By the time we reach the ninth installment of a franchise; assuming we are counting not with math but with Marvel logic, which is to say vaguely; one begins to wonder whether these films are cinematic chapters in a greater mythos or simply the world’s most expensive way to keep Hugh Jackman employed. X-Men: Apocalypse, directed with bombastic sincerity by Bryan Singer (back for his fourth round of mutant musical chairs), attempts to answer this question with explosions, eyeliner, and at least one ancient pyramid. It also reminds us that yes, Oscar Isaac can do anything; including acting under thirty pounds of blue prosthetics that make him resemble a grumpy Smurf who just discovered Nietzsche.
Let us begin in 3600 BCE, which is apparently the Bronze Age by way of Stargate fan fiction. There we meet Apocalypse, the world’s first mutant, who seeks to conquer the globe using powers acquired via a mystical spa treatment that transfers consciousness between bodies. Like most ancient villains, his plan is thwarted by falling rocks, which, one assumes, remain the true MVPs of civilization. Fast-forward to 1983, a time when shoulder pads and Cold War anxiety loomed large, and Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy, radiating prep school dad energy) is nurturing teenage mutants and trying not to have his mind hijacked.
What follows is a mutant yearbook of familiar faces and newer, moodier additions. Cyclops (Tye Sheridan) learns to weaponize puberty; Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence, contractually obligated) is off recruiting angst-ridden youths like Nightcrawler (Kodi Smit-McPhee, equal parts Catholic guilt and Cirque du Soleil); and Magneto (Michael Fassbender) tries the whole “retire and live in peace” thing, which; as any moviegoer knows, is cinematic code for “prepare for tragedy.”
Magneto’s arc, in fact, is the emotional center of the film. Fassbender brings a gravitas so intense it’s as if he’s doing Shakespeare with his cheekbones. His return to Auschwitz is both poignant in these current times and narratively heavy-handed, like a violin solo at a monster truck rally.
Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) and Quicksilver (Evan Peters) graduate from background decor to plot devices of importance, particularly Peters’ delightfully kinetic speedster, who once again steals the show with a slow-motion rescue sequence choreographed to Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams.” This scene alone is worth the price of admission and possibly a small interpretive dance class afterward.
Singer juggles an ensemble cast with surprising grace, given that half the screen time is dedicated to psychic conversations and the other half to cities being reduced to stylish rubble. Everyone gets a moment to shine, which is saying something, because with this many characters, the film could double as a mutant-themed episode of Saved By The Bell.
But for all its strengths, the film suffers from the same affliction that has plagued nearly every X-Men movie since 2000: a plot that boils down to “powerful mutant tries to destroy the world; X-Men object.” This narrative redundancy is the cinematic equivalent of déjà vu, except with more capes and fewer surprises.
Still, Apocalypse is a raucous, operatic spectacle, equal parts chaos and charm. It manages to be both ridiculous and resonant, like watching Yo-Yo Ma conducted by a teenager in a Wolverine T-shirt. There is humor (some intentional), real emotional heft, and action that flirts with an R-rating in the way a student flirts with expulsion; boldly, and with occasional bloodshed.
Is it a perfect film? No. Is it the best X-Men film? Maybe. Is it better than X-Men Origins: Wolverine? Dear reader, everything is. Well, maybe not Madame Web.
What Apocalypse offers, ultimately, is not just mutant mayhem but a sense of myth-making. It suggests that perhaps, in a world as fragmented as ours, it is comforting to watch a team of outcasts save humanity again and again; even if they never seem to get thanked. Also, did I mention the eyeliner? Because Apocalypse rocks a smoky eye with the commitment of a man who’s had 5,000 years to perfect it.
