Netflix’s desperate bid to resurrect their superhero cash cow is more progressive posturing than pulse-pounding heroism.
Five years after The Old Guard stumbled into the void left by actual blockbusters, they’ve coughed up a sequel that’s less a follow-up and more a Frankenstein’s monster stitched from the first film’s rotting corpse. Based on Greg Rucka’s comic that patted itself on the back for “revolutionizing” the genre with its politics-over-plot agenda, The Old Guard 2 doubles down on the same sins.
It’s not just bad—it’s undead bad, shambling forward when mercy killing was the humane choice. Like its immortal leads, this movie just won’t die, even when you’re screaming for the stake through its heart. The Old Guard 2 picks up where the first left off: a ragtag crew of undying mercenaries still pretending to fight for “justice” while dodging the consequences of their endless boredom.
Charlize Theron’s Andy, the buzz-cut ancient warrior who headlined the original as a gender-swapped male archetype, is back—looking as weary as we feel. The group, now including KiKi Layne’s Nile Freeman (that token all-female Marine unit poster child from part one), is reeling from their exposed secret.
Enter a half-baked apocalypse: Nile’s plagued by visions of Discord (Uma Thurman), a rogue immortal thief raiding an ancient library guarded by another eternal relic, Tuah (Henry Golding). Turns out Nile’s the last of her kind, her wounds a plot-convenient wildcard—zap immortality away or gift it to the unworthy.
The gang must chase Discord, who’s hoarding forbidden knowledge to… well, something vaguely evil involving Big Pharma 2.0 and shadowy elites. It’s up to Nile, our eternal “superhero in training,” to rally the immortals against a world that’s even crueler now, because 2025 demands more lectures on inequality.The action?
It’s the lone lifeline, courtesy of the stunt wizards who saved the first film from being higher on the top 10 worst films of 2020 list. Choreographer Daniel Fernandez delivers a few brutal brawls—Theron flipping through a warehouse like a golden-haired Terminator, Nile’s regeneration turning a knife fight into a gory ballet—that almost justify the Netflix budget.
The effects hold up for streaming slop, with regenerating limbs that nod to Deadpool without the wit. But praise stops cold there, like a heart that refuses to restart. Director Victoria Mahoney steps in for Gina Prince-Bythewood, trading romantic drama chops for a genre she’s even less equipped to handle.
The result? A choppy, emotionally inert slog that rushes through 97 minutes like it’s late for its own funeral. Mahoney’s inexperience screams in every flat establishing shot and botched chase, turning potential spectacle into a waiting game for the next glitchy VFX hiccup.
The real felony? Greg Rucka’s script, back to bungle the blueprint like a Seahawk fumbling at the one-yard line—again. This sequel takes the original’s half-baked mythology and buries it deeper in contrived nonsense. Why do these immortals exist? Alien DNA? Divine curse? Radioactive bad luck? Don’t hold your breath; Rucka dodges harder than Andy in a hail of bullets, leaving us with more exposition dumps than answers.
The plot meanders through Nile’s “visions” and Tuah’s dusty library (a set so fake it looks like a Roblox build), only to cliffhanger into oblivion—no resolution, just a tease for a third film Netflix might never greenlight. It’s not sequel fatigue; it’s sequel sabotage, dragging the same underdeveloped threads while introducing zero stakes.
Our heroes? Still bland outlines: weary white lady, wide-eyed Black recruit, the gay couple (now with even cringier lockets-of-love monologues that make Romeo and Juliet look subtle), and a brooding sidekick who vanishes mid-film. Nile’s a walking MacGuffin, existing only to transfer powers like a faulty USB drive. And the villain? If the first film’s nerdy pharma twerp was a snooze, Discord is comatose. Thurman chews scenery as a one-note chaos agent—stealing scrolls for “power,” nullifying immortality with vague rituals—but she’s got less menace than a TikTok troll.
No equal footing, no clever counter to the heroes’ invincibility; just a plot device in heels, her “arc” resolved in a baffling, half-assed twist that screams reshoots gone wrong. Stakes? Nonexistent. In a world of bulletproof saviors, you need a real threat—someone who can strip their edge or mirror their curse. Instead, it’s more woke checkboxes: diverse immortals mocking faith (Nile’s “visions” now include pagan jabs at Christianity), Big Pharma as the eternal boogeyman, and a script so obsessed with inclusion it forgets invention.
Female director? Check. Queer romance that grates like nails on a chalkboard? Double check. Anti-capitalist sneers? Triple. They spent so long virtue-signaling, they neglected the basics: a story that hooks, characters with pulse, dialogue that doesn’t drip with sanctimony, conflicts that engage, emotions that land, action that sustains, and cinematography that doesn’t look like a Zoom filter on overdrive.
The Old Guard 2 is superhero cinema’s zombie apocalypse: shambling, mindless, and begging for a headshot. It recycles the first film’s flaws—dull lore, flat foes, agenda over artistry—into a shorter, messier mess that ends mid-sentence, stranding fans in sequel purgatory.
Theron carries it like Atlas with a migraine, but even she can’t revive this corpse. Netflix wanted a franchise? They got a flatline. Skip it; mercy rule applies.
Society Reviews 
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