisecracks are the best weapons. While the screenplay - by Tom O’Connor (who wrote the first film), Phillip Murphy and Brandon Murphy - struggles to make one lick of sense, the performers retreat to their comfort zones. ![]()
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