X-Men Origins: Wolverine

My mate is an avid fan of comic books, meaning we collectively consume comic book movies at a rate equivalent to that of my grandfather's consumption of burgers stamped with arches (translation: we watch them a lot). If you have stooped to reading other reviews of this flick--and I know my most loyal readers would never do that--you'd be under the assumption that nothing good can be said about it beyond its potential to make bank in its first week.

Fear not, dear readers, for I have not fallen prey to the temptation to write off this flick entirely. If you too mark your summers by grandiose explosions and tawdry dialogue, you will not skulk disappointed from this blockbuster.

Before we get into our cinematic candy-plex, I must exonerate this one rant from my breast. Read no hyperbole into the following statement: I would rather take a grapefruit spoon to my eyes and pour battery into my cochlea than ever have to sit through one of Ryan Reynolds's movies.  I am told my sentiments are not unique, making his casting as Deadpool ideal, but I am not certain my source understood the level of rage that gurgles inside of me whenever that smug-mug flits across the screen. (Ryan, if you happen upon this review, I apologize sincerely as I'm sure this drastic response is unwarranted. Just please stop acting...for me. I'm serious when I say that I would rather be slowly devoured by sea cucumbers than sit through one of your films. Light threat, I suppose, as I just shelled out $10 for your most recent hit. Sigh.)

Onto my more pleasant experiences. This flick is in keeping with your every mediocre action/comic book movie. Our hero struts out of explosions and into the sunset repeatedly. There's a vixen who is a slave to her desire to fulfill Wolverine's every lust.  She also uses her wiles (read: bra-less breasts) to confound all men except the one who blackmails her with her sister's life(?), and she does a fairly decent job of convincing her audience of her sincerity (especially in the light of the recent Silk Spectre II fiasco).  Look forward to the moment with the obligatory helicopterchasingamotorcycle scene, claws that are the product of inadequate binary* programming (seriously, it's like technology digresses into 1987), and plenty of dialogue along the lines of this near-perfect extraction from the jail-cell scene:

Sergeant: So you survived the firing squad.

Wolverine: Oh yeah, that tickled.

Sergeant: And you killed a commanding officer.

Sabortooth: We don't do well with authority...SIR.

Sergeant: I'm putting together a special team with special privileges. [One of those privileges: you get to use 'special' twice in one sentence.] Stop denying what you are, gentlemen. Embrace the animal within.

Reader, if this bizarro dialogue fails to captivate your attention, perhaps the hilarity of your potential audience-mates will. There will be a handful of people who, despite having sat through the three "extinguish your cell phones" reminders, will leave their portables illuminated throughout the film. There will also be a tiny woman behind you who chortles (and you've never heard chortling until you've heard her) at every throwaway line, so that even when the flick is faltering, pleasure will ripple through you at her every outburst.  You may even be lucky enough to sit next to a handsome fella who clicks his tongue at every inaccuracy, allowing you the privilege of being the only non-X-men reader who can knowledgeably sneer, "God, they made up like half of those characters, and the last half hour? What was that, seriously? Never happened. There was that scene in Wolverine #10 when..."

Reason to watch: Hugh Jackman's bottom!

Better than a Reynolds's flick: Making out with a hot iron.

*This "binary" should not be confused with Binary, a.k.a Ms. Marvel, the alcoholic avenger whose powers were stolen by Rogue.