★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Hugh Jackman lays claim to the Wolverine character once and
for all in this dark and edgy superhero spin-off. In a future where the other
X-Men have long-since disappeared, Logan/Wolverine lives as a chauffeur across
the Mexican border by night and cares for the mentally-damaged Charles Xavier
(Patrick Stewart) by day. Their isolated existence is shattered when a desperate
woman entrusts Logan with helping a young girl, Laura (newcomer Dafne Keen) escape
sinister forces. What follows is less a special effects blockbuster than a gritty,
bloody road movie, as the increasingly fraught Wolverine is forced to face
uncomfortable truths about his legacy.
Most of us take Hugh Jackman’s most famous role for granted,
but his six foot-plus, ever-vested physique and inescapable charisma have been
a constant sticking point for fans of the original comic version: a stocky,
lycra-suited potty-mouth. Logan is
the first film to really take these differences into account, and even make
amends: whilst Wolverine vehemently denies any truth to be found in Laura’s
collection of X-Men comics, there’s easily enough money in his swear box to fix
several church roofs. It helps that Jackman’s own dedication to portraying the
character has never once wavered, and continues to enthral. As sad at it is to
see him finally let Logan go, it’s a fantastically well-pitched goodbye.
In the aftermath of Deadpool,
the “we need more R-rated superhero movies” declaration has been bandied about
a lot with very little thought, but director James Mangold (paying reparations
for his comparatively tame and uninteresting The Wolverine) actually
uses it appropriately. The first spoken word of the film is a sharply-uttered
f-bomb; a display of aged irritation, not an immature opportunity to curse. A
15 certificate does allow the film to breathe with the foulest of mouths, but
also to consider themes of aging and death without alienating a younger
audience. It’s difficult to imagine subtle details such as Wolverine’s arthritic
claws, limp, permanent scars and dusty grey hair making it into the final cut
of a glossy Bryan Singer or Matthew Vaughn production.
Oh, and it’s very, very violent. Wolvie’s rages have been
the bloodiest staple of the franchise from the beginning, but here they finally
mean something again. Every chest cavity ruptured, every decapitation, every
maimed limb may as well add five years to Logan’s already extended life-span.
For the first time, you look past the physical regeneration to the mental degradation.
George Stevens’ Shane is unsubtly
alluded to throughout – “There’s no living with the killing” – but it’s a
well-intentioned nod that brings some levity, just as the gore is shocking but
not without some sense of entertainment (particularly during an early display
of Laura’s own powers).
Keen will certainly be one to watch. At first she appears to
be contributing a very run-of-the-mill silent, staring child performance, but
when the plot kicks into high-gear, the intensity she displays is truly
remarkable. Stephen Merchant brings the weirdness of the older X-Men films as an albino mutant-finder,
Caliban. References to Merchant’s “goggle-eyed” appearance might have begun as
a long-running gag on the XFM show he used to host with Ricky Gervais, but his particular
features and sarcastic intonations are a great fit, providing stark contrast to
Logan’s introspective glowering and Xavier’s incoherent, rambling regrets.
That the film is so deliberately vague with regard to Xavier’s
troubled recent history pays dividends: there’s little explanation about
what happened to the other mutants, what state the wider world is in (our only
indication here is empty backdrops and stricter border controls), or what the ‘Westchester
Incident’ refers to. All we really know is that Xavier’s degenerating telepathic
mind is now considered a weapon of mass destruction, which is itself enough to
spark our intrigue and fear.
My social media feed this week has been full of people
ranking Logan alongside previous X-Men films, but it seems weird to do so
considering just how different it is. Subplots are almost exposition-free,
visual effects are used sparingly, and even the cinematography and production
design feel less machine-tooled. It’s a grimy, hyper-violent thriller; a toeing
of the genre line (far more so than Deadpool’s
already outdated in-jokes) that stands alone, and ends on the most perfect note imaginable.
