From Paris with Love

The first thing you notice about From Paris with Love isn't the plot, the Parisian scenery, or even the gunfights. It’s John Travolta’s head. Shaved clean, gleaming under the French sun, and paired with a goatee that looks like it was applied with a Sharpie, it’s a statement of intent. This isn't the John Travolta of Grease or even the cool-cat hitman of Pulp Fiction (directed by Quentin Tarantino). This is Travolta in full "I’m having way too much fun" mode, playing Charlie Wax—a human wrecking ball who treats international diplomacy like a game of Grand Theft Auto.

I remember watching this for the first time on a DVD I bought for three dollars at a closing Blockbuster while drinking lukewarm ginger ale; the lack of carbonation in my drink was a stark contrast to the absolute explosion of caffeine and gunpowder on the screen. It’s a film that belongs to that specific 2000-2010 window where French producer Luc Besson (the mind behind The Professional) was churned out "Euro-thrillers" that felt like American B-movies on a diet of espresso and cigarettes.

The Besson Factory and the Morel Touch

Directed by Pierre Morel, who had just finished turning Liam Neeson into a geriatric killing machine in Taken, From Paris with Love follows a similar blueprint. We have Jonathan Rhys Meyers (of Match Point fame) as James Reece, a low-level CIA desk jockey who dreams of field work. He’s the "straight man," the kind of guy who plays chess and worries about his silk ties. Then, Charlie Wax drops into his life like a tactical nuke.

The chemistry here is basically a buddy-cop trope pushed to the edge of parody. Jonathan Rhys Meyers spends most of the movie looking like he’s about to have a panic attack, while John Travolta screams catchphrases and snorts lines of cocaine off a vase during a shootout. This movie treats the city of Paris like a giant break-room for a homicidal bowling ball. It’s loud, it’s arguably very insensitive, and it’s unapologetically fast. Looking back, this was the peak of the "shaky-cam" era, but Pierre Morel actually knows how to frame a fight. You can see the hits land, and boy, do they land hard.

Stunts, Strings, and Silk Ties

The action choreography is where the movie earns its keep. There’s a particular sequence in a spiral staircase that feels like a choreographed dance of death. It’s not just about the shooting; it’s about the momentum. The film leans heavily into the practical stunt work that defined the pre-MCU era. When a car flips or a building explodes, it feels heavy and expensive. This was made before every action scene was drowned in a grey soup of CGI, and there’s a tactile satisfaction in seeing John Travolta hang out of a speeding Audi with a rocket launcher.

Speaking of that Audi, the car chases are top-tier. They utilized the narrow, winding streets of Paris to create a sense of claustrophobia that you just don't get in the wide-open highways of Los Angeles-based thrillers. The sound design is equally aggressive; every gunshot sounds like a cannon, and every punch has the wet thud of a steak hitting a countertop. It’s a sensory assault that distracts you from the fact that the plot—involving terrorists and a double-crossing love interest played by Kasia Smutniak—is thinner than a Parisian crepe.

The Cult of Charlie Wax

Despite a decent budget of $52 million, the film barely broke even at the box office. It was a bit of a "forgotten oddity" upon release, overshadowed by more "serious" post-9/11 thrillers like the Bourne series. However, it found a second life on home video and late-night cable. Why? Because it’s a riot. It’s the kind of movie you put on when you don’t want to think about "themes" or "cinematic movements."

One of the funniest bits of trivia—and a clear wink to the audience—is when Wax eats a "Royale with Cheese." It’s a direct nod to John Travolta’s iconic dialogue with Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. Apparently, Travolta ad-libbed a few of his more eccentric lines, fully leaning into the absurdity of his character. At one point, he’s asked what he’s doing in Paris, and he simply replies, "I'm just a guy who likes a little action." It’s as honest a line as you’ll ever hear in a movie.

There’s also a strange, lingering anxiety in the film that feels very 2010. It captures that transition period where the internet was becoming a tool for shadow warfare, and the villains were shifting from Cold War leftovers to more decentralized threats. Yet, it handles these heavy topics with the grace of a sledgehammer. It’s not interested in the "why," only the "how many explosions can we fit in 92 minutes."

In the end, From Paris with Love is exactly what it promises on the tin. It’s a high-octane, slightly trashy, incredibly energetic thrill ride that features a veteran movie star doing his absolute best to chew the scenery. It doesn't have the emotional weight of Taken, but it has a much higher "how did they film that?" factor.

If you’re looking for a masterpiece, keep walking. But if you want to see a bald John Travolta recreate the French Revolution with a submachine gun, you’ve come to the right place. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a double espresso: it’ll give you a heart-pumping jolt, leave you a little bit jittery, and then disappear from your system before you even realize it’s gone. Just don't expect it to change your life.