By Susan Granger
Special to WestportNow
It’s more mayhem and murder as John Wick (Keanu Reeves) prepares for war; that’s the translation of the Latin word “Parabellum” in the subtitle of “John Wick: Chapter 3.”
In the original film, Wick was mourning the death of his wife Helen when his beagle puppy, a posthumous gift from Helen, was murdered. Revenge became the name of his sociopathic game.
Beginning where Chapter 2 ended, Wick is racing through midtown Manhattan with less than an hour to prevent his being made “excommunicado” by The High Table, a top-secret, international assassin syndicate, because he broke the Prime Directive by killing an enemy on the premises of the Hotel Continental, a supposed safe-space, run by imperious Winston (Ian McShane).
With a $14 million contract on his head, every killer in New York seems to be after him: a giant corners him in the stacks of the New York Public Library, then more self-defense in an antiques store, Grand Central Terminal, and astride a horse riding down a busy road under a Brooklyn El train.
As Wick seeks sanctuary in the Tartovsky Theatre, The Director (Anjelica Huston), who trains ballerina/assassins, declares, “Art is pain!”
So it’s off to Casablanca, as taciturn Wick meets up with femme fatale Sofia (Halle Barre) and her two snarling, ferociously obedient Belgian Malinois who decimate his Moroccan pursuers. Then there’s The Adjudicator (Asia Kate Dillon), the Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne), and a street-stall sushi-chef/ninja named Zero (Mark Dacasos).
Cobbled together by a quartet of screenwriters (franchise creator Derek Kolstad with Shay Hatten, Chris Collins and Marc Abrams) — with no interest in character development, clever dialogue, or plot logic — it’s directed by martial-arts expert/stunt coordinator Chad Stahelski.
On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, “John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum” is an exaggerated, escapist 6, a silly, super-macho threequel filled with ultraviolent action.
“White Crow,” the title of director Ralph Fiennes’ kaleidoscopic biopic about the early life of dancer Rudolf Nureyev (Oleg Ivenko), refers to a Russian expression meaning an “odd bird.”
Nureyev’s story begins in 1961, just after he’s defected to the West, as his mentor/teacher Alexander Pushkin (Ralph Fiennes) is questioned by government agents. That’s followed by a confusing flashbacks.
Born on a Trans-Siberian train in 1938, Nureyev had an impoverished childhood in Ufa — which Fiennes films as devoid of color. Uninterested in children’s games, Rudy fantasized about traveling to faraway places. When his mother smuggled him and his sisters into a ballet performance, his future was sealed.
Nureyev spent his formative years at Leningrad’s Vaganova Ballet Academy, a feeder for the Kirov Ballet (now called the Mariinsky). Substituting ferocious passion for technique, he rebelled against classical authority, becoming known for his perfectionism and arrogance.
When the Kirov went on tour to Paris, Nureyev dismissed ‘official’ outings, preferring to visit museums and galleries by himself or accompanied by French friends — like socialite Clara Saint (Adele Exarchopoulos), daughter of the notable Chilean artist.
Reprimanded by Soviet authorities, Nureyev was told he would not travel with the Kirov to London. Rather than return to Moscow, he sought asylum at Paris’ La Bouget Airport. That’s where the film ends.
Too bad they didn’t include his Royal Ballet partnership with British ballerina Margot Fonteyn and, later, his work at the Paris Opera Ballet in the 1980s. A bona fide jet-setter, Nureyev died from AIDS in 1993.
Based on Julie Kavanagh’s “Nureyev: The Life,” David Hare’s fragmented script emphasizes the physical, mental and emotional dedication required of Nureyev to rise to the top of his profession, becoming the most significant influence on male ballet technique and style since Vaslav Nijinsky.
Unfortunately, 26 year-old Oleg Ivenko, a talented Ukrainian dancer with the Tatar State Ballet in Kazan, Russia, lacks Nureyev’s charismatic sensuality.
On the Granger Gauge, “The White Crow” is a sinewy 7, skipping the balletomane frenzy of “Black Swan” and “The Red Shoes.”
For the uninitiated, Pokemon is a video game created by Satoshi Tajiri, who wanted to give Japanese children a sense of adventure in nature. Pocket Monsters/Pokemon are fictional animals that have special skills, such as psychic powers, electric shocks or sleep-inducing songs.
First, there were trading cards, then a cartoon. Soon Pokemon became a global phenomenon, as players were able to simulate the experience of catching the powered-up Pocket Monsters in the real world.
Taking many of its plot points from the 2016 Nintendo game, “Detective Pikachu” is set in Ryme City, a wondrous, experimental world in which humans and CGI Pokemon live in relative harmony.
Tim Goodman (Justice Smith) is the son of Harry, a Ryme City private investigator, who is believed to have died in a fiery car crash but his body was never found.
Arriving in the neon-drenched metropolis, Tim finds his dad’s former partner, a cuddly, coffee-guzzling, yellow Pikachu (voiced by Ryan Reynolds), who suffers from amnesia and whose snarky, smart-alecky voice only Tim can hear.
With the help of cable-news intern Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton), billionaire Howard Clifford (Bill Nighy) and his spoiled son (Chris Geere), they’re determined to find out what really happened to Harry.
Is the culprit Mewtwo, a beastie created by gene-splicing and DNA engineering to be the mixed martial arts machine? Or does the mystery go deeper?
Plus, there are 807 Pokemon, including adorable Psyduck, an excitable quacker who induces headaches; Jigglyouff, the diva chanteuse; Cubone, wearing the Goth-like skull of his dead mother; and Charizard, who spurts fiery dragon breath.
Based on Nicole Perlman’s story, it’s scripted by Dan Hernandez, Benji Samit, Derek Connolly & director Rob Letterman (“Gulliver’s Travels”) with a conclusion reminiscent of Kevin Costner’s “Field of Dreams.”
On the Granger Gauge, “Detective Pikachu” is a spirited 6, a frantic fantasy-adventure aimed at millennials who are well acquainted with the cast of characters.
(Editor’s Note: Westport resident Susan Granger grew up in Hollywood, studied journalism with Pierre Salinger at Mills College, and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with highest honors in journalism. In addition to writing for newspapers and magazines, she has been on radio/television as an anchorwoman and movie/drama critic for many years. See her reviews at www.susangranger.com.)
