Fans can argue about when was the
exact moment the superhero film truly “grew up.” But Logan indicates that the genre has firmly reached adult territory,
and not just because of its R-rated elements (last year’s Deadpool was also bloody and profane, but had a sensibility arguably
geared toward teenagers). This is a grown-up tale, slower, more thoughtful, and
drained of the fantasy flash of its predecessors or contemporaries. And it’s
better for that, both an oh-so-bitter bittersweet elegy for an era of X-Men movies and an excellent piece of
work by itself.
Comparisons will be drawn to Mark
Millar’s Old Man Logan, but it’s
almost more fitting to call this the first Max movie (Max being Marvel’s mature
imprint). Besides, obviously, the explicit content, several elements characteristic
of Max are there: smaller-scale storytelling focused more on character,
downbeat outlook, and aesthetic that’s stripped-down, (relatively) realistic,
and decidedly un-super. Its subtle futuristic touches feel realer and more
affecting; rather than a dystopia brought on by some fantastical comic book apocalypse,
the film presents a near-future of societal decays one can plausibly see on the
horizon.
In this setting, almost all
mutants on Earth have mysteriously died out. The ex-X-Man Logan (Hugh Jackman),
now aging and hindered by his depleting healing powers, spends his autumn years
working as a driver-for-hire along the U.S.-Mexico border. Along with the
mutant Caliban (Stephen Merchant), he acts as caretaker for the exiled Professor
Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), now stricken with dementia and unable to
control his telepathy. This depressing existence is upended when Logan comes
across a young mutant (Dafne Keen) who also has adamantium claws and healing
power, and who’s being hunted by a band of mercenaries called the Reavers.
More is revealed slowly as Logan,
the Professor, and their young charge make their journey to a rumored safe
haven in Canada, and frankly, every new reveal is grim. Whenever a moment
arises where the day would be saved in many a superhero movie, the film rips
the rug out and does the polar opposite. But it’s not relentlessly bleak and
dark just for the sake of being edgier than the next picture. On the contrary,
it serves to strengthen the film’s pathos. There are many scenes that are
genuinely touching and sad. There’s even quite a bit of humor, a pained, desperate
levity that lands because it feels earned.
Jackman, always the charismatic heart
of the franchise through good and bad, does some of his best work here.
Stewart, contrasting his usual authoritative manner with a heartbreaking
brokenness and vulnerability, is at his very best. Keen, though, is a real
revelation. She conveys some deep emotions with little more than a stare and
broken English. And yes, she can slice up baddies just as well as her companion
the film is named after.
Finally allowing the bloody fight
scenes befitting Wolverine provides catharsis worthy of a finale (if this
is, in fact, Jackman’s last rodeo), and is all the more satisfying because it’s
the only true release the picture provides. But Logan is not really about the action. Nor is it all that concerned
about whether or not the hero beats the bad guy, which is pretty fundamental to
each and every superhero film since time immemorial. It’s about the slower,
quieter moments where the characters reveal their soul, the humanity within the
superhuman. These stick with the viewer afterward more so than (okay, as much
as) the most climactic action sequence, visual effect, or one-liner. Some are
saying for this reason, the film doesn’t feel like a comic book movie (a
reductive statement that implies the genre is incapable of depth); I say it
breaks some exciting new ground for the genre, while at the same time closing
a significant chapter of it on a high note.
