In a sequence from Jason Statham’s The Beekeper, the actor walks into a shady call centre that has fleeced old retired people out of their life’s savings. His intention is to singlehandedly bust and penalise the racket. When the employees of this crooked operation don’t pay heed to his first warning, Statham snatches the receiver of a phone from one of them and beats his forehead purple with it. Those watching, immediately flip to acknowledge the message in hilarious turning of the tables. It’s typical strongman shtick and it works in the hands of someone who has made a living out of paying such characters. A consummate action star who has been around for roughly two decades, this is maybe one of Statham’s bloodiest films. And if you aren’t looking for something particularly deep or meaningful, it’s enjoyably deranged.
Statham plays Adam Clay, a literal beekeeper living on an estate owned by a lonely widow played by Phylicia Rashad. In true ’90s action movie spirit Clay lives an understated, hidden life in a daft attempt to stay out of the public eye. His methodical demeanour though hints at a complicated previous life. It’s impossible at this point to imagine the actor in anything other than the bare-knuckle embodiment of a human killing machine. After Clay’s estate owner, a lonesome woman, is robbed of her life savings by a syndicate of shady call centres, she commits suicide. As a direct response Clay dives back into the suppressed prologue of his life to exact a bloody trail of revenge, brutality and some comically choreographed violence.
Directed by David Ayer, The Beekeeper is, you could argue, Statham’s stab at something John Wick-like. There are more guns, grunts and blood we’ve probably ever seen the actor spill on screen. For a ferociously consistent action hero, Statham has always operated within the limits of modesty. His does with acrobatics and choreography that which the Wick franchise gleans from metallic weaponry. The Beekeeper, however, feels somewhere in between. A film that comes close to blowing that lid of conservatism open with the kind of lustful gaze for gore that has made the John Wick franchise stylishly unique. Statham doesn’t quite dress up in bespoke suits but he does deliver justice with an equally muted air of eminence.
