It’s the end of the world, and I feel fine. X-Men: Apocalypse is a toweringly enjoyable addition to the Marvel canon, despite having been met with less than universal raves from critics. It may not have the sheer pizzaz of Deadpool, but it has its funny and self-aware moments (“the third movies always suck,” says one, coming out of Return of the Jedi): and you’d be hard-pushed to beat the bravura sequence in which Quicksilver rescues his fellow mutants before a gigantic explosion hits, still finding time to strike cool poses along the way.
The action set-pieces are the equal of any Marvel film, but it’s not all fights and explosions: there’s plenty of time for some quality emoting from the universally excellent cast. More than that, Bryan Singer conjures some marvellously cinematic moments from the turmoil – unlike with Zak Snyder, slo-mo is used for beauty and awe rather than violence.
I dunno, am I raving too much?
My body says no: a couple of times I realised I’d been sitting on the edge of my seat, jaw dropped open. I laughed out loud a few times.
My head says maybe yes: the plot is pretty stupid, when it’s not non-existent; the villain is cardboard, despite Oscar Isaac’s best efforts; and the ending a little deus ex machina.
But frankly my dear, I had a blast.
London, Hollywood 