Movies » Movie Reviews & Stories

Keanu Reeves is the joyless voice of a burnt-out generation in John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum



“Tick, tock, Mr. Wick.”

When last we left unhappily unretired professional killer John Wick (modern noir god Keanu Reeves), he had just been given a one-hour head-start on his excommunication from the global assassins’ guild he is a member of, along with the laying of a contract on his life that will be too big for anyone to let pass. He was in big trouble.

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum (“prepare for war”) picks up right there as Wick runs around a neon-slicked New York City nighttime downpour in that final hour, chasing down some McGuffins that might help him survive this. New York City is suddenly ground zero for an all-out assassins’ war, one man versus everyone else. (As someone who knows John well notes wryly, the odds are about even, then.) Chapter 3 kicks off with a badass bang of gasp-inducing, exhausting, inventive violence: kinetic, balletic, even witty.

The hand-to-hand combat sequences are often squicky and meaty, gross but also intimate in a way that is the opposite of the cartoonish bloodlessness of the typical tedious action movie the Wick saga has put to shame. Even when it’s random anonymous minions Wick is dispatching, you don’t forget that they’re people. And yet it’s also like physical comedy, lethal Harold Lloyd versus deadly Charlie Chaplin, on steroids and painkillers, even when it’s not funny – though sometimes it is.

Parabellum is a veritable symphony of violence, and after that slam-bang opening sonata comes a slow movement, ringing with dark notes. (Later comes Wick’s minuet with another assassin, Sofia [Halle Berry], who owes him a favor sealed in blood, against their world.) In the slow movements the film indulges in expanding the glorious, subtle world-building its predecessors began sketching. This is not our reality but an ever-so-slightly fantasy-adjacent alt, one in which the retro funky and the sleekly modern sit comfortably next to each other, but also – much more importantly – one in which there appears to be a degree of order and honor among a profoundly interwoven and interconnected criminal underworld that would be comforting to imagine actually existed. (Absolutely stealing the movie, even from the rivetingly charismatic Reeves: Asia Kate Dillon as the Adjudicator, from the guild’s ruling High Table, arriving to pass judgment on all the rule-breaking that has been going on. OMG, give them their own movie, now.)

But then, Parabellum is about the sham, sometimes, of the seeming orderliness of the world, of any world. John’s crime, the one that got him declared excommunicado, is the act in which he killed a fellow guild member at New York’s Continental, which is not just a hotel and social club for guild members, but also safe-space neutral ground where no guild member can be harmed by another. The man he killed had broken the rules (in Chapter 2) in a way far more muted, yet in a way that could never be proven to be a transgression. Chapter 3 is, as its predecessors were, a vigilante movie ... but in a way like never before, this vigilante truly has no authentic approved recourse: neither the legal nor pseudo-legal structures he exists and operates within will recognize the rightness of his actions. They literally cannot recognize justice, in this instance, it’s so alien to their bureaucracy.

This is a recurring motif throughout Chapter 3: “There are rules and there are consequences.” But what happens when the rules and the seeming sense of order protect, even if unwittingly, those who act in bad faith? What happens when order masks chaos and injustice?

There’s a reason why the John Wick movies are resonating today, and it goes beyond the pure cinematic pinnacle of its beautifully choreographed action and its weary tenacity in the face of adversity. It goes beyond stolid Keanu Reeves utterly embodying the phlegmatic voice of a burnt-out generation. It’s about the sense that the authority and the institutions we have perceived as reliable and in charge are letting us down not out of any outright fault of their own (or maybe so, too) but because they simply don’t work anymore Maybe never did ... but now we see it. This is, I think, a profound reflection of our times, one we are just beginning to wake up to.

We welcome readers to submit letters regarding articles and content in Orlando Weekly. Letters should be a minimum of 150 words, refer to content that has appeared on Orlando Weekly, and must include the writer's full name, address, and phone number for verification purposes. No attachments will be considered. Writers of letters selected for publication will be notified via email. Letters may be edited and shortened for space.

Email us at

Support Local Journalism.
Join the Orlando Weekly Press Club

Local journalism is information. Information is power. And we believe everyone deserves access to accurate independent coverage of their community and state. Our readers helped us continue this coverage in 2020, and we are so grateful for the support.

Help us keep this coverage going in 2021. Whether it's a one-time acknowledgement of this article or an ongoing membership pledge, your support goes to local-based reporting from our small but mighty team.

Join the Orlando Weekly Press Club for as little as $5 a month.