From the World of John Wick: Ballerina is Rated R by the Motion Picture Rating (MPA) for strong/bloody violence throughout, and language.

Review: Ballerina

It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Ever since John Wick (2014) carved out its bullet-riddled corner of action cinema with balletic violence and unapologetic cool, the genre has been thirsting for a female-led installment that doesn’t just borrow its flair, but earns it. We’ve seen sparks of this before — in Hanna, Atomic Blonde, Salt, and of course, La Femme Nikita — but Ballerina, directed (officially) by Len Wiseman and spiritually by Chad Stahelski, may be the first to fully plant its feet, pirouette through the crossfire, and land with a satisfying, blood-slicked thud.

The film follows Ana de Armas, best known for her vulnerable turn in Knives Out and her blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-but-you-won’t-forget-it role as Paloma in No Time to Die, steps into the lead as Eve — a ballerina-trained assassin with a vendetta, a tragic past, and very little patience for mercy. And yes, she’s the kind of character who will break your nose with a pirouette and look damn good doing it.

The setup is classic revenge tale. Orphaned. Trained by a criminal syndicate. Burned by betrayal. Thirsty for retribution. Nothing revolutionary, sure — but that’s not the point. Like John Wick, the narrative here is more architecture than substance, a thin scaffolding on which to hang beautiful, brutal carnage. And in that regard, Ballerina delivers.

Though Wiseman is the director of record, you’d be forgiven for thinking Stahelski pulled more strings behind the scenes. His fingerprints are all over the film’s DNA — from the kinetic gun-fu choreography to those long, loving tracking shots that turn every fight into a violent waltz. There’s an elegance in how the action unfolds: precise, deliberate, merciless. But Eve isn’t a copy of John Wick. She’s not stoic or untouchable. She’s scrappy, emotional, and constantly just one step away from being overpowered. And that’s exactly what makes her compelling.

De Armas doesn’t glide through this movie — she claws. She’s kicked, slammed, stabbed, and set on fire (at one point, quite literally). And yet she moves with a dancer’s poise and a survivor’s desperation. Unlike Wick, whose mythos precedes him into every room, Eve earns her respect in real time, one broken limb at a time. She bleeds. She gasps. She gets thrown through ice tables and fire-lit backdrops. But she always gets back up — not because she’s invincible, but because she doesn’t know what else to do.

There’s a standout sequence involving flamethrowers (yes, flamethrowers) that leans into the surreal, giving Eve a moment of grim poetry amid the bloodshed. It’s absurd and stylized, yet somehow grounded — exactly the kind of controlled chaos this universe thrives on.

The film also folds in some familiar faces, teasing its Wick-verse ties without leaning on them too heavily. Ian McShane’s Winston and the late, great Lance Reddick’s Charon return for brief but welcome appearances — both of them exuding that dignified, world-weary gravitas that’s become the franchise’s soul. Norman Reedus pops up as a target named Daniel Pine, though frustratingly, he’s underused. One minute he’s on the run, the next he’s practically a footnote. A curious waste of such a magnetic presence.

And yes, Keanu Reeves himself appears. Briefly. Spectacularly. In a short, sharp action beat that reminds us why Wick is still the Baba Yaga. It’s a glorified cameo, but it hits all the right notes — particularly when he effortlessly bests Eve in combat, reminding us all who built the house she’s dancing in. There’s even a curious nod to shared parentage, as Anjelica Huston’s “Director” — who raised John and now mentors Eve — implies the two assassins might be adoptive siblings. It’s a detail that could add interesting layers to future installments, if the studio chooses to go down that rabbit hole.

If there’s a criticism to be made, it’s in the story’s predictability. Ballerina walks a straight line — young Eve trains, suffers, hunts, kills, uncovers a few mild family secrets, and keeps killing. There are no shocking twists, no philosophical ruminations like Wick’s fraught relationship with the High Table. The stakes feel smaller, more personal — which isn’t bad, just… safe. The emotional beats are there, but they rarely resonate as deeply as they could. And while the action is stellar, it occasionally echoes what we’ve already seen — different rhythm, same melody.

But in a genre that often recycles its leads with little variation, de Armas stands out. She doesn’t try to be Keanu, nor does she coast on charm. She plays Eve as someone constantly out of her depth, but fiercely determined to claw her way to the surface. That’s a character I want to see again.

High Recommended:

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Violence:  The violence here is, in a word, operatic. Think: flamethrowers lighting up hallways like hell’s own nightclub, close-quarter knife fights with bone-crunching sound design, and gun battles so frequent and so bloody they practically become choreography. And it’s not just a few moments of action bookending a story — it’s throughout. This is a world where pain is currency, and death is dealt with precision and flair.

Ana de Armas’ Eve is not spared from the carnage. In fact, she takes a beating in nearly every scene — slammed into tables, shot at, stabbed, and thrown down icy stairs. It’s brutal, but not gratuitous in a gross-out kind of way. The action leans heavily into stylization (thanks to Chad Stahelski’s invisible hand, no doubt), but the impact still hits. Blood splatters. Bones snap. One particular scene involving a flamethrower is as visually striking as it is deadly. If your teen is squeamish or not yet used to John Wick-level violence, this might be overwhelming.

Language: While the language isn’t wall-to-wall profanity, there are a fair few F-bombs and harsh language scattered across the film — typically shouted mid-fight or dropped in those quiet moments between the chaos. It’s nothing that feels out of place in an R-rated action thriller, but it’s there.

Sex & Nudity: Despite the R rating, there’s very little in the way of sexual content or nudity — almost refreshingly so. Ballerina is all about revenge, survival, and death in motion. There’s no romantic subplot to speak of, no exploitative camera work lingering where it shouldn’t. The only “intimacy” here comes in the form of a knife to the throat or a bullet through the skull. No one’s here for love scenes.

Substance & Drug Use: Mild and infrequent. Characters drink alcohol (mostly whiskey) in a few scenes. No explicit drug use is shown, but the criminal underworld setting implies it exists in the background. One brief scene hint at a character being intoxicated or drugged, but it’s not graphic or detailed.

Final Verdict:

Ballerina doesn’t reinvent the gun-barrel. It doesn’t have to. What it does is take the template John Wick perfected, hand it to a capable and compelling female lead, and spin it into something fluid, visceral, and full of bruised grace. Ana de Armas doesn’t just prove she belongs in this world — she kicks the damn door down and demands her place at the table.