2 dull-unfitting-trilogy-conclusions out of 4
Treated as the final film in a relatively successful trilogy, series veteran Bryan Singer’s X-Men: Apocalypse serves as a disappointing, undeserved, and mediocre conclusion. Simply put, the film is a confounding mess of different genres, moods, and themes.
Apocalypse’s scantily tied together plot centres around the return of Apocalypse: an ancient, slumbering Egyptian mutant whose powers allow him to amplify the abilities of those possessing the mutant x-gene. Though played by Oscar Isaac, Apocalypse is never portrayed as anything more than a generic antagonist. His desire to rid the world of humans is never treated as a goal with a clear motive.
Isaac bravely attempts to inject some amount of vitality and emotion into the character; however, whether due to the metric ton of blue makeup obscuring the actor, or the simple fact that there isn’t much material to work with, Isaac is never able to truly create a villain of note. Instead, Apocalypse, much like Apocalypse is never given any room to expand his character or his motivations.
To call Singer’s film insecure is an understatement. It often appears that the film is unwilling—or unable—to adequately focus on a single theme. This is strange, because under Singer’s earlier direction, the characters who originally served as analogues for America’s racial inadequacies were transformed for the modern age. Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr, homages to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, respectively, became advocates for LGBTQ+ rights.
In 2000, Singer turned the X-Men into analogues for America’s struggle with accepting the veritable rainbow of human sexuality; in 2016, the X-Men have no idea what to fight for. Instead, they simply fight for the sake of fighting.
Violence, therefore, is integral to Apocalypse. Barring R-rated superhero movies that are designed with pushing boundaries in mind, Singer’s film is especially brutal for its PG-13 rating. Unlike Deadpool, for example, a violent film that was almost subversive in its carnage, the violence in Apocalypse often compensates for an utter lack of character development. Let it never be said that I’m unfair in my analyses, however. Unlike Dawn of Justice, where equivocation is never afforded its chance to shine, characters in Apocalypse do attempt to air their grievances. It’s just that, after brief requests to cease the destruction, characters resume destroying everything and everyone in sight.
I’ve mentioned that Apocalypse is thematically inconsistent. This largely has to do with Simon Kinberg’s script, but one suspects that the story credited to four different writers has much to do with the film’s inconsistent nature. Newton Thomas Sigel’s incredible cinematography adds to the film’s inconsistency. The film’s lighting paints each scene in clear, definite articles of visual grammar. Tense scenes are blue, dark brown, and shady; upbeat scenes glow with warm natural light. Grimy greens fill prisons, while bright yellows fill moments of hope. As a result, when the film shifts from focusing on the trauma of a Holocaust survivor to focusing on an attractive wheelchair-bound British professor attempting to woo an attractive and fully mobile CIA agent, the difference is almost comically jarring.
That Singer and his team so deftly handle individual scenes and individual moments serves as underlying commentary on the film’s failings. Had the team chosen to focus on any one particular storyline—had Singer made the choice to highlight one specific component of the many present in Apocalypse—I would be writing a very different review.
For example, there’s a brief scene where Charles Xavier (Professor X) speaks to Raven, a shapeshifter who renames herself Mystique. The two trade barbs over the events of the previous films in the trilogy. They argue that, though the world is seemingly ready to accept mutants, the struggle continues. It’s difficult not to notice shades of modern discussions on American racial politics, gender politics, and sexual politics during the conversation. For a brief moment, Apocalypse sheds its infantile layers and attempts to argue a difficult issue central to the modern American psyche. It almost succeeds, until both parties set aside their mutual differences and violently re-engage their enemies.
I conclude the review of this third film in a prequel trilogy by summarizing the concerns commonly heard when discussing third films in prequel trilogies. Apocalypse makes too blatant an effort to shoehorn elements from other films in the franchise. Characters are given too little development due to the expectation that audiences are already familiar with their motivations. Plot is sidelined in favour of big-budget explosions and high-definition special effects. Finally, a film that should serve as a definitive punctuation mark is left unfinished, simply to leave open the possibility of yet another CGI-driven catastrophe in the future.