X-Men Origins: Wolverine

2.5/4 stars

It's not that great to be this Wolverine! ...Okay, sorry about that.

How much I like X-Men Origins: Wolverine (hereafter referred to simply as Wolverine) seems to be largely a function of my expectations at the given moment. Starting from my pessimistic prediction that the film's makers would keep all the badass grittiness of the Wolverine character's backstory and dispose of everything insightful and soulful about it, the film exceeds expectations. On the other hand, measured against the spate of ridiculously good superhero movies to come out recently, Wolverine is fairly lacking. The conclusion that I've come to though, the one I think is important, is that when you put the movie that was made next to the movie that was almost made, the one that could have been made, Wolverine is not a waste of time, but is somewhat disappointing.

This is a movie that succeeds in being both action-packed, and at times very close to introspective. Knowing from both the comic book history and the 2000 film X-Men that the story must end with Wolverine having lost his memory takes something away from the emotional experience of the character, but that's the hand that the film has been dealt. The movie delivers on its premise; it reveals the tragic history of amnesiac berserker of whom we are so fond. It begins with an excellent, and very Watchmen-like opening credit sequence that takes us through the many years that Wolverine and his brother Victor fought together in various wars (he's more than a century old, you know). From there, we see how he became involved with the government wetwork team that would change his life, enhance his powers, and make him the mutant we all know today. It's a good story, and the filmmakers get it mostly right, and tell it with flair.

So what's the problem? It's the little things. Some of the changes between the movie universe and the comic book universe, like changing William Stryker from a radical preacher to a general and the director of the Weapon X program, are wise and serve the storytelling. Others, like the handling of Deadpool, a cult favorite character who becomes one of this film's biggest adversaries, are pointlessly irreverent. People want to see Deadpool, not just his name on somewhat similar monster. And then there's Wolverine's brother, Victor Creed. He's supposed to be Sabretooth, and seems very much like that character. At the same time, maybe he isn't in this universe - he's certainly not the same Sabretooth we met in the 2000 film. And then there's how artlessly the pieces are pasted together to get things to where that movie finds them, with cameos by Cyclops and Professor Xavier that only serve to remind us of how they were ridiculously killed off in the last entry in this series (2006's X-Men: The Last Stand, sorry if you haven't seen it yet). The last quarter or so of the movie (including its manifold credit cookies) are basically a mess.

Wolverine is an enjoyable action movie and an okay superhero movie. But for a comic fan like me (I've read many comics, and stuck with X-Men related titles the longest) it is like the rest of the film series: imperfect in all the most irritating ways.

The Aviator

3.5/4 stars

One of the thoughts I kept having during The Aviator was how lucky Leonardo DiCaprio was to have gotten the role. He gives a great performance, maybe his best, but it doesn’t change how fortunate he was that Scorsese saw the great actor in him and gave him this chance to bring it out. The Aviator is one of those actor’s movies, built around a single performance as its centerpiece. DiCaprio delivers the drive and obsession of Howard Hughes, and his powerful neuroses. He manages to unify the two prevalent images of the man, his highs and lows, into one character on the screen. “I care a great deal about aviation,” he says at one point, in an attempt to explain himself, “It is the great joy of my life.” We know what Hughes cares about, and we know what he is afraid of thanks to an opening scene in which his mother warns him strongly about the dangers of disease. We also see why the one gives him some relief from the other; Scorsese illustrates how from above, everything seems like a miniature version of itself, simpler and cleaner.

The rest is Scorsese putting it into context. This seems like a slight way to appreciate such rich work, but it seems to be how the film wants to be viewed. The cinematography mixes retro experimentation (limited color palates, static long shots) with more modern techniques depending on the specific needs of the particular scene. As a period piece, the settings and costumes are thorough and engrossing, and a small army of background characters fills in the spaces.

The major flaw of the film is however that it fails to answer why. We see Hughes personality, illustrated brilliantly, but we don’t understand it. The opening scene mentioned earlier is about all we get by way of motivation for the compulsions that tear Hughes’ life apart. We understand his fascination with flight, but his forceful personality, his simultaneous indulgence and disregard for wealth… these things pose a question that is never answered. I understand that as a biopic, the film must be careful about what it tries to answer with speculation, but when so much speculation is necessarily present anyway, reticence towards completing the task of transforming the person into the character seems somewhat silly.

Still, it’s wasteful to poke holes in such a spectacle. As a show of acting and direction, The Aviator outpaces its worth as a script. But acting and direction are worthwhile crafts, and this is an enjoyable display.

The Proposition

2/4 stars

The Proposition is a slowly building movie. It starts in the midst of a bloody gun battle, probably in an attempt to convey the misconception that it will be an eventful film. Shortly thereafter, we are witness to the proposition in question, and then spend most of the rest of the film waiting for the situation to unfold. Because it may have been only my curiosity about the nature of the proposition that tricked me into seeing this movie, because it turns out to be a fairly minor plot point, and because numerous summaries of the film that I've seen since have revealed it, I will do the same: Guy Pearce is asked, in exchange for the freedom of himself and his relatively innocent younger brother, to bring his villainous older brother to justice, dead or alive. This is the scenario, as Pearce's character is allowed to disappear into the desert.

And then it stews in the heat of the Australian outback for roughly an hour. This wouldn't have been such a bad thing, necessarily. The cinematography of the film portrays a sort of lovely ugliness to the landscape and its inhabitants. Nothing is frosted over in this film, nothing is romanticized or idealized about the situation or the characters. The film shows moments of powerful tragedy, and powerful emotion. However, not much of anything really happens. The time isn't devoted to revealing the subtleties of an intricate plot, nor really engaging the internal lives of the characters. Instead, the film keeps a close eye on the compelling harshness of the scene, and the tragedy that is unfolding. It does those things very well, but I wanted more from it.

There's a lot of talent here. I was drawn to the movie initially because its writer is Nick Cave, better known a rock musician whose songs are dark and dissonant, but with a rough and hidden beauty. Guy Pearce brings a strong presence to this role, even in his inactivity. He exudes a sense of turmoil which is brought on not by uncertainty, but by the presence of conflicting certainties. Ray Winstone plays a multi-faceted character who the script simply neglects to fully investigate. Director John Hillcoat displays great potential, and does a lot with what he's given. The problem with the film is that Cave's novice script is too content with mood and foreboding and not curious enough about the people involved.