“The Continental,” subtitled somewhere in the marketing as, “From the World of John Wick,” is indeed what it advertises: a series that spins off from the kinetic assassins action-thriller franchise starring Keanu Reeves and now on its fourth installment, possibly going on a fifth. “John Wick” has its own intricate mythology filled with codes and currencies— the High Table, The Bowery King and The Bowery Boys, The Operators, Adjudicators, and of course, The Continental, the opulently noir-ish underworld assassin-friendly hotel where “No business can be conducted on the neutral premises.” Aka, you may be a contract killer, but you cannot kill within The Continental grounds, such is the strangely gallant “honor among thieves” conduct ideologies and rules the hotel and its murderous guests abide by.
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One could argue ‘Wick’ myths are what make the franchise special, alluring, and mysterious, beyond just well-orchestrated action fisticuffs, Keanu and neon lights, so perhaps it makes perfect sense that the brand’s first spin-off centers around the neutral underworld playground known as “The Continental.”
That said, the opportunity to expand, grow, and spin-out the mythos even further are largely squandered in “The Continental,” a stylish, and handsomely crafted three-part Peacock series that is nevertheless content to largely just act as a history lesson. The syllabus is obv: how the current cravat-fashioned Continental proprietor Winston Scott (Ian McShane in the movies) came into ownership of the high-class establishment. And perhaps more importantly, there is no Keanu or McShane to lend it some engaging presence or starpower.
It’s initially a compelling tale about fate, legacy and the myths behind them and the complexities of family —estranged, feigned, or otherwise. But it soon devolves into a largely straightforward revenge tale where the main character grunts with searing would-be retribution, “I need guns…lots of guns.” Sound familiar? It mostly is. And the lack of surprises harm the well-made event-series like a crisp roundhouse to the face.
Scummier and scuzzier than the sleeker new films, given its 1970s dumpster fire New York milieu, the story initially begins even further back, centering on two street rat hoodlum kids and brothers, Winston (Colin Woodell) and Frankie Scott (Ben Robson), who are scattered to the winds when one of them, Frankie, takes the fall for crime of arson perpetrated at the behest of contemptible, but charming crime lord Cormac (Mel Gibson). Cut to some twenty-odd years later, Cormac runs The Continental and Frankie is one of his hired goons. But Frankie hasn’t forgotten his juvie stint nor the fact that Cormac manipulated him as a child. Playing the long, long game, he charts a plot to steal something precious from the malevolent hotelier. And when Frankie does—in a daring and long action sequence— and The High Table learns of it, Cormac must pull out all the stops to find him and retrieve the stolen artifact, or face the wrath of his netherworld superiors.
Unable to find Frankie who has gone underground, with a young Charon at his side as loyal lieutenant (now played by Ayomide Adegun, R.I.P., Lance Reddick), out of frustration he kidnaps Winston from London —now something of a rich cunning entrepreneur/con man in the U.K.—in order to expose his brother’s whereabouts. Yet despite the two brothers not seeing or contacting each other in decades, out of growing desperation—which Gibson seems to excel at portraying with escalating rage and irritation—Cormac places magnitude on Winston. Find your brother, or pay the consequences, even if the younger sibling essentially has nothing to do with the original theft.
These threat ramifications echo outward and soon Winston finds himself at an epicenter where different New York crime threads intersect, as he meets friends, foes, potential allies, and tentative confederates who might sell him out for a dollar.
One faction includes an ex-Vietnam forces team turned gun smugglers led by Miles (Hubert Point-Du Jour), a former Frankie friend and war vet buddy, and his prideful kung-fu kicking-ass younger sister Lou (Jessica Allain). Another includes a pair of detectives having an affair while scoping out the Continental (Mishel Prada and Jeremy Bobb) and the last branch of it all is Frankie’s lethal and deeply distrusting Vietnamese wife, Yen (Nhung Kate).
Without getting into the web further, tragedies occur, tentative alliances are made in their wake, teams are formed, and it all culminates into what you might expect which is one big storming of The Continental to try and take it over from Cormac. But he’s got the underworld behind him, hundreds of eccentric psycho killers at his disposal and is not going down without a big, bang, bloody fight.
In short, if you’re a ride-or-die “John Wick” fan, you’ll likely vibe with this history lesson and action drama, but if you’re a viewer asking for even just a tiny bit more than the familiar, perhaps asking does this spin-off justify its existence, you’re going to be left wanting.
Character actors like Ray McKinnon and Peter Greene sprinkle in a little gravitas here and there,and Mark Musashi and Marina Mazepa play mildly amusing weirdo assassins—that are a now a bit of a cliché in the ‘John Wick’-verse— but otherwise, there’s really no denying“The Continental,” developed by Greg Coolidge, Kirk Ward and Shawn Simmons, plays it all by the known playbook.
All this aside, there’s still several decent things engage with and or admire. “The Continental” is a surprisingly decent mimic for feel, tone and mood. It absolutely looks the stylish part, its well-shot, fairly cinematic, has a terrific soundtrack (Iggy & The Stooges, Black Sabbath, Santana, Wire, Ace Frehley, props to its music supervisor). While there are some TV constraints—it’s obviously not as grand as a ‘John Wick’ movie, it also doesn’t skimp on the budget either for what it is. “The Continental” even varies the aesthetic a little bit from the chic, neon-soaked colors of the newer films. Darker, grittier and scuzzier than “John Wick”—the series heavily leans into the idea of New York as dirty Hep-C shithole— which gives it all a musty sense of sleaze.
Directed by Albert Hughes and Charlotte Brändström (‘LOTR: The Rings Of Power”) she directs the middle ep, he does the rest), the show doesn’t have the same dimension and scope of the films, but these filmmakers are no slouches and orchestrate some entertaining action too.
But the main glaring problem is undeniable—there’s no Keanu or actor to elevate the familiar material. In fact, the actor who best suits the show and sensibilities is Gibson, seemingly all too perfect at playing a despicable, intolerant and highly irritable person (if this show was truly truthful, the character would be more outwardly bigoted; it should be said if there’s one newcomer standout to watch its Jessica Allain).
Let’s face it, “John Wick” was never Shakespeare, but it did have two extraordinary stunt-action-veterans filmmakers to supersize and electrify all of the kinetic action sequences, and a hellofa charismatic actor in Reeves to advance conventional material; somehow transforming a seemingly unremarkable line-of dialogue—”yeah, I’m thinking I’m back,” into a now-iconic line. “The Continental” only has the filmmaking chops, but they’re still handicapped by the lack of similar resources and scale.
In the end, all debts are repaid, and everyone gets what’s coming to them karmically with a dash of the panache Winston is known for. But it’s all style at best, and no substance—even for a series that prioritizes bravura and flair over everything else. Ultimately, “The Continental” is an adequate detour; just a linear connection-of-franchise dots explaining how Winston stole the keys to the house. [B-]
