The double standards at play: why Ballerina deserves the same freedom John Wick had

John Wick became iconic without a complex backstory. One man. One dog. One act of violence. The rest was bullets, blood, and balletic chaos. That was the deal. No one asked for emotional nuance or airtight worldbuilding. What mattered was the execution: fast, brutal, and beautiful.

Over four films, the John Wick franchise built a mythos out of improvisation. It introduced assassin hotels, gold coins, and impossible codes of honor, all layered on top of a story that never set out to be deep. And that was the genius of it.

The Wickverse didn’t start coherent. It didn’t need to. It worked because it knew exactly what kind of story it wanted to be: stylized, relentless, and gloriously absurd.

Now, in From the World of John Wick: Ballerina, she steps into that world, and suddenly the rules change.

The Wickverse was built on improvisation and elevated by retcon

The first John Wick was a revenge story, plain and brutal. No worldbuilder. There was no mention of the High Table, no global network of assassins, and no sacred hotel diplomacy. It was lean, focused, and full of style.

But then came John Wick: Chapter 2, Chapter 3—Parabellum, and Chapter 4, each one adding mythology after the fact. Coins became currency, side characters became legends, and John Wick himself became something between man and myth. None of this was planned from the start. It didn’t need to be. The Wickverse embraced retcon like it was part of its design.

The world of John Wick was built on cool, not on logic. The aesthetic came first. The lore followed, piece by piece. And every time the rules shifted, audiences followed. Nobody asked where the coins came from or how the hotels worked. They just wanted to see John Wick fight his way out of impossible odds. That was the expectation: not narrative clarity, but visual rhythm and creative violence.

Retcon isn’t a flaw in the Wickverse, it’s the foundation

Retroactive continuity, or retcon, is when new information is added to a story that changes, expands, or reframes previous events. In some franchises, it’s seen as a sign of inconsistency or lazy writing. In John Wick, it’s the engine.

The first film was designed to be a standalone story. Its structure was simple, self-contained, and emotionally direct. Every new installment added to that foundation, layering new details over what had come before while keeping the tone intact and the momentum sharp.

The secret to why it works lies in the way the Wickverse treats reality. It never tied itself to rigid lore or airtight cause-and-effect. It was cinematic jazz, built on improvisation, rhythm, and style. That freedom allowed every sequel to introduce new codes, new assassins, and new corners of the underworld. And audiences followed, not because it made perfect sense, but because it moved with confidence and visual power.

John Wick himself grew through retcon, not design

No grand arc was mapped out when John Wick was first introduced. He was a retired hitman, a man in grief, pulled back into violence by a single act. His nickname, Baba Yaga, was tossed in as texture. That was enough. The emotion was raw, the motivation clear.

With each sequel, however, the character stretched. In Chapter 2, he became bound by blood oaths and underworld contracts. In Parabellum, he challenged the very system that once defined him. By Chapter 4, he had become a legend.

Each film pushed him further through movement instead of backstory. A duel in Rome. A bounty in Casablanca. A showdown at the Arc de Triomphe. Every step added myth. He gained weight without words. He became more through action, through scale, and through the poetry of momentum. The Wickverse moved like he did. Fast, precise, and brutal. The deeper it spiraled, the bigger he became.

Ballerina follows the same rules, but the expectations shift

Ballerina enters the Wickverse with precision. Her story unfolds between Parabellum and Chapter 4, inside the same assassin mythology, guided by the same code of motion and violence. The architecture around her is familiar. Blood debts. Silent tension. Choreographed brutality. She steps onto the same stage, speaks the same language, and moves through the same world built for John Wick.

Yet the spotlight lands differently. Critics raise the bar. They ask for emotional complexity, detailed origin, and psychological depth. The structure that elevated John Wick through four films suddenly feels incomplete for her. A woman enters the myth, and the rules grow tighter.

What once was style becomes a test. What once flowed now requires permission. But Ballerina doesn’t hesitate. She moves forward. And that movement is the legacy she inherits.

The weight of gender shifts how action stories are judged

Male violence earns reverence in action movies. A man pulls the trigger, and the camera follows with awe. His pain speaks through bullets, and his silence becomes myth. He acts without justification. And that action is enough. The spectacle carries meaning. Momentum builds character. The choreography justifies itself.

When a woman steps into the same frame, the lens changes. Audiences search for context. Critics demand emotional groundwork. Style alone no longer satisfies. She must carry the genre and answer for it. Every punch asks for a backstory. Every gunshot echoes with questions. Not because the story changed, but because the body delivering it did.

Ballerina stays true to the Wickverse

Every frame of Ballerina holds the same DNA that built the franchise. The codes. The rules. The violence was performed like a ritual. Her arrival extends the world without breaking its rhythm. She steps into a space designed for movement, for spectacle, for myth. She moves within it with the same precision.

Her presence matches the logic already in place. She walks the same line. Her grief follows the same path. Her skill speaks the same language. The Wickverse shaped itself for John Wick through action, not exposition. That same structure carries her forward with speed, weight, and fire. What changes isn’t the character. It’s the way she’s measured.

Holding Ballerina to a different standard rewrites the rules mid-fight

The Wickverse set its own language. It taught audiences to follow action, to trust movement, and to let mythology bloom through style. That foundation shaped four films and turned a lone assassin into a cinematic legend. From the World of John Wick: Ballerina moves within those same rules. She doesn’t ask for special treatment. She enters the frame and delivers.

The shift happens outside the screen. Critics, audiences, commentators. The pressure comes from them. They change the metric once a woman steps in. They ask for justification, for depth, for validation that the franchise never needed to begin with. The world around the story redefines its expectations, and the target lands on her back. This isn’t evolution. It’s distortion.

Let Ballerina move the way the Wickverse taught her to

Ballerina carries the same weight John Wick once did. She follows the same current. Her presence reinforces the strength of the world around her. The rules she moves through were shaped by four films of style over structure and rhythm over realism. She steps in and moves with that same rhythm.

Holding her to a higher standard says less about the character and more about the gaze that surrounds her. It reveals which stories are allowed to speak in action and which ones are forced to explain themselves before they fire a single shot. The Wickverse gave us permission to follow the dance. The ballerina deserves to dance without interruption.