I didn’t intend to make little odes to alliteration, but sometimes the magic just happens.

With the cat’s repeated meowling at 4.45am, getting back to sleep was a no go. Naturally I harnessed the extra hours gifted to me that would usually be frittered away on such frivolous enterprises as “sleep” as anyone would. I watched John Wick. I haven’t watched an action movie for eons. I normally opt for dialogue driven faux intellectual character pieces because I think I’m better than the vast unwashed masses. Really though, I’ve seen enough extreme violence that it’s hard for it to excite me much any more. It’s not that real world violence doesn’t shock me, but fictitious fatalities feel so done. If I’m gonna watch something action oriented it needs to be either starkly gritty or comically aggressive. John Wick seemed like it’d have Punisher: War Zone level theatrics. Stylised violence so far beyond realism it was farcical. A body count stacked so high that human lives no longer had significance beyond their use in flowing choreography. Plus I have a noted love of siege related content, defensive or offensive. To that end, John Wick gave me exactly what I want. Is it what you want? Here’s a short synopsis:

After Russian mobsters kill his dog, ex-assassin John Wick gets back in the game to kill them all.

Spoilers: He does. So many. He shoots Theon Greyjoy, stabs some guy in the jaw, breaks another dude’s neck over a kitchen counter, hits a dude in a car then shoots him twice through the car roof. It’s dumb, but gloriously so. It’s stylistically shot (pun surprisingly not intended) and has a ludicrously fun internal logic that it adheres to. The scenes in the armistice hotel and bar (barmistice?) were a riot. A cadre of cool, collected, civil spies living it up in the lap of luxury. The central currency of coin, the duality of dialogue and significance of style were enticingly extravagant. Also his ex-dog was cute.

Being worlds away from the word “masterpiece”, it was nonetheless an enjoyably excessive romp into the world of assassinry (I want that so badly to be a real word). Would sleep have been more beneficial to my rapidly deteriorating mental state? Hell no. I can sleep when I’m dead, which I will be if John Wick comes for me. Or when I discover that the cat’s endless yowls are pre-empting her transformation into a flesh eating beast.

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