X-Men:
Apocalypse
(2016)
(SPOILERS) Low
expectations? Perhaps. I was expecting something desperately dull, given the trailers.
Which had nothing going for them at all, unless a pervading and discouraging
air of familiarity is what you’re after. And the reviews I’d dipped into seemed
to support that take. But X-Men: Apocalypse
is actually quite engaging. Its villain is most certainly a dead loss, and the picture
resoundingly fails to make the most of its premise (Raiders of the Lost Ark, or The
Mummy-esque ancient forces unleashed), period setting (the ‘80s), and potential
for expanding its movie universe (new X-characters, familiar ones introduced
for the first and definitive time). At times too, it feels simply as if it’s content
to rehearse the same old events or interactions that have been on rotation for
a decade and a half now. Yet that wash of valid criticisms is balanced somewhat
by Bryan Singer’s fourth X-entry
being a lively affair, one that keeps up interest and momentum, at least until
the inevitably over-pixelated finale.
Whatever transpires
with Singer’s ongoing involvement in the franchise – and there are definitely a
good few out there are willing this one to fail just so someone else gets the
chance to usher in a new era – a different aesthetic is long overdue, as Apocalypse frequently looks
unintentionally ridiculous. Apocalypse himself, and his Four Stooges of the Apocalypse,
are decked out in the least impressive fetish gear imaginable, and prone to
showing it off in the middle of disused warehouses, building sites or atop
mountains (or at Auschwitz, as there’s nothing like summoning the Holocaust for
a cheap plot device). Such unflattering posturing can only invite derisive
chuckles. Right at the very end (well, not the very end as it has become, rather the last scene
pre-the-post-credits scene), new X-costumes are introduced and – bated breath
– they include flashes of colour that
aren’t black! Which is simply too little too late, and not nearly enough to
shake off the feeling that Singer is stuck in the wrong era, one apparently of
his own making.
Whichever
era that is, it certainly isn’t the ‘80s, as he does nothing to make you
conscious of the decade. It’s so invisible, what with desktop computers adorning
every office in ‘83, it could be the present day. Not helping matters are the
age-defying antics of the cast, who have leaped 20 years in the space of five.
You can get away with ever-youthful mutants at a pinch, I suppose, although
there’s no way Nicholas Hoult is selling it as a mature teacher, no matter how
good an actor he is (and he’s undoubtedly a good actor). Lawrence is similarly
very much not a 40-ish Raven.
Everyone must
have been ultra-aware that Rose Byrne’s average human Moira MacTaggert was the rather
becoming elephant in the room, though. Hence, dropping in the most obvious of
lines (“You haven’t aged a day”), so
blatant and winking it almost gets a free pass (sadly, Byrne has a
next-to-nothing role, aside from granting James McAvoy a scene in which he’s
allowed to be other than stuffy and sincere).
The trip to
see Return of the Jedi lobs a deserved
slight in the direction of Brett Ratner’s stinker of an X-Men: The Last Stand, when Jean Grey (reincarnated as Sophie
Turner) observes, as if she’s been studying Kevin Williamson epics, but
couldn’t be as it’s 17 years too early, that third instalments are always the
weakest. Which is Singer knowingly playing with fire, Apocalypse being the capper to a three-decades-spanning trilogy of X-movies begun by Matthew Vaughn (First Class is easily the best of them,
and the series as a whole). Apocalypse
is definitely the least of the three, but fortunately it doesn’t even come near
to the excruciating Last Stand.
For all his
limitations as a director, which mostly come down to having little in the way
of imagination (which lack he’s next due to unleash on 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea), Singer’s a reliable pair of hands.
He just isn’t very much more than that; since The Usual Suspects, he’s been relegated from potential auteur to
journeyman, brandishing a merit badge simply for being a semi-known director
(above and beyond his alleged extra-curricular activities). His saving grace is
that, as undemanding as his pictures are, he is at least able to coordinate competent
action, with due diligence, sense of location and perspective.
So he
really shouldn’t be on the advisory board of the whole Fox X-Men shebang, for reasons both similar and different to Zack
Snyder’s head-banger stint of auteurship at Warner Bros/DC (now rudely
curtailed, well as much as it can be for someone mid-shoot, short of being
fired). Singer doesn’t have much to say, either in terms of content or design,
and what he did have, he exhausted in his first two movies (and, by rights, he
should have used up all Fox’s good will by turning his back and heading off to
make Superman Returns – which is the
kind of boring movie I expected this to be – which, along with the by-accident
success of Deadpool, rather evidences
how undiscerning they are with their Marvel stewardship).
Because Apocalypse is, from conception down, an
unenticing prospect. All it has to make it stand out, in contrast to the time
travel shenanigans of Days of Future Past,
is a lacklustre ‘80s setting. The villain conceit is tiresomely one-note, and
Oscar Isaac, for all that he has become fanboys’ wet dream casting choice over
the last 18 months (in anything, and everything), is entirely unmemorable. Yes,
he shows off rolling the whites of his eyes as one of his many talents, but
that isn’t enough. With this and his vastly over-geeked turn in The Force Awakens, he should probably
just turn away from the adulation and get back to those really good indie
roles, where he shines.
I’m not convinced
En Sabah Nur would be interesting with someone else in the role, though, as
he’s entirely wit-less (as in, not very witty) and entirely generic in design
(when all the mutants here are blue, making your chief villain blue too is
asking for apathy, as is giving him unspectacularly rote dreams of conquest).
He’s also rather bereft of remarkable talents, aside from a nightmarish knack
for meshing living flesh with concrete, rendered less visceral than it might be
by the effects-heavy realisation.
There might have been some potential here, but
even Roland Emmerich’s extinct-animals-and-aliens 10,000 BC reaped more dividends from a fantasy take on pyramid lore
than Singer does (and why not, Emmerich’s a much more skilled director; it’s
just that his grasp of material is even less rigorous). A race against time, an
homage to Raiders, perhaps,
preventing ultimate evil from getting loose, could have worked. What we get is
devoid of atmosphere or mystery. The opening sequence is the blandest of bland
CG-enhanced ancient visualisations, with only the most facile sense of world
and physicality. And the arch-villainy devolves from here on. En Sabah’s only
motivation is to be a bad guy, which makes it straightforward when he wakes up,
applies himself to some new minions, none of whom are very interesting, with
the deadly duds to match, and eventually bites off more than he can chew when
the X-Men discover the merits of teamwork.
With some
of the stodgy staging of the bad guys, you’d be forgiven for assuming
Singer is taking his cues from Gary Goddard’s Masters of the Universe and its daunted sense of scale. If he’d brought
a shred of humour to their machinations, he might have turned it to his
advantage, but he’s entirely po-faced, completely killing any interest in
Magneto when he joins the extra-dark side. Of which, Erik’s “Who the fuck are you?” is supposed to
the movie’s funny X-funny-moment, but
contextually fails as it completely undermines his inconsolable ire.
It’s ironic
– or is it? – that the star-powered main trio of Professor X, Magneto and
Mystique have the least interesting roles in the movie, but at least Erik
starts off well enough. His domestic bliss comes as an offbeat surprise; it’s
only when his beloved are inevitably cut down that Erik reverts to type. Still,
though; that short sequence is the kind of thing Singer and these films can do
well but all too rarely; exploring something out of the over-familiar wheelhouse.
We're straight back into standard business after Erik has cut down a posse of Polish
policeman with a pendant, as in almost the next scene En Sabah (I hate calling
him Apocalypse, as no one else does, or if they do I blotted it out) initiates
a near rerun, offing the heads of several assailants with some choice cuts of sand.
When Singer’s onto a good thing he just has to milk it and then milk it some
more.
So Fass is
a non-event after he becomes one of En Sabah’s foot soldiers, right up until
the entirely predictable turn towards the light, and his subsequent fond
farewell to “old friend” Charles in
the last scene. One thing becomes very evident, however. Magneto’s ability to
reconstitute a decimated residence with no more than the power of his mutant-age
would see him make a killing in the property market, if only he applied himself.
En Sabah’s other
assistants aren’t up to much. Ben Hardy’s Angel is there to get his shirt off
and killed, Olivia Munn’s Psylocke to sport a potent lack of pants, and
Alexandra Shipp’s Storm to show that Storm needn’t be quite as wooden as she
was in the guise of Oscar-winning actress Halle Berry.
Oh, and to
be part of Singer’s very own X-Men Just
So Stories. Yes, How the Storm got her Hair. How the Charles got his (lack of) Hair.
And How the Wolverine got his Adamantine Claws.
Oh wait, we’ve already seen that one. Still, it means a Hugh Jackman cameo, and
it is a very good scene, even if it’s
another rehash in terms of setting and content, so it gets a free pass (the
post-credits sequence, with representatives of the Essex Corporation arriving
to take vials of mutant extract, apparently hails the arrival of Mr Sinister in
upcoming instalments, either Wolverine 3
or Gambit or both. Which I approve
of, on the grounds that Mr Sinister is a great name for a villain, rather than
because I know anything about him).
I’m not
sure it’s possible to make Professor X a truly interesting character, but that may
be a consequence of it being impossible to cast Patrick Stewart in an
interesting recurring role at that stage in his career. McAvoy is very good at the sincerely emotive,
and relishes the chance for some slapstick verbiage when he first re-encounters
Byrne, but how do you really make Charles less than insufferably upstanding? I
can see it working if he’s the guy on the side-lines, like Charlie in Charlie’s Angels, but making him a star
turn, and central to proceedings, tends to show up his limitations. He is,
however, used well in a solid twist when En Sabah infiltrates Cerebro, even if everything
that leads to is less than demanding.
Mystique?
Well, I know she had a significant role, but I’m damned if I can recall much of
it, beyond that she’s held as an exemplar by all the young mutants for coming
out the way she did. A bit like Bowie, but inadvertent. But the same, by
backtracking and leading a “normal” life. But then not, by embracing the blue.
Lawrence is fine as Raven, but rather flounders as Mystique, lacking the the
right kind of striking features for being covered head to foot in blue paint.
So what of
the rest? One thing about this series is that, with the odd exception, Singer
only really hit casting gold by mistake, when Jackman replaced Dougray Scott. I
mean, maybe if the material had been more evocative he’d have elicited really
incredible turns, but the X-Men franchise
is mostly distinguished by merely solid performances. And so it is here.
One of the
few standouts of the original iteration was Alan Cumming’s Nightcrawler, a
truly idiosyncratic, oddball creation. Kodi Smit-McPhee isn’t that, but he
makes a decent fist of things, and Kurt Wagner is sufficiently eccentric in
persona and special skills to be memorable. In respect of the latter, the
character is good for Singer, encouraging him to think about the scene in kind
of technical terms that tend to reap dividends, as he becomes quite methodical
and precise (the Whitehouse incursion in X2
is the best scene in that film; it’s just unfortunate that it is also the
first one).
There’s
altogether too much of mutants who haven’t mastered their skills in Apocalypse, even given that’s part of
the point (to be charitable, I’d suggest this young and gifted thing was embracing
John Hughes or Brat Pack movies, but given the general ambivalence to the
decade I think that’s a stretch – although, that might explain Ally Sheedy
showing up), so appropriately it’s another who encourages an overtly technical approach
to the set piece, but who has honed his art, who comes up trumps.
Yes,
Quicksilver’s involvement pretty much kicks off with Singer doing a Greatest Hits
from his last movie. As such, it couldn’t possibly be as glorious, particularly
since it uses the (for me) much more familiar and so less persuasive Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This). But
it’s a “can’t lose” visual conceit, and Evan Peters brings just the right casual
bravado throughout, even ensuring his “I am your father” obsession doesn’t
teeter into the mawkish. Quicksilver’s a highlight of the picture, and the mansion
rescue scene is a lot of fun (even seeing it, as I did, in 2D, which is the
ultimate tester for a 3D-designed set piece).
Sophie
Turner’s okay as Jean Grey, but much better at the under-confident lip-trembling
she offers in Game of Thrones than
getting all medieval at the climax, which makes me wonder a little at her
performance limitations. Tye Sheridan is undoubtedly a fine actor, and instantly
makes Cyclops more engaging than James Marsden ever could, but by the end
you’re really feeling how thin some of these characters are. I have to admit I
didn’t even believe his brother Havok’s (Lucas Till) death was supposed to be
real/permanent, because it and he were so disposable.
Returning Sean William Scott-lookalike Josh Helman
scores as Stryker, but – I don’t know how regularly he features
in the comics – there is a feeling of
over-stuffing the picture with already explored characters, themes and
plotlines. Probably the best supporting cast member is incidental in the
extreme, though; Tomas Lemarquis’ creepy black marketer Caliban, offering
exactly the right kind of unsettling eyeballing.
Simon
Kinberg’s screenplay manages to keep things more interesting than they have any
right to be, mainly because he’s able to juggle ongoing themes and arcs (even given
that they’re mostly familiar), so countering the humdrum of Apocalypse (ah, sod
it, it’s easier than typing two names, and easier to remember). True, Erik,
Raven and Charles aren’t on great form, but good actors are embodying them, and
there’s a less-is-more consequence to intercutting their escapades with the new
brood, such that director and screenwriter keep everything moving, be it
Charles visiting the CIA or the detention by Stryker.
The movie
only really splutters and gives up the will when it arrives at the rote
confrontations of the climax, with Charles duelling a very big Apocalypse (the
astral battle offered the potential for something different, but marks out just
how limited Singer is in terms of flights of fantasy) and much pleading to Erik’s
better nature. This needed a different way through its conclusion to satisfy,
but instead we have more city-wide disaster-porn fatigue courtesy of a
programmer’s desktop. An underwhelming finish for an underwhelming villain.
As I’ve
noted, Singer’s aesthetic has long since lost any lustre it might have held
back in 2000 (and even then it felt wilfully unremarkable, rewarded with the
benefit of the doubt for being a soft entry point into a mostly unproven genre).
It isn’t just the costuming, or the unrepentantly undistinguished
cinematography from regular Newton Thomas Sigel. It’s the dramatic, or
bombastic, choices too. The “X” formed by two girders when Magneto re-enters
the fight is cheesy rather than rousing, and the musical cues are consistently
tepid. John Ottoman’s score is banal, so consistent with his collaborations
with the director to date, while Beethoven’s 7th is the most over-used
of picks for that funereal feeling.
And the
picture’s thematic undercurrents? It’s certainly curious that Apocalypse, an
unparalleled bounder (who, unlike Erik, is simply and unremittingly evil),
should be a force of chaos threatening the world from the Middle East, bent on
bringing everyone else to his way of thinking. But only so curious, as first and foremost his motivation is lazy and derivative.
Which is pretty much sums up the main plot of X-Men: Apocalypse. It’s down to the incidental pleasures, of which
there are adequate, that the movie is as entertaining as it is.
I don’t
think X-Men 7 (or 9, depending on how you tally) is in any
danger of reaching Days of Future Past’s
box office heights, which given the price tag may put the wind up Fox, but neither
should it nosedive in its second weekend quite as badly as Batman v Superman (which does
commit the cardinal sin of being dull). But even a middling-to-decent
performance, combined with Deadpool
proving you don’t need a $200m+ price tag to make a shedload of readies, may elicit
a much-needed clearing of the decks. If there’s one thing Apocalypse proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, it’s that placing
fresh blood in front of the camera isn’t enough.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.