Wolverine

Addictive Thoughts brings out the claws: Wolverine kinda sucks

It’s hard to dislike Hugh Jackman, which is why it’s frustrating to witness him suffering through a number of films. He’s a talented actor who’s been stuck in a rut lately, and if anyone was hoping that Wolverine would be a return to form, those expectations may well be diminished within the first few minutes alone: this is just a shockingly messy film.

When the much-publicized workprint edition (notably lacking many special effects) leaked last month, FOX Pictures was quick to offer that it was an “inaccurate representation of the movie,” and that over 15 additional minutes of footage were missing from the cut. And yet, based on comments I’ve read from other journalists and fans who saw both versions, it seems the final product is almost identical to the pirated version — sloppy, awkwardly paced and wholly inconsistent in tone, style and purpose. One minute it’s a dark, brooding attempt at Batman Begins-level reinvention; the next moment it’s a campy, over-the-top action spectacle. The film never finds a balance, and it doesn’t help that neither of its extremes are particularly effective in their own right:  the “dark” moments feel vapid and the lighter moments just seem misplaced, like they’re scenes being set up solely to be easily mocked by one of those Epic Movie spoofs. Wolvie loses his girlfriend and vows to avenge her death, and five minutes later he’s having a comical boxing match with a fat superhero (Kevin Durand), whose obesity is the subject of jokes from both Wolverine and Wraith (will.i.am). I don’t know about you, but if the love of my life was just brutally murdered by my own brother, the last thing I’d do is find room for cracking weight jokes. The movie tries to give Wolverine his humanity, but how can we sympathize with this character when it’s hard for us to understand what, exactly, he’s motivated by? His revenge seems more convenient than genuine, especially nearing the end, when a Shocking Revelation generates a hugely underwhelming emotional response.

Furthermore, as the film progresses, you start to get the impression that Wolverine was made by someone suffering from attention deficit disorder; one minute The Dark Knight is being channeled, the next it’s Daredevil or — worse – Elektra.

That someone would be Gavin Hood, whose filmography begs the question: why the hell did Fox hire this guy? He has a single well-received film to his credit — Tsotsi — which was also a low-budget, independent foreign feature. He may well be a very talented independent director (that has yet to be determined), but he is clearly out of his element here, much in the same way that dramatic filmmaker Marc Forster didn’t know how to handle the action choreography for Quantum of Solace last year. In both cases, the studios seemed to assume that an established indie director would be able to handle a multi-billion-dollar action franchise, and in both cases, the studios were wrong. This is further evidence of the fact that multi-genre directors are under-appreciated — just because you’re good at low-key character studies doesn’t prove you know how to stage huge superhero fight sequences.

Rumour has it that Richard Donner stepped in to perform re-shoots early this year, which is ironic given the movie’s nod – of all things – towards Superman. And it’s an awkward nod, too: Wolverine, on the run from General Stryker (Danny Huston), shows up at the home of an elderly couple in the middle of nowhere. The movie attempts to develop characterization and depth within the time frame of five minutes, which makes the ultra-dramatic outcome of the elderly couple unintentionally funny: it elicited uncomfortable “should-I-be-laughing-at-this?” reactions in the audience. The proceeding chase sequence — which, through the film’s advertising, has been put forth as its biggest action highlight — is actually rather unimpressive and, at worst, goofy. The special effects are not particularly awe-inspiring, either. Oh, and they manage to add another nod towards an old film: Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. I mean, really?

I haven’t even had time to address the movie’s numerous plot holes. The biggest one I can’t even specify, because the crux of the film rests on its revelation; suffice to say, it’s the perfect example of a film being built around a singular idea than around a fully-developed story. And the movie’s wide array of nerd-pandering character cameos just feels forced and distracting; Ryan Reynolds, as Wade Wilson, is on-screen just about long enough for us to start warming up to him, before he proceeds to rapidly disappear from (most of) the rest of the film. Huh? And what about Dominic Monaghan as Bolt? Talk about a thankless role. I may be proven wrong, but it’s my impression that the movie is damned either way, in this regard: fans will be upset that their favourite characters are only getting five minutes of screentime, while, to someone like myself, who’s unfamiliar with the comic books, these appearances lack reason altogether. Trimming the fat would have made a leaner, more efficient and realized vehicle; instead, Wolverine feels a lot like X-Men 3: The Last Stand, except — at the very least — that film maintained the style and tone of its predecessors and, despite all the criticism it received, it was still a lot less muddled than this spin-off.

There are a few redeeming qualities — Liev Schreiber works well when the movie is in campy mode, chewing the scenery as Sabretooth. But even this positive is variable, because when he pops up in the darker sequences, his over-the-top relishing is incongruent. It’s like if Robert Downey Jr.’s acerbic, eccentric characterization of Tony Stark had showed up during one of the darkest moments of The Dark Knight: it just doesn’t feel right.

And that phony darkness is ultimately Wolverine’s most prominent flaw: in the era of the brooding superheroes, this film seems like a relic of a bygone era, devoid of any actual intensity, commitment, realism or — most importantly — the honesty of, say, Knight or even Iron Man. And the real crime is that it wouldn’t feel so hokey, so dated and so desperately misplaced if the filmmakers hadn’t tried to make it something it wasn’t; by introducing artificial brood, the film draws instant comparison with its superiors, relegating it to a category shared only by the 2003 Hulk as a superhero movie that at once doesn’t know whether to wink knowingly at the audience or Say Something Really Important.

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