The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard
LionsgateThe first Hitman’s Bodyguard, released what seems like ages ago, in 2017, was already a creative stretch. Held together solely by the chemistry between leading men, Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson, a feature that had the potential to be a fun buddy-cop throwback wound up being just another bland blockbuster, albeit with a handful of funny moments and decent action. Passable, but nothing to warrant a sequel. Hollywood being Hollywood, here arrives the second film, The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard, and with all due respect to Salma Hayek, whose increased capacity is the only improvement over the first; this is otherwise a wholesale downgrade and a bafflingly poor excuse of a film.
Director Patrick Hughes is back, but it is hard to tell because he adds little creativity and spark, or even a personal spin on things. There does not seem like there was a purpose or intent behind this feature, and it lacks passion. Hughes never veers from the all-too-familiar path every spy thriller follows or manages to catch his audience off-guard. The plot is predictable, and the filmmaking is rote. The flat action sequences are made more generic by shaky handheld camerawork from cinematographer Terry Stacy, and the far too eager editing by Michael J. Dutchie and Jack Hutchings is often overstated. The result is a film that struggles to break out of the shot/reverse shot doldrums, meaning there is no visual panache. It might as well be a stage-play for the lack of interest in filmmaking.
Music, too, seems to be out of place. Both the score and soundtrack go for a groovy 70’s vibe with some funky beats and old-fashioned tunes. That choice could have made the film stand out from the crowd of clunky action thrillers. However, nothing else in the film signifies a retro tone, and so the anachronistic music just sits there, begging to be in a better movie. Ham-fisted jukebox hits in select action scenes only contribute to the sense that this is nothing more than a run-of-the-mill action-comedy. Maybe the most overused trick in the book at this point is the action scene set to an upbeat disco song.
The first film had all of the above as well, but at least it was funny. A lot can be forgiven when a film makes its audience laugh. The jokes are not exceptionally well-written in that film, but the verbal sparring between Reynolds and Jackson worked. What they were saying isn't actually witty, but they made it sound that way.
The sequel’s script, penned by Tom O’Connor, Brandon Murphy, and Phillip Murphy, is dumbed down to the point of no redemption. They seem to think their audience are middle school boys. Juvenile humour and slapstick humour does not always have to be uninspired, but it is here. When the writers cannot think of anything more clever than “look how large Salma Hayek’s breasts are” and rely on an outrageously unfunny piece of backstory involving an overweight ferris wheel-rider crushing a certain character’s mother to death, then you know they aren’t digging very deep.
At least Reynolds, Jackson, and Hayek do the best with the hand they are dealt. Although their verbal back-and-forths in this film feel more forced than they did in the last, they at least seem like they’re having a good time. They do a particularly excellent job of selling the film’s last joke, which, apparently, was a case of saving the best for last. It almost makes up for the seriously unfunny material before it. Hayek is great because she hams it up and goes 100 per cent in every scene. Reynolds and Jackson are both masters of the spoken word, talking non-stop and to great effect in most of their roles, especially for the former. Nevertheless, when those roles are not well-written, they can talk as much as they want, and it will not change the basics of what they are saying. In this case, most of it is not worth listening to.
