Find us on Facebook Follow us on Twitter

Opinion

To the Editor:

Poetry & Art

Classified Ads

Back Issues

Blogs

X-Men Origins: Not fit for human consumption

Rick Casillas
The Commuter

Monday, May 4, 2009

Photo courtesy of Fox Entertainment

Every couple of years when an X-Men movie rolls around I get excited; not because I’m looking forward to seeing the film, but because I know I’m in for the deepest most restful two hours of sleep of my life. Never once have I managed to remain conscious during a theatre showing of an X-Men film, but on the midnight release of “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” I set out determined to snap that record across my knee in a fitful rage. After slamming a couple of energy drinks and slapping myself in the face I sat down, ready to see what I’ve been missing, and it turns out it ain’t much.

Most X-Men films verge on the edge of gratuity, but X-Men Origins: Wolverine vaults off of that precipice on the back of an exploding motorcycle, raping your eyes in the process and becoming a standard-bearer for action movie clichés, where cool things are done because they look cool. It doesn’t have to make sense, hell it’s even better if it doesn’t: should a motorcycle be outrunning a helicopter? Probably, why not. Why jump off a waterfall when you can take the stairs? Because it looks awesome! Can you shoot memories? Maybe!

Such questions are grounded in logical enterprises not becoming of an audience of such a film. Are we all not blades of grass thrown to the absurdity of the wind? To fully appreciate the movies subtle charms, you have to be prepared to cast off the shackles of plot continuity and drink deep from the fountain of sloppy story arcs and laughable dialogue.

About halfway in I started closing my eyes and thinking of the stupidest most ridiculous thing that would come to mind, and when I opened my eyes it happened on screen; after I ran out of ideas I relegated myself to waving my hands at the screen like a disgruntled elderly man shouting one word questions at actors that could not hear me.

I won’t bore you with the innumerable inaccuracies and liberties taken by whatever screenwriter that decided to take a dump on his box of comics. Being a bit of a comic book geek myself with a healthy knowledge of all things Marvel and DC I tried my damnest to avoid picking apart every tiny misstep the film took. I don’t care if they wanted to tear to shreds a comic franchise as long as it was improved when reconstructed, but it wasn’t, faithful reader. Our Frankenstein was half done as it shambled out of Hollywood terrorizing local villages with a cineplex and biting off the metaphorical heads of unsuspecting victims who were silly enough to stand in line an hour early for the privilege of being the first to witness this travesty.

Bring your most hated enemy to this film, then excuse yourself to the restroom and run away, run fast and run hard. Shame on you movie, I give you one adamantium bullet out of five.

Comment

Commenting is closed for this article.