Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn (or Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey)

Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn, like Suicide Squad before it, is a lot of set-ups, loose ends and character introductions in search of a consistent narrative frequency. To begin with we're firmly in the orbit of Margot Robbie's forsaken side-kick, motor-mouthing us through an unreliable take on her scattershot life. Robbie's voice-over energises this sequence, easily surmounting the exposition required to get Quinn's franchise refugee off a sinking ship and into a more sympathetic piece, one actually built around the friction inherent to the character rather than another opportunity to sell artfully shredded t-shirts.

Initially it seems as if Birds of Prey will always be organised via this erratic, Harley-first perspective - our jilted gangster's moll spoon-feeding us events and actions that place her in the driver's seat - but, sadly, this violent telenovela doesn't last. Other characters, each with their own backstory and archetypal needs, intrude. The shape of director Cathy Yan and screenwriter Christina Hodson's film warps to accommodate these additions, subordinating Harley's voice to wheel in lukewarm cop drama or a few operatic (but repetitive) stabs at revenge. Birds of Prey builds towards the construction of the titular super-group, an enemy-of-my-enemy moment that ends up playing unusually mechanical, especially given the pretty dire circumstances facing the women.

Unlike Suicide Squad, Birds of Prey manages to successfully paper over its jumbled storylines with a consistently exciting approach to stunt work. Second-unit direction comes courtesy of Chad Stahelski, the director responsible for all three John Wick films as well as the zippy, punched-up verisimilitude present in Captain America: Civil War's many super fights. Here Yan and Stahelski deliver action sequences that combine the madcap stunt-doubling and vehicular jeopardy of 1980s Hong Kong action films with the kind of beautiful, gymnastic collisions you associate with Lucha libre or Puroresu wrestling. Unlike other DC comic book films, that rely on crunchy, metahuman clashes, Birds of Prey uses momentum and weight to describe its devastating death blows. Stand out spots include: a running dropkick that wouldn't embarrass Kazuchika Okada and a fusspot supervillain being hurled off a foggy pier by a dynamite Sling Blade.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

John Wick: Chapter 2 ended somewhere wonderful by weaponising the secret, subdermal societies that otherwise strain to give the films any sense of a terrifying, vampiric centre. It was a smart decision - taking the series' weakest, chummiest element then transforming it into a rolling, enormous threat. Wick trespassed against the rule-set, killing an enemy currently under the protection of the sacred hotel chain that offers its clients boutique ceasefire. Thanks to this action screenwriter Derek Kolstad was able to pivot, taking Wick out of the comfort provided by being a murderer among murderers. There's a bounty on his head. He's prey now.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum begins shortly afterwards, plunging the title character into an Invasion of the Body Snatchers sized nightmare in which every single person in New York is living a pantomime life, concealing incredible martial arts skills and an intent to collect on Wick's head. For one act Parabellum keeps us locked into this paranoia - we see the bounty ticking up, our favourite assassin burning through former allies (including The Matrix Reloaded's Randall Duk Kim) and pointedly battling against foes he enjoys an otherwise friendly rapport with. Wick is attacked and injured, losing all access to the city's network of underground death bazaars. Gunless, he is forced to break into a museum armoury to assemble a six-shooter from antique parts like Tuco in The Good, The Bad and the Ugly.

Parabellum's problem is that it isn't interested in working through this idea of an assailed Wick. The character's fracturing sense of self is suggested then played at arm's length, the film preferring instead to lean back into the circuitous, disinteresting machinations that prop up this counterfeit world. Wick seeks audiences with higher and higher authorities, begging forgiveness along the way. These acts, which at least seem to be taking John somewhere compromised, are instead ways to massage through the dramatic dead-end of two opposing powers that cannot, yet, taste defeat. Still, the finale's the best yet - the aperitif before the tower climbing, Game of Death style, main course sets Wick against special forces soldiers clad head-to-toe in the same bulletproof material used by the assassin's tailor. Sustained gunfire does nothing but wobble the incoming hordes. Wick must instead get in close and use his pistol like a dirk - jamming its muzzle into the armour's creases to score the kill shot.

John Wick: Chapter 2

It's all a matter of taste but I bounce off a lot of the detailing in the John Wick universe. The baroque rule-set baked into the stories often seems unduly synthetic; a series of hanging excuses designed to stop or re-start the action whenever the screenwriters (in this instance, Derek Kolstad) can find no other, meaningful way to push our hero forward. Likewise, the technological leaps in tactical tailoring - that keep Wick buttoned up and protected without ruining his silhouette - suggest a heroic immunity that, really, stands to undermine any sense of situational distress. Nevertheless this particular flight of fancy does give rise to one fantastic moment - Reeves tugging at his slim-fitted jacket, forcing his lapel up over his face to protect his head from incoming bullets.

What is unmistakably and consistently brilliant about John Wick: Chapter 2 though is its star, Keanu Reeves. The 53 year old actor's movements stand in tonal opposition to the flamboyant nonsense around him. His Wick gait is stiff and deliberate, arthritic even. A living testament to a career filled with colliding bodies. The film's interpersonal action - just as frequent as the close-quarters shoot-outs - sees Wick using his size and weight against his enemies. His signature move is to trap his assailant's arms or pistol in some way, then kick away at their legs until both of their bodies collapse in a heap. Wick is then able to use them as an axis to take aim at other, incoming goons. Another choice that stands out is the actor's speed or, rather, his lack of it. There's no great hurry in Chad Stahelski's film. We see Reeve's body contorting and crashing in ways that let us know that it is pained, that these manoeuvres require an effort beyond simply shifting mass. A small but perfect note that lends every single confrontation a faint sense of fallibility. John Wick will win. But it will hurt.

John Wick

There's precious little wriggle room with John Wick. Keanu Reeves stars as the titular assassin, out for justice after a Russian mob brat steals his ride and pulps his dog. That's it. The film is a collision course, nothing more. John Wick impresses then because of this purity. Every line exist solely to feed into the idea of Wick as a horrifying, supernatural presence in the Golgo 13 mold. His enemies understand the danger he represents and quake accordingly.

Back in action, Reeves resembles something dragged out of a deep deep well in feudal Japan. A vengeful wraith, dredged up and dressed to impress, marksmanship skills eternally set to aimbot. Literally no head goes unplugged. Directors Chad Stahelski and David Leitch construct a series of athletic gunfights that revolve around a basic one-two boxing rhythm. If Wick can't immediately ventilate the cranium in question he'll put lead into a limb or sternum, explicitly paining his enemies so they reveal their unguarded head.