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Associated Press
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Associated Press
Movie Review: In 'The Old Guard 2,' Charlize Theron and Uma Thurman get half a movie
About 80 minutes into 'The Old Guard 2,' I found myself wondering how the filmmakers were going to wrap things up. There were a lot of threads dangling with Charlize Theron's gang of immortal warriors, split up and facing extinction, and she still had yet to face off with the new villain, Discord (apparently the first immortal), played by Uma Thurman. The promise of a showdown between The Bride and Furiosa may not justify the existence of this sequel, now streaming on Netflix, but it was something to look forward to nonetheless. And while they do fight, for a little, something even crazier happens not too long after: The movie ends or, rather, stops mid-climax. An ending was never part of the plan. This might be an attempt at a cheeky nod to the life of an immortal — what is an ending after all, I guess? But unlike the first film, which merely left the door open for the possibility of a sequel, 'The Old Guard 2' cuts off mid-movie. Not only is there no option to 'continue watching,' there's no promise we'll even get an 'Old Guard 3.' Moviegoers endure a lot of partial stories in these days of franchise filmmaking, ever desperate for a built-in audience. With some, you know a resolution is coming at a later date, as with 'Mission: Impossible' or 'Wicked.' With others, like 'Dune,' a part two or three might have been a question mark, but the intention was unambiguously there. There's nothing fun or enjoyable about being surprised that you've been watching a 'part one' the whole time, especially on a service that has helped train us to click next episode. Perhaps that also has to do with the quality of 'The Old Guard 2,' which feels like a step down from the first movie, which provided much-needed escapism in the summer of 2020 as we met Theron's Andromache the Scythian (Andy, for short) and welcomed KiKi Layne's new immortal Nile. It ended with Booker (Matthias Schoenaerts) being exiled for a betrayal and the tease that Andy's old companion Quynh (Vân Veronica Ngô), was still alive. Quynh is, understandably, not thrilled that she was left at the bottom of the ocean for centuries. She wants to punish Andy the most — the movie heavily implies that they were more than sisters in arms, but never quite goes so far as to confirm that their love was romantic, which is especially strange given that it doesn't shy away from letting Nicky (Luca Marinelli) and Joe (Marwan Kenzari) be an out gay couple. One of the most significant behind-the-scenes changes is that Gina Prince-Bythewood ( 'The Woman King,' 'Love & Basketball') ceded directing duties to Victoria Mahoney, who has directed episodes of 'Queen Sugar' and 'You' and served as second unit director on 'Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker.' Working off Greg Rucka and Sarah L. Walker's screenplay, the movies opens with a lively action sequence in which the immortals attempt to nab an arms dealer. Nicky and Joe are the distractors, getting their own James Bond-esque car chase, while Nile, Andy and Copley (Chiwetel Ejiofor) get more hand-to-hand combat on the property. It sets a fun tone and allows for some (mostly) welcome exposition — 'remember, you're not immortal anymore' — for those who might not have the best memory of something they watched at the height of the pandemic. But the film never recaptures that energy again and devolves into an increasingly tedious meditation on time, death and the science of why Andy lost her immortality power (which is approaching 'Face/Off' levels of insanity). Thurman has a mighty good scowl as the 'bad immortal' who long ago decided she didn't have any desire to help the humans who persecuted her kind, but the movie seems to be saving her big moment for later. Overall 'The Old Guard 2' is fine, a bit of a background movie that's probably easy enough to tune in and out of (though Schoenaerts, a standout, gives it some real pathos). Its greatest sin is the non-ending, which might have moviegoers engaging in their own rants about wasted time. Cliffhangers are a gamble — when the movie is satisfying on its own, it can leave them wanting more. In this case, it might just leave them angry. Audiences in 2025 deserve better. 'The Old Guard 2,' a Netflix release now streaming, is rated R by the Motion Picture Association for 'sequences of graphic violence and some language.' Running time: 105 minutes. Two stars out of four.
Daily Mail
23-06-2025
- Sport
- Daily Mail
John Clark, Lisbon Lion and Celtic legend, was a man of substance whose life provided inspiration and carried lessons far beyond a football pitch, writes Hugh MacDonald
There is one enduring, glorious image of John Clark. It is, of course, of the young Lanarkshire player striding into the heat of Lisbon, sturdily confident of what he had to do and how he would do it. That day in Jamor, on the outskirts of the Portuguese capital, ensured that Clark would remain an immortal but his death, aged 84, prompts other images to mind that protest gently that this character could not be defined by one day. He was a man of substance whose life provided inspiration and carried lessons far beyond a football pitch. John may have quietly snorted at this statement, perhaps seeing pretension. He was never a man for the false or the pompous but it must be stated that this was a life of triumph but one of hardship, labour and consistent humility. It is perhaps best to consider a series of snapshots formed over half a century of interviews from journalists or in personal chats. These may only give a glimpse of the man but they point to the aspects that made him both loved and respected. The first may be the most significant. At 10 years of age, John became 'the man of the house' after his father died in a railway accident. He immediately embarked on a working life, taking 'wee jobs' to help provide for the family. A Chapelhall lad, football was always his passion and it became his saviour. As a teenager, and relatively small, he played Junior football for Larkhall Thistle. This would now be regarded as worthy of a reference to social workers if not a breach of the Geneva convention given the violent nature of the game then. Clark later spoke quietly of these physical battles. He was an intelligent, technical footballer but no one ever questioned his toughness. He spent more than half a century with Celtic, his longevity at the club only surpassed by the great Willy Maley. He was player, coach, assistant manager, and then kit manager. He managed at other clubs - Cowdenbeath, Stranraer, Clyde - but his link to the club he loved was strong, forged through tackles on the pitch, guidance for players and ultimately in his fiefdom in the laundry room at Lennoxtown where he would greet courtiers with a cup of tea, a slice of toast and a portion of his dry humour. He was an extraordinary player. Signed by Celtic in 1958, he was energised by the arrival of Stein seven years later. He complemented his great friend, Billy McNeill, at the heart of the Celtic defence. John was the sweeper, covering the space behind McNeill and that left by the marauding full backs that Stein always employed. He was central to the glory years. He won six league titles, three Scottish Cups, five league cups and a European Cup. Incredibly, this haul only hints at his importance to Celtic. He was a constant support to young players, first in his role as an assistant manager and later as the kit manager where he would be available for quiet counsel as well as more voluble banter. In his later years, after he had left his post as kit manager, he would attend the B matches in the Lowland League. He was perceptive and knowledgeable on world football, always eager to learn and to pass on his views on what was occurring in the game. He was a faithful attender at UEFA youth matches and a reliable predictor of who or what would be the next big thing in the sport. He sat at these games in relative anonymity. He was never one to proclaim his status but he was open to those of us who saw it as a privilege and pleasure to be in his company. He would stare at the game while giving his replies to my relentless questions in a staccato style out of the side of his mouth. John was brilliantly funny and could demolish any burgeoning ego with a line that had the cutting edge of a stiletto. Another telling snapshot could be taken at a series of airports around the world. As players wandered around the luggage carousel with ear buds in, as journalists communicated with their offices on mobile phones, a sturdy gentleman was pulling crates and bags off the conveyor belt and dumping them on to a huge cage on castors. Not only was John doing this past normal retirement age, he was working with commitment and discipline. This was his way whether on a pitch in Lisbon or in an arrivals hall in Milan. Yet there was absurdity to all of this, at least to this observer. It peaked on arrival in Glasgow after Celtic had qualified for the last 16 of the Champions League. There was rightfully an air of celebration among players and staff. But I yearned for a Tannoy announcement that would proclaim: 'Congratulations Celtic. But the wee guy handling all the luggage has won the whole shebang.' John, of course, would have no time for this sentiment. He knew what he had done and how he had done it and was glad to serve in another capacity. He lived his story and was always grateful. He never attained the riches of the modern footballer but knew that journey from Chapelhall had been long, sometimes arduous but ultimately rewarding in ways that cannot be counted in money. He had a host of stories but there is one where he is the subject and it is telling. It runs as follows: John is in New York in 1981 on Celtic duties and Pele, promoting Escape to Victory in the Big Apple, enters the same lift. Edson Arantes do Nascimento proclaims: 'No.6!' This is the number John wore when the pair last met on the pitch at Hampden in a friendly match in 1966. Pele chats amiably and then leaves the lift at his floor. Davie Provan, the Celtic player, witnesses all of this and is dumbstruck. John looks at him and says: 'Do you know, I was just being polite. I have no idea who that was.' There is a wondrous beauty in this and a hint of intrigue. Was John being humble, honest or mischievous? Or all three? It was just one episode in a life full of encounters with the greats, whether it be Rod Stewart, Billy Connolly or Henrik Larsson. He was respected by all of them and by the mass of the Celtic support who were grateful for his long and distinguished service. Older supporters, like me, will remember with quiet satisfaction the way the No.6 would glide over to snuff out danger with ease or pass briskly to set up an attack. There is an enduring moment, too, in Lisbon where he slaloms past the pride of Inter Milan with a practised fluidity. He always proclaimed himself lucky. 'Signing for Celtic was like winning the pools,' he would say. It was, of course, much more than luck but it was indicative of how he looked back on his life with satisfaction. There will be those who say that Celtic was the great love of his love. It wasn't. That position was held by his family. His wife, children and grandchildren will be in deep mourning. They may be consoled by the truth that anyone who met the great man will be feeling a portion of their pain. The fatherless lad who toiled at odd jobs became a great man, feted on a Lisbon field and by one of the greatest players who ever lived. His worth as never proclaimed by himself. But was recognised instinctively by those who saw him play or watched him in the very occasional interview. Those of us who had the pleasure of speaking to him, usually over a cup of tea with the day's papers spread in front of him, knew what we were experiencing.
