The funniest joke in Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard occurs at the last gasps of the end credits. It’s just a shame, then, that you have to sit through 100 minutes of a knackered action-comedy to get there. Patrick Hughes’ follow-up to his lacklustre 2017 mismatched-buddy flick, itself a throwback to Shane Black’s output (Lethal Weapon, The Last Boy Scout), boasts nary an ounce of ambition or imagination, continually meeting the low bar set by the original. It just about has more laughs than the title has apostrophes. But not by much.
The set-up sees Ryan Reynold’s bodyguard Michael Bryce unable to cope with life after being stripped of his triple-A bodyguard licence for saving the life of hitman Darius Kincaid (Samuel L. Jackson) at the end of the first film. Sporting a “linen robe with an insanely high thread-count”, he is pulled out of recuperation by Sonia (Salma Hayek), Kincaid’s wife, to rescue her husband, who has been kidnapped by the Mafia. In convoluted but not particularly interesting ways, the trio are hired by a US Interpol operative (Frank Grillo) to stop Greek tycoon Aristotle Papadopolous — a monicker so Greek, his middle name is probably Taramasalata — from bringing down Europe by hacking into a central data junction, with a view to wiping out the power grid in retaliation for the EU imposing tough sanctions on Greece.
It just about has more laughs than the title has apostrophes. But not by much.
What follows is a story jammed with typical action-movie shenanigans: a suitcase full of money, a wrist-band primed to explode, a jaunt around international locations (mostly Italy), black cars in convoys, and a ridiculously high body-count (like the first film, it’s particularly violent for a film with a comedic agenda). The only innovation the film adds to the genre is Sonia shouting about her “tight pussy” at the top of her lungs. It’s unlikely to become a trope.
The first film had slivers of character — a fun sing-along with a group of nuns, Hayek beating up goons to Lionel Richie’s Hello, which gets a reprise here — but personality is largely absent second time round. In-between the averagely staged action laced with Reynolds and Jackson shouting at each over (never funny), there’s a through-line about Darius and Sonia starting a family and the film’s one genuine surprise, revolving around Morgan Freeman. Reynolds is caught between playing Bryce as a beta male but one who still has the bravado to make sarcastic quips, Jackson’s badass-in-a-jaunty-hat shtick wears thin (you just know when they get to Italy he is going to say, “Buon giorno, motherfucker”), and Antonio Banderas is a sub-Bond villain in a smoking jacket with very little to do. So it’s left to an outrageously over-the-top Hayek to bring a smidgeon of energy and fun (“I’m gonna put on a strap-on and fuck your dreams until they become nightmares”). But it’s not enough to redeem a tired, mostly witless affair. Please let’s hope we don’t get ‘Hitman’s Wife’s Child’s Bodyguard’ anytime soon.