In Ballerina, we pirouette back into the neon-drenched, bullet-laced world of assassins, cocktail-dressed carnage, and people who don’t flinch at flying cutlery. Set between the events of John Wick: Chapter 3 and Chapter 4, the film follows Rooney (Ana de Armas) as she embarks on a vengeance tour worthy of a classical ballet crossed with an action RPG. The mission? A bloodstained revenge spree with a side of tragic backstory, gun-fu, and a sprinkle of “let’s see how many somersaults we can do while reloading.”
Ana de Armas does not come to play. She comes to kill. And flip. And stab. And take a grenade to the plot and walk away from it in slo-mo. Ana embraces this role like she’s auditioning to replace Lara Croft, Black Widow, and every Jason Bourne clone simultaneously. Whether it was her, her stunt double, or a genetically enhanced clone—she delivers. She’s a walking vengeance poem, and her physicality isn’t just impressive—it’s borderline Olympic.
When it comes to conveying pain and rage without becoming melodramatic, Ana nails it. She channels that “I just found out I’ve been lied to my whole life and now everyone’s catching these hands” kind of energy. Seriously, she acts the hell out of the choreography. And the grief. And the rage. She’s like a guided missile with feelings.
Keanu Reeves does appear (you thought he wouldn’t?), and while his screen time isn’t the bulk of the movie, his impact is as unmistakable as a perfectly tailored bulletproof suit. He glides in, does his thing—cue crowd cheer—and exits with his usual grace and grit. It’s like watching a myth walk onto the screen for a cameo and then vanish like smoke. Beautiful.
Also, a bittersweet note—Lance Reddick graces us with one final appearance. The man was elegance, calm, and quiet command all in one. His presence here is Titanic, both a tribute and a farewell. Destiny (yes, pun intended), he will be missed.
Visually, Ballerina continues the Wickverse aesthetic—dark neon blues, moody reds, and more backlit hallways than a techno club in Berlin. But it also experiments. The camera work gets bold—particularly in one gloriously chaotic grenade sequence that feels like John Wick meets Cirque du Soleil meets Die Hard. There’s also a village-set scene that is so wildly inventive and off-kilter, you’ll need a minute to ask, “Wait, are we still in the same franchise?!”
The soundtrack slaps harder than a bulletproof tux. There’s classical instrumentation laced with synth, industrial tones, and orchestral suspense that knows exactly when to amp up and when to back off and let the tension simmer. If this score had a pulse, it would be 130 BPM and on pre-workout.
Let’s be real: Ballerina is not the best movie in the John Wick saga. But guess what? It’s also not trying to be. And that’s exactly what makes it good. This isn’t “John Wick with lipstick”—it’s “Hey, what if we spun off into a corner of this world and told a different kind of story, with the same rules, same stakes, but new legs to break?”
Story-wise, it tries. Really. It reaches for emotional weight through a subplot about a lost sibling that lands with all the impact of a soggy baguette. We see this sibling for maybe 20 seconds total, and we’re supposed to care enough to justify a blood-soaked odyssey? It’s not giving what it thought it was giving.
Still, that storyline—flimsy as it is—does set the stage for everything else that does work: Eve’s growth, her fury, her calculated descent into violence. The pacing is a bit uneven—think ballet recital with surprise mosh pits—but overall it recovers quickly enough to keep your interest locked.
Ballerina is like ordering a dish from your favorite restaurant’s secret menu—you know it’s not the classic, but it’s cooked in the same kitchen, by the same chef, with just enough flair to surprise you. It might not leave you breathless like the main course (John Wick 4), but it will leave you satisfied. Full. Ready for round two.
Ana de Armas deserves a sequel. Maybe even a franchise of her own. And if we’re lucky, a spin-off team-up with Mr. Wick himself? Yes please. Make it happen, Hollywood.
