“I just had the piano tuned.”
“That was a year ago.”
“Hey, John, that was a pretty good fight, huh?”
Near the end of the first act a battered and bruised Wick is getting his first chance to breath without the incoming threat of combat, walking through the backs stage dressing rooms of some kind of ballet-assassin school. We pause for a moment as John glances over as one of the trainees rips her chewed up toenail off her bloody, marred toe.
Art is pain.
Stahelski and company put their blood,…