The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard (2021 | USA | 99 minutes | Patrick Hughes)
As theaters re-open, I wondered how long “the magic of cinema” would add its shine to new releases. I was on the edge of my seat for A Quiet Place: Part 2 and was thoroughly dazzled by the choreography that filled the screen with magic realism throughout In the Heights. I am sure that more than a small part of my exuberance for those films was seeing them projected in a dark room with a good sound system and a receptive audience. Could that spell extend to an unnecessary sequel to a pretty bad action comedy? Alas, it’s a no from me, dawg.
Back in 2017, the now-franchise saw Ryan Reynolds as a safety-minded nerd (the titular bodyguard) forced, through some cruel twist of comedic engineering, to protect his nemesis (Samuel L. Jackson, the titular hitman) who was responsible for the death of one of his elite clients. Like a couple of summer breakers, this odd couple bounced around the UK and the Netherlands having all sorts of violent adventures en route to a trial, the culmination of which saw Salma Hayek (the titular wife) sprung from prison. Alas, life on the lam wasn’t good enough for these rascals and in Hollywood there’s no such thing as too much money, so the trio have reunited for another string of misadventures that will leave massive destruction and unsettling body counts in their wake.
This installment opens with Reynolds in therapy, struggling to put the shame of the past film — and his impending de-certification as a bodyguard — behind him, a plotline that exists mainly to dial up his anxieties and put him “on a break” from gunplay. Elsewhere, Antonio Banderas joins the franchise as a Greek fashion victim slash billionaire (implausibly, even for an actor of his caliber and personal style) hellbent on restoring the honor of his beloved homeland by threatening to cripple the EU with ransomware (timely!) if they follow through in imposing austerity measures on Athens. It’s a scheme that involves a gigantic diamond-tipped drill, murderous henchpeople, and internet nodes, best not to think through the details. And of course, there is the hitman, who’s been taken hostage and the wife who tries to save him with … you’ll be shocked to hear this … the reluctant assistance of a certain bodyguard who exudes “strong asexual energy” (#representation).
Aside from piles of money, the major motivation for this film seems to be a group of actors who enjoy each other’s company and needed an excuse to hop around scenic towns in Italy. Looking for any sense in the plot — which draws these inept lunatics into this international conspiracy via an incompetent and dissatisfied Bostonian working for Interpol — will only lead to headaches, so best to either let it and all the explosions and gunplay wash over you or choose another way to spend an hour and a half. One might pass that time wishing that these charismatic actors with strong senses of comedic timing might’ve chosen to spend their vacation together doing a documentary about their fun, ground-level adventures, telling stories and just having a cool hang in scenic locations. But again, there’s probably a reason that The Trip To Italy hasn’t seen an American remake, so it’s big noisy stunts, an unsettling episode with a terrible British accent, dream sequences, an ever-convoluting plot, and a surprising number of references to Gary Marshall’s 1987 film Overboard.
One benefit of seeing this mess of a film with an audience was validation that some of the jokes and setups landed. The hitrate wasn’t great — maybe a half-dozen or so garnered laughs from my audience (spoiler: avoid looking at tthe biggest one is kinda spoiled by the poster) — but by the end the whole boisterous enterprise had worn me down to the point that I was the only person in the house cackling madly at Salma Hayek’s attempt to access her character’s maternal side while delivering an absurd personal anecdote. It’s not an instant classic, but these stars have some inherent appeal, they squeeze in some fun cameos, and there’s modest appeal to being out of your house, sharing a room with strangers, occasionally chuckling, groaning, or contemplating celebrity paychecks in the company of others. By the end the overwrought plotting, excessive if not competent action sequences, and ridiculousness of it all made my head hurt, but if you’re in the mood to see a cast of big stars give broad hammy performances while making things go all kinds boom in picturesque settings, it has to be significantly less frustrating than trying to plan your own trip to Europe in these times of uncertain travel restrictions.
The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard is in wide theatrical release, for better or for worse. Header image courtesy Lionsgate.