A gorier, goofier return for Hutch Mansell
Nobody 2 doesn’t waste time reminding you why Hutch Mansell works as an action lead. Bob Odenkirk slips back into the role with the same weary, coiled energy that made the first film click—only this time the blood sprays higher and the jokes hit louder. With Timo Tjahjanto taking over from Ilya Naishuller, the sequel leans into a pulpier, more outrageous groove, and it wears that change on its sleeve.
Tjahjanto, known for The Night Comes for Us and the punishing Safe Haven segment in V/H/S/2, brings his love for gnarly impact and clear shot geography. You feel it in the way bodies break and rooms get rearranged. Working with cinematographer Callan Green, he adds slick visual touches that pop without muddying the action. One nasty standout: a shotgun blast tracked from inside a parked van as a victim slams into the windshield—a grim, almost comic-book panel frozen in motion.
The sequel is more graphic than the original—meatier hits, longer pain. That tilt toward gore pairs with a looser tone. The first movie had the novelty of a covert assassin stuck in suburbia. This one embraces the bit. Hutch quips more, the violence winks more, and the plot moves like a string of setups for inventive punishment. Some will miss the stripped-down menace of the bus fight that helped define the first film. The sequel knows it can’t out-bus the bus, so it pivots.
That pivot pays off late. The finale unfolds in an amusement park, and it’s a blast of creative staging. A fun house becomes a disorienting maze, a ball pit hides surprises that are anything but soft, and a water slide turns into a slippery gauntlet. Booby traps are placed with cruel wit but also clean logic—you always understand where Hutch is, what’s coming, and how it can hurt. It plays like a violent Rube Goldberg machine done with practical gusto.
Action design, family stakes, and the Tjahjanto touch
Set-piece to set-piece, the film is consistent rather than transcendent. The early and mid-movie brawls entertain, even if they don’t produce that one instant-classic sequence audiences will trade GIFs of for years. The editing gives space to impact. The camera stays close enough to feel the crunch but wide enough to keep orientation. When the movie goes big, it stays readable—a simple thing, often forgotten.
Odenkirk remains the engine. He sells the exhaustion, the guilt, and the thrill of flipping the switch. You believe he’s a dad first, a weapon second, and a chaos magnet always. There’s a human shrug inside the violence that’s hard to fake. He still fights like a guy who knows every shortcut in a room and every mistake he’s making with his knees.
The supporting cast is more plugged in this time. Connie Nielsen, Gage Munroe, and Paisley Cadorath aren’t just cutaways at the kitchen table; the story threads them into the danger in ways that actually shape the action. It gives Hutch’s choices some heat beyond machismo. Christopher Lloyd returns as the not-so-retired dad who lights up whenever things get loud. He plays the glee well. The RZA also comes back as Hutch’s brother, and while his presence lands, the script sometimes has to bend itself to keep him inside the frame. When it clicks, you feel the family business vibe. When it doesn’t, you notice the stitching.
Tjahjanto’s tone shift is the big swing. He loves bright color and spurting red, and the movie lets him cook. The result is a sequel that feels more comic-book in attitude without tipping into parody. The humor isn’t quippy overload; it’s situational. A gag will come from a prop placed three scenes earlier or a visual pay-off during a fight. When the film goes for punchlines mid-beatdown, they usually land because the choreography sets them up.
About those fights: the choreography favors improvisation with the environment—handrails, signage, ride mechanisms, even maintenance tools. It’s the home-alchemy version of John Wick, more scrappy than elite. The sound design helps a lot. Impacts thud, bones snap with a dry crack, and weapons bark with a rough edge instead of clean digital polish. You feel the stunt team doing work.
The villain side is serviceable. The movie isn’t chasing a memorable mastermind as much as it’s building an escalating gauntlet. That’s a choice, and it keeps the focus squarely on Hutch’s problem-solving and the family dynamic. Still, a stronger central foe might have given the middle third a bit more drive.
Story-wise, the film keeps the beats simple: a bad decision from the past nudges open a door, the wrong people walk through it, and Hutch has to clean the mess. The script sprinkles in small character notes that matter—glances at Hutch’s house rules, what he hides from his kids, how his wife reads him better than he reads himself. Those details give the carnage a pulse.
Comparisons to the first film are baked in. The original had surprise on its side and one all-timer sequence. The sequel trades surprise for escalation and craft. It’s bloodier, broader, and happier to be a ride. If you liked the first because you discovered Odenkirk as a credible action lead, this one confirms it. If you wanted the same bus-magic again, the movie argues for variety.
As a package, the film lands as a confident chapter two: sharper in integration of the family, bigger in set-piece ambition, looser in tone. It doesn’t blow past its predecessor, but it doesn’t limp either. Call it a tough, crowd-pleasing follow-up from a director who knows how to twist a fight scene into a spectacle. On the scorecard, it plays like a strong seven out of ten—lean, loud, and proudly messy in all the right places.
