Hong Kong Influences on John Wick

The John Wick is style is so distinct from Hollywood action

from the 1980’s through the present because of its adherence to
traditions established in Hong Kong and transnational martial
arts cinema. Specifically, much of Bruce Lee’s ethos can be
mapped onto Keanu Reeves and the Wick character. It takes less
from the highly constructivist action of John Woo’s Hard Boiled,

otherwise a much closer match in content, as it does the musical

influenced Shaw Brothers productions. More of the body is shown,
whether in full wide shots or the highly favored medium wide
shot, through which Keanu maneuvers with incredible
meticulousness.

This also extends to the duration of shots, which is often

considerably above the average of Hollywood action. The focus is

on the detail of the movements, much the same as a musical

number, or the kung-fu and swordplay films mentioned by Bordwell
(133). Like Lee, these stylistic in shot length and distance are
favored to highlight the authentic skill of the actor.

That’s not to say John Woo is of no significance in relation

to Wick. The pause/burst/pause formula honed by Woo is all over

John Wick. Even the very start of the movie throws into a violent
car wreck, interrupting that moment of kinesthesia with happy
flashbacks. Overall, the framing of Keanu is tighter and tighter
the more sentimental a scene is meant to be, but at times even
flashbacks use wide angles to show his entire body. The rhythm of
John Wick is both very traditional and highly innovative at
times. The nightclub sequence, for example, isn’t only slowed
down whenever John is visibly hurt or strained, but in the middle
of a gunfight when John needs to reload unexpectedly. He performs
flashy press checks and manages ammunition while his opponents
are still reeling. By itself, reloading isn’t that novel, though
there are many popular productions that ignore this facet of gun
handling altogether. The specific reload is combined with a much

less fatal throat jab to allow Wick the opportunity,

demonstrating genuine skillfulness and dexterity on the part of
Keanu Reeves.
 It’s odd to call John Wick a realistic film. While the
technical camerawork may be more like that of Shaw productions,
its depictions of violence align with a shift toward realistic
brutality in 1960’s Mandarin swordplay films as noted by Bordwell

(130). John Wick certainly has moments of absurdity, but it’s

clearly less fantastical than the gunfights performed by the same
actor in The Matrix. As Neo, Keanu Reeves satisfies feats of
preternatural acrobatics fitting of Peking Opera, whereas John
Wick stays grounded in a very literal sense. That is to say that
the actor and character are trained in judo and jiu jitsu,
relying on “ ground game ” whether he’s holding a gun or not.

Despite this, John Wick is an exhibition of superhuman

resilience on par with many superhero movies. John was brutalized
even before we saw him fight, as he was attacked with a bat in

his home. He is shot, stabbed, and thrown off of things more than
enough times to kill any human. It’s especially absurd

considering he receives this sort of punishment in every movie,

and all three movies take place within the same couple weeks.
Even the countless gun-toting fodder John fights throughout the
movie are notably endurant, oftentimes withstanding several
gunshots and stab wounds themselves. Landing the decisive blow is
outlined by Bordwell as a key technical issue when creating such
an action spectacle (148). While there are variations in the way

Wick finishes his enemies, the headshot is the most recurrent.

More than once, John will lace his enemies with body shots only
to eventually arrange the headshot.

The language of the film is clear. For every way it strains

believability, a headshot is fatal. With this rule in place,
Reeves is given ample opportunity to showcase his grappling
skills, as the precise positioning of his opponents is a constant

concern. It also allows for a moment of subversion in John Wick:

Chapter 2, in which a particularly large assassin requires two
headshots to down.

Reeves is often criticized for one-note performances,

portraying bland characters that lack complexity. What is seen in
Hollywood as a limitation specifically primes him to be a
fantastic choice for martial arts action. Hong Kong filmmakers
realized the importance of sharp, easily read gestures decades
before the meteoric rise of Keanu Reeves. Simply put, when
complex action occurs at quick pace, whatever the character is
feeling needs to be abundantly evident. This is an area where
John Wick excels tremendously. Some of the only characterizations

before the first shootout show him nearly crashing his car on
purpose; he’s a thrill seeker to the extreme. Often, he’s dressed

almost exactly like his opponents in black suits and vests yet
maintains a distinctive presence on screen simply because of his
intelligence and skill. This is especially clear in the first
entry in the series, as no real rival characters have yet been
established. John is simply better.

When John is fighting back against Viggo’s mercenaries in

his home, there comes a moment when he stands across a shelf from
an attacker. They both attempt to protect themselves while
firing, but only John is skilled enough to achieve the intended
result. The attacker fires first while messily shielding his eyes

with his free arm, while John crouches and turns his back. He’s
making himself a smaller target, stabilizing his gun arm with the

rest of his body, and waiting to hear the shot of his attacker so
he knows where to aim. After a few shots are exchanged, John
grapples his opponent, brings them to the ground, and tosses them
through a window. Just by turning his back he demonstrates a
level of control far above his opponent, who is hopelessly open
at this moment.
 While organized movement is used to distinguish Wick in the
movie, it also separates Reeves from other Hollywood action
icons. In “ From the One to John Wick: Keanu Reeves and the
action genre, ” author Rebecca Feasey takes the time to contrast
Reeves’ approach to masculinity with household names like Dwayne

Johnson, Frank Stallone, and Arnold Schwarzenegger (1). The Rock

is so implausibly fit he doesn’t even need to move for his
physicality to be understood. Indeed, one of the most enduring
images from Predator is simply a close up of Carl Weathers
shaking hands with the 38 governor of California, their arms
flexing hysterically. It's exciting, but this approach stands on
the opposite side of the universe relative to Keanu’s

physicality. His muscles are covered in a suit that screams

professional, and every movement he makes is further
justification of that moniker.

Admittedly, the color palette seems far removed from Hong

Kong classics. The film is inescapably gray with cold lighting,
washing most scenes in blue. Landscape shots are also few and far
between, perhaps the most notable exception being a cut from
Aurelio’s garage to Viggo overlooking the city, establishing a
power dynamic. The lack of some filmic traditions feeds into
others considered synonymous with Hong Kong and transnational
action.

Just as physical violence is innately exciting, so are all

things vulgar. Bordwell arguably spends too much time making this

point when detailing penile bulges and comic warts as examples of

the vulgar and hideous tropes populating Hong Kong features (5).
John Wick is no less committed to showing the upsetting. After
all, a dog is clubbed to death within the opening act. Viggo’s
son, played by Alfie Allen, instantly vomits on the floor when
struck. The camera pans from a man changing in the nightclub
locker room over to another picking their teeth in the mirror. In

moments of respite, John messily tends to his wounds. He stitches

his incisions closed and later staples them shut with veterinary
equipment in wake of the final showdown. Marcus isn’t just killed
but tortured and mocked. Stabbings and drownings are more than
lingered over.

At the same time, the film leans into a specific,

understated comedy. The scene in which this is the most blatant

is when Jimmy, local law enforcement personnel responding to a

noise complaint, greets John at the door. Of course, a
conventional way for this scene to play out would be Jimmy
attempting to apprehend John in some way. Instead, they both take
quiet notice of the bodies lying behind in John’s home. “ You
working again? ” sounds like the sort of meaningless formality

Yasujirō Ozu’s child actors would have railed against in the

family-orientated Good Morning. In John Wick, it’s instantly

decipherable code for murder business.

A cop showing up to the scene of a homicide, casually

greeting the owner of the home, and leaving is a funny enough
premise. But this scene is also an introduction to the world

building that becomes much heavier handed by the series’ third

entry. This is a world very much resembling our own with the
exception of an assassination network deeply imbedded into the
lives of ordinary people, like Jimmy. This connects to a Hong
Kong trope wherein excellent martial artists are found everywhere
hiding among unassuming, banal occupations. The John Wick sequels
play with this idea more directly, as a percentage of New York’s

population are revealed as undercover assassins who strike at

John regardless of locale.

What distinguishes John Wick today is what makes it so

familiar to Hong Kong. It matches the musical cinematography of

the Shaw Brothers while keeping rhythm with John Woo. It has a
wholly original take on gun kata, void of constructivist editing

and deeply tied to grappling-orientated martial arts. It’s

innovative, but at every turn devoted to paying homage to
practices that have been tested in countless Hong Kong
productions. As an icon of action cinema, Keanu Reeves stands
closer to Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan than their western
counterparts.
 Works Cited

Bordwell David. Planet Hong Kong : Popular Cinema and the Art of
Entertainment. Harvard University Press 2000.

Feasey, R. (2022) 'From The One to John Wick: Keanu Reeves and

the action genre’, in Gerrard, S. and Middlemost, R., eds.

Gender and action films 1980-2000: beauty in motion. London:
Emerald, pp. 199-212.