Ballerina
Directed by Len Wiseman
★★★★
Film Review: Ballerina
Elegance meets lethal ingenuity in a world where ballet becomes weaponry
Ballerina, directed by Len Wiseman and written by Shay Hatten and Derek Kolstad, unfolds during the events of John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum, charting Eve Macarro’s transformation within the Ruska Roma assassin tradition. Ana de Armas leads the cast as Eve, joined by Anjelica Huston, Gabriel Byrne, Lance Reddick, Ian McShane, and Norman Reedus in supporting roles that flesh out the shadowy underworld.
What distinguishes Ballerina is its graceful violence. While it lacks the relentless gun-fu choreography of the main John Wick series, its action scenes are refined, purposeful, and emotionally expressive. One moment perfectly summarizes that ethos: “Gives a new meaning to exchanging fire.” Instead of relying on traditional firearms, Eve uses what she finds to disarm opponents and fashion a path to survival. Watching her turn everyday objects into weapons is a thrill; it’s smart, resourceful, and entirely in tune with her training in improvisation.
Ana de Armas captures Eve’s evolution with subtle authority. Beginning as a haunted figure marked by loss, she gradually assumes the poise and confidence befitting her assassin lineage. She remains grounded in emotional truth—the grief is visible, the drive is constant, the resilience inspiring. She doesn’t ever feel like an imitation of Wick; her journey is personal and illuminated by intensity, empathy, and skill.
Anjelica Huston as The Director brings ritualized discipline to the Roma code. She’s precise, daunting—a matriarch enforcing traditions with unwavering conviction. Gabriel Byrne’s Chancellor offers the steady threat of institutional control, enforcing rules beyond blood ties. The late Lance Reddick delivers, in his final cinematic appearance, an emotional anchor as Charon—quiet, formidable, and weighty with history. Ian McShane returns briefly as Winston, reinforcing continuity from the franchise. Norman Reedus adds his trademark grit as Pine, in a surprising, yet nuanced role.
The training sequences are quietly compelling. We see Eve move through rituals of trial—sparring, weapons tests, meditation—without feeling repetitive or superficial. These scenes form the backbone of her transformation. When she finally deploys her skills in atmospheric locations—deserted bathhouses, alleyways under moonlight, and abandoned courtyards—the choreography clicks. It’s not about flashy cinematics, but choreographed silence. Each stomp, flip, and impact matters.
Importantly, the film embraces cultural depth. The Ruska Roma tradition is portrayed not merely as a backdrop for violence but as a complex society with rites, discipline, and intergenerational bonds. Eve’s trials are not just for power but identity. The cost of failure is not punishment—it’s exile. That weight imprints itself across the narrative.
If there is one criticism, it’s more about omission than execution. A political subplot involving internal Roma power struggles feels less fleshed-out, and certain emotional confrontations with mentors could have benefited from fuller exploration. Yet the film never feels pacing-wise slow or unresolved. It powers forward with urgency and clarity, maintaining momentum until its final, taut sequence.
Ballerina maintains a thematic layer in the John Wick franchise—one where violence is not only physical but artistic. It explores how tradition, discipline, and tragedy shape a warrior. Ana de Armas delivers a performance brimming with precision and heart. The film stakes are smaller than a global super-villain showdown, but they feel intimate, lived-in, and compelling.
Ballerina is a refined, polished entry in the John Wick universe. It’s not about endless shootouts but about adapting, creating, and surviving with grace under pressure. Eve Macarro’s journey is both beautiful and lethal—proof that in this world, survival can be an art form.
