The Wolverine (12A)
Bless Hugh Jackman. It’s his sixth outing as the mutton-chopped, muscle-popping mutant and you can understand the Oscar-nominated actor is keen as mustard to bring a little more depth to the role.
He spent 12 years earnestly producing this X-Men spin-off which, as every Marvel fanboy knows, is based on the 1980s Samurai mini series by Chris Claremont and Frank Miller (who also wrote The Dark Knight Returns).
For the rest of you, this is the one where Wolverine goes to Japan to say goodbye to an old friend, who is actually scheming to get his mitts on the genetic secret of the Wolverine’s superhuman self-healing powers.
There are fights, there are special effects, there are more ninjas than sense, there’s glorious rolling acres of Jackman torso and there is an awesome fight atop a speeding 300mph bullet train. But yet… it somehow manages to be pretty much a yawn fest.
‘This Wolverine is more interior, more restrained – a little darker,’ Jackman has said of a film where Wolverine spends a good 40 minutes stumbling around in a beard attempting to look vulnerable (a tall task when you look like a small fortress built from 100 per cent prime beef), being tortured by nightmares about his dead beloved (Famke Janssen in a floatie nightie) and longing to join her. When will folk learn that ‘dark’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘profound’ – just ‘profoundly dull’?
Director James ‘Walk The Line’ Mangold sucks Jackman’s screen presence of its natural expansive charisma. Where’s the warmth? The heart? Or any sense of wit? A multimillion dollar pile of tedium.
Bless Hugh Jackman. It’s his sixth outing as the mutton-chopped, muscle-popping mutant and you can understand the Oscar-nominated actor is keen as mustard to bring a little more depth to the role.
He spent 12 years earnestly producing this X-Men spin-off which, as every Marvel fanboy knows, is based on the 1980s Samurai mini series by Chris Claremont and Frank Miller (who also wrote The Dark Knight Returns).
For the rest of you, this is the one where Wolverine goes to Japan to say goodbye to an old friend, who is actually scheming to get his mitts on the genetic secret of the Wolverine’s superhuman self-healing powers.
There are fights, there are special effects, there are more ninjas than sense, there’s glorious rolling acres of Jackman torso and there is an awesome fight atop a speeding 300mph bullet train. But yet… it somehow manages to be pretty much a yawn fest.
‘This Wolverine is more interior, more restrained – a little darker,’ Jackman has said of a film where Wolverine spends a good 40 minutes stumbling around in a beard attempting to look vulnerable (a tall task when you look like a small fortress built from 100 per cent prime beef), being tortured by nightmares about his dead beloved (Famke Janssen in a floatie nightie) and longing to join her. When will folk learn that ‘dark’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘profound’ – just ‘profoundly dull’?
Director James ‘Walk The Line’ Mangold sucks Jackman’s screen presence of its natural expansive charisma. Where’s the warmth? The heart? Or any sense of wit? A multimillion dollar pile of tedium.
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