Director: James Mangold
Writers: Mark Bomback, Scott Frank, Christopher McQuarrie
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Rila Fukushima, Tao Okamoto, Hal Yamanouchi
Wolverine’s struggle with immortality could make a fantastic drama, like a superhero twist on Groundhog Day. As it stands, Mangold’s take on the character is similarly ambitious, emulating a samurai tale with Zen nuances and poetic scenery. Well, in practice, anyway.
Set entirely in Japan, The Wolverine only scratches upon the surface of what it means to be alive, and how that’s separate from being unable to die. The dull story lends itself to philosophical intrigue for only the briefest of moments, then collapses under meeting the needs of viewers with short attention spans. There’s even a robot thrown in, too.
“What they did to me, what I am, can’t be undone.”
Most of the wonder derives from a Japanese setting which injects The Wolverine with scenic energy. Our hero is a stranger to himself and his surroundings. Admittedly, chase sequences have a slight edge when they involve running past Pachinko machines or sticking a knife into the roof of the Tokyo bullet train. But it’s nothing to be excited about.
In support, Fukushima and Okamoto take a break from modelling in their first ever film roles. You wouldn’t guess otherwise, but it’s telling that The Wolverine is more concerned about looks that dialogue. Instead of the beauty associated with its influences, the fights and villains are clumsy and occasionally embarrassing – I assume Viper, a snake-y human who spits toxins, is less laughable in the comics.
It’s a shame as I recognise the intent for a philosophical struggle with death, identity and owning claws which make horrendous scratching noises that are painful in a cinema with loud speakers. Maybe Mangold and Jackman can team up again on a project that isn’t weighed down by back story and appeasing impatient audiences. Or, at least, without dream sequences that resurrect someone who died earlier in the franchise.
The Wolverine is released this week.
