A western-inspired swansong for the crabbiest, most tightly wound of the X-men heroes, Logan closes the Wolverine trilogy. Then again, you can never say never in the world of comic book franchises.
Set in 2029, Hugh Jackman is at his jaw-clenching best as titular hero Logan/Wolverine, one of the last genetically altered super-beings, or “mutants”, still in existence as the film begins.
He’s hiding from the government in a tin shed desert compound on the Mexican border with the now nonagenarian Professor X (Patrick Stewart) in a wheelchair, and the equally fragile, sunlight sensitive Caliban (Stephen Merchant).
The setting up of this ramshackle, cavernous hideout is particularly impressive, with director James Mangold (The Wolverine) establishing tension between Wolverine and the others.
It’s like a dysfunctional bachelor pad where no-one’s been getting out much.
There’s a reason for the sour mood, of course.
Not only have the “mutants” been all but wiped out, but Wolverine has been losing his powers of regeneration and slowly getting sick, poisoned by the adamantium in the metal claws that sprout from his knuckles.
Jackman plays him with a palpable fatigue, like an ageing street enforcer who’s reluctant to go into battle but still hardwired to do so.
Unsurprisingly, it’s a female character who short-circuits his malaise and puts him, and the film, on a journey.
Her name is Laura (Dafne Keen), a fierce, 11-year-old Latina rescued by a nurse from a secret medical facility south of the border who appears to speak no English but has mutant-like powers of her own.
When the bad guys come screaming across the desert, capturing Caliban in a smash and grab raid, Wolverine, Professor X and the girl manage to escape.
The mystery of who she is unfolds as the trio head north to seek asylum in Canada. Soon they resemble a surrogate family of grandpa, dad and daughter with all the associated tensions and blips of tenderness you’d expect.
The dark forces who give chase, led by Dr Zander Rice (Richard E Grant), provoke breathtakingly choreographed shoot-outs and fist fights along the way, but it’s the bond that forms between the refugees that begins to open up some interesting themes.
Logan is a film that explores the possibility of solidarity in dark times, and in its third act lies hope for a kind of transcendence, a tying up of loose ends to bring some level of atonement.
This expectation is further encouraged by an explicit reference (on a hotel room TV) to the classic western Shane, implying a final act will deliver a semblance of peace.
But the film seems to hover in this zone of eternal promise.
A great first and second act are followed by an underwhelming third that resorts to some formulaic baton passing in its final scenes, presumably for the benefit of future X-Men instalments.
Wolverine’s moment of redemption is not waylaid, but it doesn’t quite resonate with the force required.
As good as Logan is, and it is the best X-Men film for a long while, Jackman’s red-raw performances deserved a better send-off.
But perhaps that’s more of a compliment to his brilliance than it is a slight on writer-director Mangold.
There’s much to like in Logan, despite the bumpy landing. It reminds us that comic book franchises can aspire to deeper emotions and more complex relationships.
