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Film Review: X-Men Origins: Wolverine

A (much) longer version of a review from today's Oregonian:

  Wolverine has the most convoluted backstory of any costumed crusader, encompassing decades of history, various identities and jobs, and a boatload of amnesia.  So, naturally, the good folks at 20^th Century Fox have attempted to capitalize on the popularity of their “X-Men” films by squeezing the feisty Canadian’s labyrinthine biography into a single two-hour film.  The result, despite Hugh Jackman’s game, if overly earnest, performance, is simultaneously overstuffed and undernourished, and sometimes just plain sloppy.

  An indestructible killing machine with bone claws which pop from the back of his hand, James Howlett (or is it James Logan?) slashes his way through the major slaughters of the 20^th century, accompanied by his brother/nemesis Victor Creed (Liev Schreiber)—the opening credits make them out to be a couple of blood-soaked Forrest Gumps, popping up at every instance of mass carnage.  After an unfortunate fragging episode in Vietnam, James and Victor are recruited by Major William Stryker (Danny Huston) into a black-ops outfit alongside fellow mutants, each of whom is introduced too quickly and carelessly:  Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds), John Wraith (will.i.am), Fred J. Dukes (Kevin Durand), Agent Zero (Daniel Henney), and Chris Bradley (Dominic Monaghan).  On a mission in Nigeria to obtain what we later learn is the rare, indestructible metal adamantium, Stryker orders the team to kill helpless civilians, and Howlett walks.

  Flash forward six years, and Logan (at least I think this is where he changes his name) is working as a lumberjack, living in a remote cabin in the Canadian Rockies with his true love, Kayla Silverfox (Lynn Collins).  This peaceful existence won’t last, though—Stryker and Creed track him down, leading to no end of trouble.  On a quest for vengeance, Logan allows himself to be subjected by Stryker to a process which bonds molten adamantium to his skeleton, turning his claws into Wolverine’s trademark metallic blades.  He escapes and proceeds to hunt down the bad guys at a facility secreted within the nuclear power plant at Three Mile Island where other mutants, including a young Scott Summers and Emma Frost, are being subjected to nightmarish experimentation.

  The “X-Men” films haven’t been my idea of perfect comic-book movies, which need to walk a slew razor’s edges:  between earnestness and camp, realism and fantasy, geek chic and mass appeal.  The mutant trilogy generally erred towards emotional seriousness and narrative silliness, while the third entry seemed almost sadistic towards fans of the comics and characters.  In “Wolverine,” director Gavin Hood (“Tsotsi”) continues the trend, except for an almost slavish desire to appease nerd-dom by including as many secondary characters as possible.  I’m a longtime, relatively obsessive Marvel reader, and some of these guys are news to me—I’d never heard of Bolt, aka Chris Bradley, for instance, and although I did take a significant break from comics-reading during the 1990s, the fact that I’ve read almost every Marvel mutant book released in the last several years and couldn’t place this fellow speaks to his (intentional?) obscurity.  Real diehards who enjoy a game of mutant-themed “Where’s Waldo?” will get a kick out of identifying characters based on seconds of screen time; the rest of us just get confused and irritated.

  A pre-credits sequence set in 19^th-century Canada would have us believe that James is not the son of the man who raised him, but rather shares a father with Creed.  The fact that Wolverine’s adoptive dad looks just like Hugh Jackman and his supposed real dad looks just like Liev Schreiber goes unremarked and unexplained.  This business of Wolvie and Sabertooth being brothers isn’t, as far as I know, from the comics, although at one point it was theorized that Creed was Logan’s father.  Anyhow, the film seems to be going for a whole Abel v. Cain scenario, but the mutant nemeses’ shared bloodline never really comes into play—they may as well have just been good buddies who chose opposite sides of the moral coin.  This dichotomous approach also turns Wolverine into a less morally ambiguous hero; he’s got Sabretooth dead to rights at one point, but refuses to kill him, something that the four-color Canuck would never flinch from.  The notion that he’s constantly struggling to contain a bestial berserker rage is what makes Wolverine such a noble and memorable character, and to turn him into a simple good guy robs him of that.

  After a naked Logan (yes, ladies and alternative gentlemen, naked) escapes from the Weapon X facility, he’s taken in by Ma and Pa Kent, or their close Canadian relatives, leading to some the few successful moments of comic relief in the film, but culminating in perhaps its most unpleasant episode of violence.  At least Logan gets a cool jacket and a vintage motorcycle out of the deal, as if it was somehow deemed necessary for these accessories of his to be explained.  Other oddities include the alteration of Stryker (first done in “X2”) from a religious fundamentalist to a military villain—I can understand the need to avoid offending folks, but Reverend Stryker presents a far more compelling conflict than General Stryker.  And what was the point of giving Patrick Stewart a cameo as Professor X if he needed so much de-aging makeup he looked like a Muppet?  And, oh, also: How can you spend a reported $160 million on a feature film and have such lousy process shots?  The backdrops of the Canadian Rockies looked like something out of the 1970s, and when people are driving in a car with opened windows, their hair should move!  (At least I think so—I’m not special effects expert, after all.)

  Hood, making his first big-budget Hollywood foray, relies far too much on visual cliché:  Logan walks away from a huge explosion without looking back; Logan drops to his knees and screams to the heavens during a moment of grief; Logan and Victor begin each of their three big battles by running directly at each other and leaping so as to grapple in midair.  (Uh, guys?  A little tactical variation can go a long way.)  There are unexplained leaps in the plot:  How does Logan know Wraith is in Las Vegas?  Why didn’t his enhanced senses clue him in that you-know-who wasn’t really dead?  And, most infuriatingly, what the hell’s the deal with these adamantium bullets that Stryker totes around?  Why does he think they’ll give Logan amnesia?  Wouldn’t an adamantium bullet destroy any non-adamantium gun that fired it?  This may seem like geekarific nitpicking, and it kind of is, but it also speaks to a larger point.  “Wolverine”’s screenplay makes the fatal assumption that, because this is all fantasy comic-book stuff, it doesn’t need to be internally consistent, either narratively or from the point of view of simple physics.  This condescending attitude towards the material has tarnished many a comics-based film, and I’m sure this won’t be the last one, but it’s frustrating that Hollywood can’t seem to get over this hump.

  By trying to appeal to its core built-in audience with unnecessary character cameos, while appeasing the “masses” with generic action-movie tropes and an inattention to detail, the makers of “Wolverine” have split the difference.  No doubt there’ll be enough box office to justify “XMO: WII” or whatever, but unless we’re talking about Ian McKellen ripping out Jackman’s skeleton, it’s not something worth popping one’s claws over.

  PS (to be read with too much saliva in the mouth and a slight lisp) :  Cyclops’ eye beams are made of concussive force, not heat!  Jeez, guys!