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Tuesday, 24 March 2015

From Best to Least Best: Ranking the MCU Movies Part 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Marvel's franchise template of an expanded universe has become the model for modern blockbuster cinema, even if the half-baked efforts from Sony and Warner Brothers, with their poorly-conceived Spider-Man and Justice League universes, feel like pound-shop knock offs of the Real Deal. Marvel's Cinematic Universe is easily the best long-running superhero series (sorry, my beloved X-Men), consistently surprising audiences and taking risks. Up for release next month is Avengers: Age of Ultron, and with the current catalogue at ten entries, it seems as good a time as any to list the Marvel films in order of my least to most favourite. I've agonised over the order of some of them, and most of the films are clustered pretty close together. Suffice to say I like all ten of the MCU films so far released, and this two-part list is more indicative of my personal tastes, rather than a definitive statement of overall quality. This week, we'll take a look at numbers 10 to 6, in a rundown dominated by Marvel's Phase One, and next week we'll finish the list with 5 to 1.

You're welcome.

10) Captain America: The First Avenger

Despite being a firm Phase One favourite of many Marvel fans, I've never fully enjoyed the first Captain America film. I didn't like it at all when I first watched it, and I have always found it to be amongst the most frustrating of the MCU films. While it has a strong opening, it completely fumbles its middle and final sections, presenting us with a series of montages masquerading as a second act and a finale that never fully rises to the boil. However, on subsequent viewings I have warmed to its stronger points, and grown to admire the film as a whole. While director Joe Johnston - enthusiastic minute-taker in the If Only We Were Steven Spielberg Club* - has never really made a great film, his work is almost uniformly without cynicism and brimming with a clear love for cinema. Watching his The Rocketeer is like watching a small child quote Indiana Jones in his back garden; he gets it a bit wrong, but it's cute anyway. Even Jurassic Park III, which Spielberg 'let' Johnston have, has sort of an infectious innocence about it, even though it's fundamentally crap. Similarly, although much of Jumanji doesn't hold up very well today, the central premise is so gleeful it's difficult to resist. It's in this spirit that I can enjoy The First Avenger, which at its core functions as an innocent and uncomplicated fable of good guys vs. bad guys. It's about little more than bravery triumphing over bullies, and wears its heart completely on its sleeve, which I admire. In this sense, Johnston is the perfect director for the material, especially given his preoccupation with mid-twentieth century American iconography.

Unfortunately, however, the plot really is all over the place, and loses focus in its second half, a problem from which many of the Phase One films suffer. Captain America: The First Avenger is most confident when introducing the pre-Super Soldier Steve Rogers, a man whose heroism is at odds with his physical abilities. It's intriguing, well paced and a good change of pace from the alpha-male focussed Iron Man and Thor. Tommy Lee Jones, Hayley Atwell and Stanley Tucci are all stellar in supporting roles, and the whole affair captures the fun of the other MCU films, which carving out its own identity and texture, helped in no small part by the period setting and Shelly Johnson's distinctive cinematography. However, when it comes time to strap in and enjoy Rogers and his pals zip off to save the day, the film fumbles. Instead of showcasing Rogers and his team in a single, well-executed and exciting mission, the film treats us to a montage of the Cap's Greatest Moments. On their own, they look great, but without the connective story tissue they add up to very little, feeling more like flashbacks than complete scenes. It's a section of the film that insists on telling us how great Captain America is, rather than showing us, which also means that his badass team, known as the Howling Commandos, are given the short shrift: we never really get to know any of them, and so it's difficult to care or even follow what happens to them. This is especially disappointing given the time the film dedicates to developing the other supporting characters. By the time the finale rolls around, too much disconnect has happened between the audience and the film's wonky sense of pacing, and before we know it, the whole thing is all over in a finale that feels abrupt and undercooked. That said, Captain America: The First Avenger does have its stand-out moments, whether its in the delicious early nod to Raiders of the Lost Ark - "while the Fuhrer digs for trinkets in the desert" - the best post-credits tease since the first Iron Man, or Hugo Weaving's pitch-perfect 1940s-serial scenery chewing as The Red Skull. It's just that those moments rarely hang together in a way that works for me, and it's for that reason that while The First Avenger isn't the weakest MCU instalment (and is by no means a bad film), it's certainly the most disappointing.

9) The Incredible Hulk

I have a great deal of time for The Incredible Hulk, not least because it doesn't sit quite as well in the Expanded Universe as the other films. Released the same year as Iron Man, Marvel were still clearly hedging their bets with regards to their cross-continuity, and so what we have is a film differing greatly in both tone and style from Iron Man. Although The Incredible Hulk isn't connected to the previous Ang Lee Hulk, it also doesn't explicitly distance itself from it, making it feel somewhere in between a reboot and a sequel. What the film demonstrates very well is that it is possible to effectively (re)introduce a character without another interminable 'Origins' plot. Right off the bat we have Edward Norton as an already Hulkified-Bruce Banner, hiding from the authorities in the Brazilian favellas. Hunted by Tim Roth's menacing Royal Marine Emil Blonsky, Banner is searching for a cure to his condition. It's a decent premise, and the first transformation scene, coming early in the film, is great, setting the film apart from Lee's ambitious but plodding predecessor. However, just as Iron Man struggles to do anything interesting with Tony Stark after he gets into the completed suit, The Incredible Hulk struggles after Banner finds himself back in the US. It's never clear whether or not Blonsky's superior, General Ross, is supposed to be a villain, and while the final showdown in the city is exciting and well staged, it can't help but feel rather perfunctory, not least because of the film's lack of a clear theme. As a result, the film's story never really climaxes; I'd suggest this is because, as the second MCU film, it's raison d'etre seems to be the dual question, "Can we really do this comic character justice on the big screen, and will audiences accept him?" The first Iron Man exists for basically the same reason, and I would argue that it's this proof-of-concept approach to the material that means the narratives of both Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk don't work especially well. It's a problem that Marvel didn't really solve until the redemptive narrative arc of Thor, and is something that with their demonstrably growing confidence, they've been refining ever since.   That said, it's better paced than Captain America, and has a feel and identity of its own. While having virtually no impact on the events of the wider MCU, The Incredible Hulk is a solid action film, and works best as a monster movie.

8) Thor: The Dark World

While there's nothing especially wrong with the second Thor entry, and despite the fact that I find it more consistently entertaining than both The First Avenger and The Incredible Hulk, there just seems to be something lacking about this one. Perhaps it's the lame rom-com subplot between Natalie Portman and Chris O'Dowd which goes nowhere, or the unnecessary addition of the Lady Sif taking a fancy to Thor: also a dead-end that leads nowhere. I suspect, however, it's something a little deeper than that, and I'd attribute it to a director better known for his TV work and, ahem, the new Terminator film, due later this year. Alan Taylor's direction is fine but humdrum, lacking anything approaching the sincerity of Joe Johnston, the idiosyncrasy of Iron Man 3's Shane Black, or indeed, Kenneth Branagh's commitment to the portentous silliness that made the first Thor such a laugh. This blandness bleeds through into the film's villain, Malaketh, who doesn't come remotely close to Loki as a great bad guy. Tom Hiddleston, however, remains on top form as Thor's conniving adopted brother, clearly having the time of his life as the MCU's best baddie. Indeed, positioning Loki as a central character only strengthens what would otherwise be a rote plot. In fact, all the key players are on good form, and despite the film's shortcomings, the action is still exciting; I especially like the London-set, portal-hopping finale, and seeing Loki and Thor working together is a treat. As a result, The Dark World firmly consolidates the promise of the first Thor, Avengers Assemble and Iron Man 3: that Marvel has finally cracked how to properly structure a narrative towards a satisfying conclusion.

7) Iron Man 2

Much like The Incredible Hulk, I have a lot of time for the second Iron Man film, and unlike many fans, I don't hate the fact that its main purpose for existing is to set up future Avengers films. Robert Downey Jr. is on top form again as the eponymous hero, and the sub-plot of his needing to find a new power source for the suit works especially well, tying together Tony's rediscovery of his father's legacy, battling the villain Whiplash, and meeting with Nick Fury to discuss the tantalising Avengers Initiative. What's key here is that this is a good sub-plot, as is the Justin Hammer as a rival weapons developer sub-plot, as is the mounting tension between Tony and Colonel James Rhodes. It's just a shame that none of these become the main plot of the movie, and as such it struggles for both narrative direction, and an identity sufficiently distinct from the last film. In addition, Iron Man 2 introduces Natasha Romanoff AKA Black Widow, but rather than focussing on her impressive skill set, positions her as a sex object for Tony. Avengers Assemble and Captain America: The Winter Soldier have gone some way to rectifying that representation of her, but in a series that has yet to feature a single woman in the lead in ten films (and won't until it hits film number 20 (!) with Captain Marvel), it's a particularly embarrassing misstep. That said, replacing Terence Howard with Don Cheadle as Rhodes is a brilliant move - "I'm here, it's me, get over it" - as is the introduction of War Machine. Mickey Rourke and Sam Rockwell have terrific fun in their roles as Whiplash and Hammer, and the action sequences, tepid finale aside, are fun, tense and exciting. It's another one which has grown on me over time, and while it might not quite hit the mark, it's got a lot to offer.

6) Iron Man

Iron Man is rightly beloved as the film that opened Marvel's experiment in cross-franchise continuity, but in hindsight, it's not quite as good as some of the later entries to the MCU. On release, Iron Man's secret weapon was low expectation, owing partially to the fact that the character was unfamiliar to most audiences. Additionally, this was a time for the genre when for every Spider-Man 2 there was a Daredevil or X-Men: The Last StandSuperman Returns had disappointed audiences and most people were more interested in the upcoming The Dark Knight than in Robert Downey Jr. dressing up in red and gold armour. It came as somewhat of a surprise, then, that Iron Man was full of wit, innovation and humour. Downey Jr. was a revelation as Tony Stark, embodying the role as effortlessly and inextricably as Harrison Ford and Indiana Jones. It's easy to forget, too, the brilliance of the suit design - the suit effects really are flawless - and not since Superman The Movie (or Spider-Man, at a push) had a superhero costume been translated so faithfully and effectively on the big screen. But perhaps most impressively, the film balances its tone perfectly, engaging in a wry self-awareness without ever falling into tiresome post-ironic snark. The icing on the cake was, of course, the post-credits tease, which had people cheering in the cinema. Again, it's easy to forget how innovative this was; superhero films just didn't inhabit shared universes at the time, and the promise of this happening, however tenuous, felt tantalising.

So why isn't Iron Man higher on my list? In short, it's been superseded by its more confident and better structured successors. As with many of the early Marvel films, Iron Man's villain is its weakest asset, filling a perfunctory role so that we can have a climactic showdown, which, while okay, neither lives up to nor exceeds the film's previous set-pieces. Linked to this is the fact that after Tony gets into the completed suit, the film runs out of story. I think that an interesting facet of the Phase One films is that they feel like proof-of-concepts, rather than narrative films. The Incredible Hulk, Captain America: The First Avenger and Iron Man especially are strongest in their first and second acts, when they are introducing their audiences to these outlandish characters. As I've suggested above, once the films are finished with the set up, they run out of steam, because they're interested in their characters first, and their narratives second. This would be fine, but because Iron Man is a Hollywood tent pole movie, it needs to have an action-packed third act, which given the loose and fun spirit of the film, just doesn't quite work. Iron Man secures its place through its light tone, Downey Jr.'s pitch-perfect performance, and in its sheer gall at setting up a shared cinematic universe. Undeniably flawed, and far from Marvel's strongest film, it remains a solid and highly entertaining first instalment in the mega franchise.

Once these early films were under Marvel's belt, and once the studio became more adept at handling their cross-continuities, they became better at balancing story and character. As this list would suggest, the MCU films have broadly improved as the studio has grown in confidence. The next five films on this list represent the series' development, so come back next week to see how they stack up.

* Other members include Head-of-Club Robert Zemeckis and purveyor of sentimental schlock and inferior Harry Potter films, Chris Columbus.  

Monday, 9 March 2015

Beyond Redemption: The Amazing Spider-Man 2

After an extended hiatus, the Magnificent Tramp returns with a new series: Beyond Redemption. Once a month, I'll be posting extended reviews of films that are so absymal that they go beyond the levels of flawed, ascending to the nirvana of the irreedemable. In this first post, I'll be looking at The Amazing Spider-Man 2, which although currently has a rating of 58% on Rotten Tomatoes, is one of the most execrable examples of superhero cinema in recent memory. For my money, I thought the first Amazing Spider-Man was flawed but not unforgivably so. While unpopular with fanboys, I thought presenting Peter Parker as arrogant and self-involved was an interesting shift from Toby Maguire's whiny Peter and left opportunities for him to grow as a character. Consequently, I was looking forward to a flawed film that would hopefully have some interesting ideas, new interpretations, and if nothing else, some exciting web-slinging hi-jinks.

Oh, how I was wrong. So, terribly, terribly wrong. The Amazing Spider-Man 2 repeats all of its predecessor's vices and none of its virtues, presenting us with a perfect storm of schizophrenic characterisation, incoherent screenwriting and all the narrative direction of an overly long game of snakes and ladders. Of course, TASM2 is not unique in these flaws: The Dark Knight Rises suffers from pretty severe structural problems and plot-holes, Iron Man 2 exists mainly to set up future Marvel films, and Sam Raimi's much-derided Spider-Man 3 is an infuriating, overstuffed mess. But The Amazing Spider-Man 2 gives us something especially rank, far outstripping the failings of its forbears. It is a production so black of heart, so devoid of humanity, so profoundly lacking in any mirth, wit, or joie de vivre that while it may not be the worst superhero film ever made (that particular accolade still belongs de facto to Batman and Robin), it is certainly the most toxic.

Both Amazing Spider-Man films were directed by Marc Webb, of the bafflingly popular but assuredly dreadful 500 Days of Summer. Where 500 Days' eponymous heroine is an object of affection for Tom, an impossibly desirable pixie girl who refuses to settle down, dammit, TASM2's Gwen is an object to be bartered over between Peter and her father. Using a woman in jeopardy as the call to action for the male hero is a cliche as old as the hills, and one which has a specific precedent in comic books. The Dark Knight Trilogy, Sam Raimi's Spider-Man films and Superman all make use of the trope to varying degrees of success. Nevertheless, there are several factors that make the cliche especially irksome in The Amazing Spider-Man 2, not least because one of the few refreshing aspects to TASM1 was that Gwen was a far more proactive and resilient character than Mary Jane was in Raimi's films. In the second Amazing instalment, Gwen attempts to retain her agency by playing an active part in her and Peter's relationship, but doesn't count on her dead father getting between Peter's conscience and his libido. Peter is plagued by visions of Gwen's father, reminded of the promise that he made to stop seeing Gwen. Here, the film thinks that it is grappling with the same themes of power and responsibility that were at the heart of the Raimi films, but what Peter's conflict actually exposes is an unthinkingly paternalistic, and quite nasty core to the film's moral compass. Where Maguire's Peter was able to accept Mary Jane's informed decision to be with him, Garfield's hero interminably flip-flops on what he wants from Gwen in what can only be described as a calculated act of manipulation and emotional blackmail.

Squandered talent: Emma Stone as Gwen Stacy

For example, at the start of TASM2, Peter dumps Gwen because her dead father's stern-looking ghost reminds Peter of his promise to leave Gwen alone. She's understandably angered and hurt at Peter's decision, especially given that he has made no attempt to talk to her about it. Later, Peter decides that he still wants to be friends. No sooner does Gwen agree to this new arrangement than Peter immediately starts making flirtatious and emotionally manipulative comments along the lines of "if we're going to be friends you'll have to stop laughing like that because it's too damn sexy". Later, Gwen takes up a place at Oxford University and prepares to leave New York. Even though Peter has decided they can't be together, he still tries to stop Gwen from leaving by devising a stunt (webbing the words 'I love you' on to the Brooklyn Bridge) to persuade her to stay within his sticky grasp, apparently quite happy to destroy her once-in-a-lifetime chance of studying at one of the world's most prestigious universities. It's baffling to me that anyone could interpret his behaviour as emotionally responsible, let alone heroic.

Contrast this with Maguire's personal moral conflict in the Raimi films. Admittedly, Maguire does his own share of annoying flip-flopping, and does keep MJ in the dark about his dual identity as Spider-Man, but when it comes down to it, Mary-Jane is able to make her own decision about what she wants, and Peter accepts this without intentionally trying to confuse and manipulate her. Crucially, when MJ learns the truth about Peter she makes an informed choice to be with him, fully aware of the risks involved. Spider-Man 2 comes with its own problems, and I'm not defending that film's conventional and somewhat tiresome gender politics, but what Spider-Man 2 definitely does not do is present an arrogant, emotionally manipulative brat as a hero with whom the audience is encouraged to identify. Maguire's Peter is filled with insecurity and self-doubt, but Garfield's iteration of Peter is a cocky wise-ass who piles all of the emotional responsibility on to Gwen, while craftily denying her any actual control over the kind of relationship they have. Maguire's Peter knows that the connection between power and responsibility is sacrifice. In contrast, Garfield's Peter singularly lacks the maturity and selflessness to walk away wholesale from Gwen, and when he does toy with the idea of leaving her, it is because of a misplaced sense of guilt over breaking an agreement with her father. Crucially, that guilt has nothing to do with Gwen's safety or future happiness. Instead, the central moral conflict of The Amazing Spider-Man 2 lies in the agreement between two men over what to do with their woman. When that woman attempts to exert her own autonomy she is punished in an act of retribution so staggeringly instantaneous, emotionally hollow and unintentionally silly that on witnessing it I was shocked into exasperated laughter. Her death, regardless of its fidelity to comic history, is a cynical plot device designed both to appease comics fanboys, and as a weird and unsettling continuation of the theme / exorcism of the 'girl that got away' demon that also informs Webb's debut feature, 500 Days of Summer.

A defence of Gwen's death as Peter's comeuppance for not letting her go is void: he mourns her for a few months and then, as shown by the final, tacked on scene, goes back to business as usual: showing off in front of New York's uniformly idiotic public. The final scene of the film is unsatisfying as a finale, but more importantly it robs Gwen's death of any emotional resonance that it might otherwise have had were its consequences explored properly. Moreover, her death has nothing to do with rebuking Peter for his selfishness or manipulative nature - it is the consequence both of the broken contract between he and Gwen's father, and of that damned foolish woman who keeps getting herself into trouble when the men aren't around to stop her. Other superhero movies are often guilty of representing women as fantasy damsels in distress, but The Amazing Spider-Man 2 goes one step further by being aware of its heroine's capacity for autonomy, before punishing her for taking action and not doing what she is told. It is almost as if Gwen has wandered in from a better written film, and finds herself surrounded by two-dimensional, unpredictable weirdoes who are guided by the invisible hand of an inverse morality. The film likes the idea of a sassy, sexy girlfriend with a mind of her own, but in profoundly hating the reality of an autonomous woman, acts accordingly by eliminating her.

Electro: Just as confused as the rest of us
Superhero films offer modern parables about the values of society, and tend to be strongest when exploring the manichean concepts of good and evil. This kind of cinema does not need to provide glib, Aesop-esque morals, but I do think that it needs a moral centre - even if that centre is disrupted or challenged. The thematic politics of many superhero narratives are essentially conservative - the triumph of order over chaos (The Dark Knight); the inviolability of individual freedom (Iron Man); stability vs insecurity - but they at least offer moral compasses, the direction of which can generally be agreed upon. But what moral compass does The Amazing Spider-Man 2 offer? When Peter refuses to help his terminally-ill friend, in which direction is his compass pointing? When he emotionally manipulates his girlfriend into staying with him, what form of ethics is the film advocating? I'm fine with films that encourage us to relate to unlikeable or morally dubious characters; some of the greatest directors in history have made based entire careers on exploring unpalatable characters. But when you position your character as a hero, as an embodiment of goodness, and the cypher through which the audience experience a power fantasy - which, let's face it, is what most superhero narratives are - then making that character an alpha-male douchebag with borderline sociopathic traits is rather problematic for the core morality of your story. As I have said, I quite liked that in TASM1 Peter began the film as an immature, entitled brat, but that only works if he grows and changes as a character. By the end of the second film he categorically has learned nothing.  Sure, he mourns Gwen's death, but only insofar that he is upset that he doesn't get to play with his favourite toy anymore. The film shows us nothing of his own culpability or responsibility for Gwen's demise; he's just in a huff because his dream girl has been taking away by the bad man. At no point does Peter show any understanding that it was his refusal to help his friend Harry Osborn that led to Gwen's death. The film tacitly absolves Peter of any fault, robbing itself of any redemptive catharsis. If Peter learns nothing from Gwen's death, which he doesn't, then her death is dramatically meaningless.

Which leads me on to the morality of TASM2's villains, who, like Peter, also appear to be suffering from their personality disorders, swapping out their motivations and character traits according to the whims of the plot. I feel safe in saying that the first sequence with Electro in Times Square is one of the worst storytelling moments that I have ever endured in a motion picture. In the space of ten seconds, Electro turns from a confused and frightened victim into a glory-hunting mass murderer, but to the ultra-impatient screenwriters, Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, exploring Electro's psychology is too much work - it's easier for him just to get pissed off at a TV camera pointing at Spider-Man, right? How are we supposed to care about this guy when apparently the only reason he's being evil is because the plot demands it? Even notorious disasters like Schumacher's Batman films, with all their silliness and ultra-camp aesthetics, understood that to engage with the story, the audience needs characters with coherent internal psychologies. How has a film from 2014 mishandled something that even Batman Forever managed?

After abruptly dispensing with Electro by squirting him with a fire hose (because water and electricity don't mix, I suppose), the film introduces Harry Osborn, Peter's heretofore unmentioned best friend. Harry has a terminal genetic disease and thinks Spider-Man's magic blood holds the key to a cure (just like Orci and Kurtzman's Star Trek Into Darkness). He approaches Spider-Man and asks him to help, so Spider-Man says no, because 'it might not work'. This is literally the reason that Peter, scientific genius (who, by the way, watches YouTube videos on how batteries work because the Orci and Kurtzman can't be bothered to include properly integrated exposition) and best and oldest friend to Harry Osborn chooses to let him die from a horrific disease. How exactly are we supposed to buy into the relationship between Peter and Harry, or into Spider-Man as a heroic character when he refuses to help his friend in need? 
This leads us to a crucial aspect of Peter's character: he only ever acts when it will either directly benefit him, as with his emotional manipulation of Gwen, or in self-aggrandising posturing, such as when he fights Electro and Rhino to the slack-jawed adulation of braying morons who are too stupid to see that they are in mortal danger. Peter might save people in public displays of aerobatics, but in private he is selfish, arrogant, and prone to obsessive behaviour and temper tantrums. Peter's refusal to even try to help his friend leads us to invariably sympathise with Harry. When he goes to confront Spider-Man, post-Goblin transformation, are we really expected to side with Peter, a man who left his best friend to a dreadful fate? To fool us into thinking Spider-Man is a hero, Harry is transformed from a realistic, desperate victim into gurning pantomime villain in one costume change. Regardless of its fidelity to comic canon, Gwen's death is a cheap trick to make Harry seem evil: not only is this entirely out of character for Harry, it also does nothing to absolve Peter of his responsibility to Harry, nor does it nullify Harry's legitimate grievance with Peter. In any case, Gwen's death was written in the stars, as demonstrated by the heavy-handed foreshadowing throughout the film. Her death was as destined as Harry's illness and Peter's Spiderness (which, as has been pointed out time and again, totally misses the point of the accidental nature of Spider-Man). According to the film's internal screwy logic, Gwen's death was both unavoidable but also-sort-of Gwen's fault for not listening to Peter. Most egregious of all, however, is using Gwen as on object to make Harry appear evil and to give Peter a bogus final-act catastrophe before his triumphant return at the end.

The Amazing Spider-Man 2 is a profound and irredeemable mess. It is two hour and twenty minutes of moving images and sound, which although technically qualifies it as a feature film, falls woefully short of anything resembling a story. The shifts in tone are amongst the most jarring I have ever seen, and the complete lack of connection between scenes, characters, and plot-points make Prometheus seem like a masterpiece in narrative form. Characters change personalities from moment to moment, and the considerable acting talents of Garfield, Stone, Sally Field, Dane Dehaan, Jamie Foxx, Paul Giamatti and Chris Cooper are squandered by what must surely be one of the worst screenplays ever written relative to a film's budget and profile. Singularly, these faults could be forgiven, ignored even. Collectively, they do not negate the film's positive qualities (like Prometheus, the film is very well shot and brimming with colour, and the opening shot of Spider-Man falling towards Manhattan is undeniably exhilarating. Unlike Prometheus, however, no performance in TASM2 comes close to Michael Fassbender's terrific portrayal of David). But the final nail in TASM2's coffin is its dearth of morality; it is a film that profoundly misunderstands the basic concepts of responsibility, sacrifice, and human relationships. Very few characters act like real human beings in the world of TASM2, but worse than this, the one character to whom we must relate for the film to work is manipulative, reckless and borderline sociopathic. It is this lack of any recognisably moral dimension to its hero that ultimately betrays the film: as entertainment it is unwatchable, as moral fable it is repellent, and as cinema it is unmitigated failure.  

Tuesday, 27 May 2014

The Tramp Reviews: X-Men: Days of Future Past

It's tempting to begin this review with a recap of the previous films. However, I've already done that here, and even X-Men: Days of Future Past itself assumes that its audience will be reasonably familiar with the series' convoluted narrative, offering virtually no explanation of who the extensive cast of characters are and their relationships to each other. However, despite the wilfully stuffy confusion of some reviewers, only a cursory knowledge of previous X-Men titles is really necessary to follow the time-twisting plot, although it's true that long-term fans of the series are the most likely to enjoy this episode fully. As always, since I'm writing this review several days after the film has been released, expect major spoilers. If you haven't yet seen the film, stop reading now, but if you're looking for a recommendation, X-Men: Days of Future Past is one of the best entries in the series and you should see it as soon as possible.

One of the most interesting elements of Days of Future Past is its numerous allusions to dystopian science fiction cinema, particularly during its futuristic first act. The earlier films clearly owed a debt to the genre, but here there are specific visual and narrative homages to its forbears. The captured mutants being marched down bleak corridors are reminiscent of the workers in Metropolis, and the bodies of the dead recall the imagery of both The Terminator and Soylent Green, all piled up in a hellish landscape that reminds us of Blade RunnerThe Matrix and Tron. Disturbingly, these scenes are suggestive also of the holocaust sections in some of the other X-Men films, and are undoubtedly some of the darkest and most challenging sequences of the entire series. In another director's hands, these scenes could very easily have felt derivative
and even tasteless, but with veteran Bryan Singer at the helm, they feel like the logical, nightmarish conclusion to the themes of the series.

Storm's onscreen time is limited but memorable.
Where the visual references of the future scenes are necessarily science-fiction, the scenes in the 1970s are more likely to recall the political thrillers of that decade; an approach which also worked extremely well in this year's Captain America: The Winter Soldier. It's one which functions simultaneously as a visual contrast to the future sequences, and as an extension of the film's political and social themes. Singer and his production team deserve recognition both for combining two potentially disparate aesthetics into a coherent style, and for creating a visual design distinct from both the millenial blue of the original trilogy, and the technicolour 60s fantasy of X-Men: First Class.

Perhaps the most consistent criticism that has been levelled at Days of Future Past is its convoluted narrative, jumping, as it does, from future to past and back again. To paraphrase one review of another superhero film, there is indeed more plot here than story. Moreover, the future scenes very much feel like the action-packed finale of a different film - the last few minutes of a movie edited to punctuate the 70s-set narrative. As a result, most of the future characters get only a few lines each, if at all, and not really anything approaching characterisation. That said, the future cast succeed at making us care about characters who are, to be generous, sparsely written, and Singer's narrative economy here is admirable. Imagine if Peter Jackson, with his inability to cut the fat from a story, had directed Days of Future Past, and it's easy to see the sense behind Singer's decision to keep the future scenes to a minimum. The director shows us only what is absolutely necessary before moving us on to the real meat of the 70s-set story. And it's here that the real emotional development comes, primarily in a neat reversal of the student / mentor dynamic between Wolverine and Xavier. Predictably, the main cast are all on form: Jackman has for years been inextricably associated with Wolverine, and is at complete ease in the role, whereas Fassbender and Lawerence both bring welcome depth and pathos to Magneto and Mystique. Indeed, more so than any other instalment, this X-Men film blurs the lines between heroes and villains.

Despite the strong performances and impressive narrative plate-spinning, it is fair to say that Days of Future Past exists primarily to tidy up an increasingly complicated and frequently contradictory backstory. The events of the disappointing third instalment, The Last Stand, are conclusively and overtly written out in the film's final scene with the unexpected but welcome return of some of the series' missing characters. Similarly, the repeated appearances of a young William Stryker feel unnecessary and extraneous to Days of Future Past's story. However, somewhat forgivably, his inclusion conflicts with the timeline of X-Men Origins: Wolverine, effectively erasing the events of that film from the series canon.

Arguably the strongest set piece of the entire series.
Days of Future Past's greatest strength lies in its action, which offers the best set pieces of the series as well Inception-flavoured finale which combines past and future showdowns with the terrifying, mutant-hunting sentinels. Incidentally, the film contains some seriously grisly violence and really pushes the 12A rating; if The Last Stand was unafraid to dispassionately kill off major characters, Days of Future Past forces us to witness the suffering of a cast ripped apart by robotic drones indifferent to their roles as series favourites.
as several sequences that feel fresh and innovative in a genre bloated with epic spectacle. The best of these is newcomer Quicksilver's showpiece, in which he whizzes around security guards in one of the most preposterously enjoyable jailbreak scenes ever filmed. Honourable mention also goes to the

With spectacular flair, distinctive visuals, and a strong, if somewhat convoluted story, X-Men Days of Future Past offers what may be the best entry in the series. This is also the darkest episode in the ongoing saga, but balances that darkness with perfectly measured levity and humour, deriving from an extremely polished script and strong central performances. If, as with all X-Men films, some of the characters feel a little-short changed, and the plot bounces along a little too quickly, it is only because of Singer's insistence on keeping a tight focus on the type of story he wants to tell. Similarly, much of the dialogue functions as simple exposition, but with a narrative that keeps the thrills coming thick and fast, it hardly matters. With an unprecedented run of three good films, after fourteen years it seems that the X-Men have finally found their footing, and it really couldn't be stronger.

Monday, 12 May 2014

What is up with La Dolce Vita? A Rant.

After a long time meaning to get around to it, I finally watched Federico Fellini's 1960 La Dolce Vita at the weekend, an iconic example of Italian neo-realist cinema, universally lauded by critics, nominated for four Academy Awards and winner of one, as well as being listed by the British Film Institute as the 39th greatest film ever made. I couldn't stand it. Actually, I lie - the first hour, give or take, was by turns beautiful, intriguing, sexy and harrowing. The film's most famous scene, in which Anita Ekberg frolics in a Roman fountain was deserving of its status as an enduring icon of cinema, and Marcello Mastroianni's almost unbearable desire for Ekberg in that scene, figured by an untouchable sensuality, singularly captures one of the central and most complex themes of the film, Namely, that of the way male audiences idolise and objectivity women, necessarily making of them either Madonnas or whores. It is a moment of pure cinema, without need of dialogue or exposition, and one which is effectively ruined by the film's insistence on driving the point home, repeatedly, with endless scenes of men dryly explaining to each other what and how women should be. 

Mastroianni plays a society journalist who is caught between the temptations of the 'dolce vita' of the title - the 'sweet life' of the rich and famous, and a revulsion at the decadence, self indulgence and pseudo-intellectual posing that naturally follows. At a running time of nearly three hours and virtually no central
The best bit of the film. Save yourself the trouble and don't bother with the rest.
narrative, I can sympathise. Not tied down to the need to tell a single story, the film is able to explore its themes and paint its pictures freely. Except that, for my money, exploration entails more than simply endlessly repeating the same point in different settings. The lifestyles of the rich are simultaneously irrestistable and repellent. Celebrity comes with some pretty horrible existential consequences. Women are desirable. Women are mothers. Women are deified by men. Women are not treated like human beings by men. 
La Dolce Vita, I get it. This does not require three hours of interminable navel-gazing to come to terms with. Over the course of the film, there is undeniably beauty, composed with the artistry and artifice only accessible to a master of cinematic imagery, but call me old fashioned, I need more than artful composition, more than Italian cars shot in black and white, more than moody men in sharp suits ogling gorgeous women. Three hours requires, in my humble opinion, story. It needs narrative pacing, the ebb and flow of incident and character development. Call me a populist, but I want my characters to be in a different place when I leave them than when I met them. More to the point, I want their changes to change me; I don't want to have figured out the 'horrible' truth of my central character's ennui a full hour before he gets there (that truth, incidentally, is that rich people are often self-indulgent and boring, and hanging around self-indulgent, boring people is probably a bad idea). And I don't consider a dead fish staring blankly on a beach a sufficiently sophisticated or even interesting metaphor to justify having sat through 164 minutes hours of nicely composed shots of the same basic two or three fucking ideas. Yes, I get that it's (supposedly) split into seven segments (seven, geddit? Like in the Bible and that). I get the Madonna / whore stuff. I get the Catholic iconography, and its relationship to the iconography cinema. I get the endless descent into meaninglessness. We've all read Baudrillard. We all know about the Carnival, and the male gaze and structralism and blah, blah, blah. Yes, La Dolce Vita, you're very clever. Yes, I understand. Yes, you're spectacles are very stylish. No, you can't have my number.

And while I'm at it, another disappointment I endured lately was Frances Ha, a turgid little hipster nothing, universally and inexplicably admired, with pretensions towards both Fellini and Woody Allen. I have a far-less well developed dislike of this film, and so since it doesn't justify its own post, I wish to publicly express my dislike for Frances Ha here. I can't even be bothered to think of a pun on its lame hipster title. I know this has nothing really to do with the rest of my post. Think of this paragraph as a delightful little intermezzo

It's all, like, signs and signifiers, innit?
Anyway, before I'm accused of having too short an attention span and only wanting to watch The Wolverine or whatever, let me just say that I bloody love boring pretentious arthouse cinema as much as the next Guardian-reading toe sniffer. Lawrence of Arabia is about 4 days long and every frame of that film is exhilarating. Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal is one of my favourite films, easily as iconic and twice as complex as La Dolce Vita, and yet still manages to include incident along with its religious themes. Bergman's Persona is a masterpiece of minimalist story-tellling and performance, despite very little happening during the course of the film, but it still feels more developed than Fellini's endless shrugging. I'll be damned if I know what Tarkovsky's Mirror was all about but it sure as hell didn't bore the arse off me. Pretty much Akira Kurosawa's entire catalogue is obviously pure class, as are Bicycle Thieves and The Battle of Algiers. Luis Bunuel's The Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie isn't entirely to my taste, but at least it's got a bit of blood coursing through its veins, and finds time to include a few laughs. And, aye, I know I've name-checked more or less the most obvious post-war arthouse cinema in an attempt to legitimise my position. Stop being such a smart arse. To return to Felllini, initially I struggled with 8 1/2, until about half way through when everything seemed to click into place for me. Perhaps I'm just a bit slow on the uptake. But for me, La Dolce Vita was the exact opposite: initially brimming with intense, potentially rich and complex imagery, tiresomely repeated ad infinitum. And don't give me any of that "it's supposed to be like that, duh, it's like we're the journalist, getting bored and ground down by it all together" guff. I am not the journalist, and I don't need three hours to figure out that rich people are vacuous. 

Monday, 7 April 2014

"What Kind of Monster Are You? The Wolverine!" X-Men: Part Three

Few would dispute that since the release of Iron Man in 2008, Marvel's series of Avengers films has become, at least from a business and financial perspective, the most important modern blockbuster franchise in Hollywood. Moreover, Marvel's model of an expanded universe, with a potentially limitless web of interconnected films will undoubtedly define the mindset of major studios for the foreseeable future. However, I would argue that 20th Century Fox, owner of the X-Men series, has its own share of responsibility for the current state of Hollywood superhero franchises, not only because the original X-Men kick-started the prevalence of  modern comic adaptations, but also in its almost-accidental creation of a shared universe with a haphazard collection of sequels, prequels and spin-offs. In my final post on the X-Men series, I want to suggest that both the Marvel and Fox expanded universes, while ostensibly deriving inspiration from their comic-book roots, actually mirror much of what Universal achieved in the 1940s with their series of monster-mash up horror films. 

What I find particularly interesting about the X-Men series in general is the way it plays with concepts of otherness and monstrosity, refiguring the monsters as heroes. It’s well documented that the X-Men, both in film and comic form, with their freakish abilities and position as marginalised and often feared outsiders, are effectively thinly-veiled monsters reconstructed as superheroes. In fact, I argue that in paying homage in one scene to the 1931 version of Frankenstein, James Mangold not only makes a passing reference to this reading of the X-Men, but more importantly, draws an intriguing comparison to the production of modern superhero franchises, and that of the Universal horror cycle of the 1930s and 40s. In a cinematic landscape awash with conservative vigilante fantasies (Batman) and government backed, super-secret strike forces (Avengers Assemble), the X-Men films are unique in their continuing story of the fight for mere acceptance. Furthermore, The Wolverine is particularly interesting with regard to monstrosity in the way that at one point it makes overt reference to the Frankenstein monster, perhaps the greatest example in pop cinema of the misunderstood and feared 'other'. For example, during the scene where Wolverine tries to extract the robotic device in his chest, the laboratory setting and his position on an operating table alludes to the creation of the monster in Frankenstein. In contrast to the Frankenstein monster lying unconscious as the mad scientist operates on him,Wolverine operates on himself, asserting an autonomy and self-direction usually denied the monster in cinema. Shingen's question to Wolverine in the same scene, 'What kind of monster are you?', and Wolverine's furious answer, 'The Wolverine!' hammers the point home. Unlike Frankenstein's creation, however, this monster has a name, as he unambiguously asserts as 'The Wolverine!', before dispatching Shingen in a characteristically brutal fashion. Wolverine's answer here acts both as the reassertion of his lost identity, as well as a play on the trope of the monster without a name. In a series that, at its best, is about the discovery and assertion of identity, this is a great, if rather unsubtle, moment of pop bildungsroman

Compare and contrast: Frankenstein Meets The Wolverine

The Wolverine's allusion to Frankenstein in this scene reminds us that even though the Avengers series feels fresh and innovative in its approach to story-telling (having itself been influenced by the early X-Men films), universe building across connected franchises is nothing new in Hollywood.  We’re encouraged to think that Marvel and Fox’s current shared-universe approach to their franchises is experimental and innovative, and to an extent that’s true, but it isn’t the first time that this has been attempted. Universal studios performed an almost-identical trick over seventy years ago, when they began to combine their horror series together, most notably with FrankensteinDracula and The Wolf Man. Beginning with silent films such as The Hunchback of Notre Dame in 1923 and The Phantom of the Opera in 1925, the so-called Universal Horror Cycle moved into the sound era with Dracula in 1931, the success of which meant it was quickly followed by James Whale's Frankenstein in the same year. Both of these received their own sequels with Dracula's Daughter (1936), and Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and Son of Frankenstein (1939). 1941 saw the release of The Wolf Man, starring Lon Chaney Jr., who would then play the monster in the fourth Frankenstein picture, the abysmal Ghost of Frankenstein, released the following year in 1942, as well as the ubiquitous Count (or is that his son? There seems to be no consensus) in the second (sort of) sequel to Dracula, entitled - of course - Son of Dracula, released in 1943. With Chaney starring in Universal's three major monster franchises, it seemed to make sense to mash them together and see what happened. So, 1943 also saw Chaney return to his werewolf role with the release of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, an enjoyable slice of trash that simultaneously served as a direct sequel to The Wolf Man and the fifth Frankenstein film.

Similarly, just as The Wolverine is the second Wolverine film, it is also a sequel of sorts to the third X-Men film, and yet is somehow the sixth X-Men film overall. Following Frankenstein Meets the Wolf ManHouse of Frankenstein was released in 1944. This one features Dracula as well, this time played by a delightfully hammy John Carradine, making it the third Wolf Man film, fourth Dracula film and sixth Frankenstein. 1945 saw the release of House of Dracula, featuring all three monsters in a confused mess of a mash-up, that serves as part-sequel and part-reboot to the previous film: no mention is made of the deaths of either Dracula or the Wolf Man from House of Frankenstein, but the film goes to lengths to explain the resurrection of the Frankenstein monster, who also met his end at the end of the last one. Similarly confusingly, X Men: Days of Future Past will serve as a direct sequel to not only The Wolverine and The Last Stand, but also to First Class, making it a direct sequel to three (!) different films, the second direct sequel to The Last Stand, and the seventh installment in the series overall. This means that if we were numbering the films, Days of Future Past could be legitimately called X-Men: First Class 2, X-Men 4X-Men 5X-Men 6 or X-Men 7. And that's before we consider that X-Men: Apocalypse, set in the First Class era, and another Wolverine film, almost certainly set before the events of Days of Future Past are both in production, which if we're numbering the films based on their internal chronology (and after all of this, why the hell not?), it means that Days of Future Past, the seventh in the series, might as well be called X-Men: First Class 3X-Men 8 or X-Men 9. This beats even the Universal series for sheer convolutedness, and I know of no other film series whose sequels, like the tendrils of some Lovecraftian monstrosity, knot and tangle over each other so excessively, and yet so beautifully.

Sequels such as Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman and House of Dracula are little more than cheaply produced cash-ins, made to ride on the coattails of their successful forbears, but they do demonstrate that the concept of successful (financially at least) shared filmic universes is nothing new. It's fascinating to me that a film like The Wolverine, which in many ways is an average comic book action film, existing only to keep a variable franchise afloat until the arrival of its next 'proper' installment, can unlock many of the relationships its parent series has with the past and ongoing history of cinema, even if those relationships mainly lie in the confusing and artistically dubious nature of sequels. I hope that it is not too much of a stretch to suggest that that the release of Days of Future Past, a film about returning to the past for the survival of the future, foreshadows what lies ahead for the superhero genre as a whole: looking to the past, whether by paying homage to James Bond and gothic monsters, or by unconsciously mirroring the insane mash-up-sequel-logic of the Universal Horror Cycle, has reaped rewards for the X-Men franchise, a series which, if nothing else, seems to excel at reinvention and rejuvenation. Perhaps, then, if the superhero genre is to find its place in the future history of cinema, then it must look backwards, to its forbears, to do so.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

A Glimpse into The Past: X-Men Part 2

Last week, we looked at the original X-Men trilogy, and so to begin this week's post we'll be recapping the spin off trilogy: X-Men Origins: Wolverine, X-Men: First Class and The Wolverine.

Ah yes, X-Men Origins. Let's get this one out of the way.

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

Following the disappointment of The Last Stand, things were looking shaky for the X-Men franchise, but few could have predicted just how bad things could get. In hindsight, however, the signs were all there. 20th Century Fox announced that they would be taking the series down the prequel route, beginning with a film about Wolverine before moving on to origin stories of Professor X and Magneto, as well as a Deadpool film that mercifully never materialised. The potential (from the studio's standpoint) looked great - a respectable director in Gavin Hood, and an almost endless roster of characters on which to base stand-alone films, not to mention sequels and cross-overs. At the centre of the hype machine was Hugh Jackman himself, promising audiences that this would be the film where Wolverine would finally be let loose, relentlessly tearing up bad guys and answering those questions left tantalisingly unanswered by the original trilogy. But alas, in a post-Phantom Menace world, audiences were only too familiar with the empty promises of ambitious prequels, with the empty rhetoric of 'returning to the spirit of the original' falling on skeptical ears. Critics' and audiences' reticence was borne out when, after a rough cut of the film was leaked online, Origins was hurriedly released to cinemas. When it arrived, anyone who hadn't already seen it was greeted with one of the worst superhero films ever released. Far worse than The Last Stand. Worse than Daredevil. Worse even, dare I say it, than Batman and Robin. Unfinished special effects, juvenile, boring action sequences, wasted characters, and an appalling screenplay were but a handful of the sins of which Origins was guilty. Beyond laboriously listing the film's many, many problems (not least the shoddy, unnecessary  use of CGI claws and the stunt casting of Will. I. Am), there isn't a great deal more to say on Origins, but it is important to at least acknowledge this film, because its critical and commercial failure marks a crucial change not only in the fortunes of the X-Men franchise, but more importantly, in 20th Century Fox's approach to their series. The original idea following the release of Origins was to produce similar stories based on Xavier and Magneto. Unsurprisingly, these films were shelved following the train wreck of Origins, and it looked like the franchise was dead in the water. Only two years later, however, those Magneto / Xavier origins plans were dusted off and retooled into X-Men: First Class, a quasi-reboot-prequel, and somewhat astonishingly, one of the best films of the series.

X-Men: First Class

Nobody suspected that a follow-up to Origins could have been anything other than a further descent into schlock. Indeed, a tacky, cheap-looking early promotional poster suggested as much to the few people who were still paying the series any attention. But then, this atmospheric trailer arrived, suggesting a character-driven story and a renewed focus on the friendship between Magneto and Xavier. And of course, Matthew Vaughan, responsible for Layer Cake, Stardust and the previous year's terrific Kick Ass (not to mention second choice to make The Last Stand - if only!) was directing. Maybe, just maybe, this one might be alright.

And boy, is it ever: rather than suffering from prequel-itis, First Class' sixties setting injects a sense of fun and colour arguably missing from even the first two good X-Men films. Michael Fassbender stands out as the young Erik Lensherr / Magneto, particularly in a brilliant Euro-hopping sequence where he tracks down his former Nazi tormentors, which plays out not only as an exhilarating action segment in its own right, but also as the best James Bond audition tape never filmed. Elsewhere, James McAvoy is brilliantly cast as a young Charles Xavier, playing him against expectations as a cocky ladies man thoroughly enjoying the swinging sixties. Rather than undermining Patrick Stewart's interpretation of the character as a calm scholar, McAvoy adds new dimension and depth to him. Its subtle yet consistent subversion of our expectations is perhaps First Class' greatest strength. On paper, for example, writing Xavier and Mystique as adoptive siblings sounds bizarre, but McAvoy, Vaughn, and the wonderful Jennifer Lawrence make it work. Their dynamic creates new perspectives on the groundwork laid by Bryan Singer, especially with regard to Mystique's dedication to Magneto. More importantly, in casting Magneto in a sympathetic light, and grounding his world view in his experiences of the holocaust, Fassbender enriches McKellan's older version of the character, leaving us in real ambivalence over just how far we can read Magneto as a simple villain. Of course, First Class has its share of flaws: for one thing it's littered with continuity errors with all the previous films, especially The Last Stand and Origins, although any X-Men film that disregards the events of those two is fine with me. Additionally, Fassbender's weird English-American-Irish accent becomes pretty distracting, there are a few visual effects that look unfinished, and Beast's blue make up, replete with nerdy spectacles, raised audible titters of derision in the cinema audience when I first saw the film. More importantly, the ending feels a little too neat and tidy, with Erik donning the Magneto helmet, Mystique joining him, and Charles being paralysed all happening within minutes of each other. The nadir of the film comes, however, in an embarrassing contrivance that has Rose Byrne strip to her lingerie underwear to infiltrate a nightclub, as well as January Jones' ridiculous wardrobe as Emma Frost. It's a shame, because the few female characters in the film are otherwise treated sensitively as actual human beings with their own motivations and agendas, but here Byrne and Jones are used to pander to a perceived adolescent male viewership. With those exceptions, the rest are minor complaints in a film that performs a near miracle in reviving a moribund franchise, so much so that First Class feels at times like a lesson to George Lucas in how to tell an origin story of friends-turned-enemies. Alongside X 2, this is not only one of the best films of the series, but one of the best comic book movies ever made.

The Wolverine

How does a studio follow the critical success of First Class? By returning to the concept that almost derailed the franchise, of course! Yes, The Wolverine is the second-attempt to bring audiences a stand-alone Wolverine movie. In what seems to be an X-Men tradition, the film was originally set to be directed by Darren Aronosfky, before changing hands to James Mangold. Hugh Jackman assured audiences that this one really would be 'true to the character', repeatedly, but as we know, promises like these had been made and broken in the past. And so it came as somewhat of a surprise that The Wolverine is actually rather good. Let's not get ahead of ourselves: it can't touch First Class or X 2, and isn't even quite as good as Singer's original, but as a standalone film it's entertaining, well paced and at times very nicely shot. Compared to the other Wolverine film it's a masterpiece. Although it's set up as a quasi-sequel to The Last Stand (creating yet more continuity problems with First Class), The Wolverine more or less distances itself from the other films, giving the sense that this is a chapter in an ongoing saga of Wolverine adventures, connected to but independent of the wider X-Men story. In many respects, it feels like a lot like James Bond film, perhaps not up to the Connery-esque standard of Magneto's European sequence in First Class, but as least as good as your average Dalton or Brosnan outing. This is especially true of the bullet-train scene, which stands out as one of the best and most imaginative action sequences of the series. True, there are significant problems with the film - it sags heavily in the middle, the motivations of many of the characters often feel needlessly obfuscated or overly complex, and the climax somehow succeeds at feeling both underwhelming and ludicrously over the top. Not to mention, the film has the dubious honour of giving us the series' worst female character to date in the Viper. In her every appearance she dresses in increasingly fetishistic outfits, before declaring in her final scene that she is immune to all poison, including the worst of all: 'men'. It's the most embarrassing moment of the film, which is not an insignificant achievement given it's in the same scene as an enormous samurai robot piloted by an aging World War II veteran.

Despite its standing as the least good of the good X-Men films, I'd argue that The Wolverine holds the key to the structure of the series as a cohesive story, and to the future of expanded universe action franchises. Although I have an uncommon regard for the film, undoubtedly the most satisfying part of the film is the post-credits sting, wherein Magneto and an inexplicably-resurrected Xavier jointly recruit Wolverine for an all-important-but-mysterious mission as a blatant teaser for the next proper X-Men instalment. The Last Stand and Origins also had post-credits teasers, which inevitably went nowhere. In contrast, The Wolverine's teaser is setting up a film already in production, and is clearly influenced by a practice established by the ubiquitous Avengers films. This is why The Wolverine is the key to uniting the X-Men franchise into a coherent story. Until this film, the series was produced in an almost admirably haphazard way, lurching from one film to the next, with plans for spin offs, origin stories and prequels fulfilled or forgotten on the whims of fortune. Although the upcoming Days of Future Past will tie together the First Class and Original Trilogy stories, The Wolverine is really the first film in the series to openly suggest a long-term plan for the franchise. Moreover, unlike the Marvel studios films, which all invariably lead toward the next Avengers instalment, The Wolverine succeeds at both joining the dots between the existing X-Men films, and laying the foundations of future spinoffs not directly connected to the main story. Marvel's Avengers is clearly the inspiration for Fox's renewed dedication to their franchise, and there's no doubt that Marvel's approach to interconnected franchises will inform the mindset of major studios to their properties for the forseeable future. However, it would be a mistake to dismiss the X-Men series as a poor-man's Avengers. In fact, I argue that Fox's scatter-gun approach to story telling, and their admirable disregard for a slavish adherence to continuity is actually closer to the tradition of comic-book story telling than the Avengers. And like universe-resetting comics such as DC's Crisis on Infinite Earths, Fox's Days of Future Past promises to correct some of the continuity problems between its prior films.

Next week will see the conclusion to this series of X-Men posts, in which I will look at the odd but illuminating relationship between the X-Men films and the Universal Horror cylce.