If the great promise of science-fiction is to imagine the unimaginable, then X-Men: Days Of Future Past fails dismally. Granted the opportunity of creating a dystopian distant-future, Bryan Singer can only cobble together the most shopworn clichés.
"The future! A dark and desolate place..." Gandalf grandly intones, and viewers are plunged, past the ranks of barcoded slaves trudging in file, into something resembling my own personal comic-book-movie hell: a bunch of cut-out caricatures in silly costumes each superpowering about -there's a dude with ice, some silver guy, a fire bro, a Mandingo cliché with dreads, a woman whooshing about through portals, a sexy psychic healer who just walked outta Juno, and, worst of all, a 'warrior' savage in warpaint and shampoo-commercial tresses - in the eternal shadows, whilst an army of evil robots try and smite them unto oblivion. Remember how bad all the future-rave-cave stuff in the Matrix sequels was? It's like that by way of The Last Airbender, with Singer's digital "camera" hurtling through walls so many times that the fact that it's a godawful CGI pixel-swam is verily rubbed in your face.
Yet, where Days Of Future Past fails dismally at conjuring the unknowable, it fares far better at a more-earthly task: summoning 1973. From Richard Nixon's curls to Super 8's ratio to bellbottomed hems, the distant past is far more evocative than the distant future. After Captain Picard fills in viewers with some expository back-story, Hugh Jackman's box-office-staple Wolverine - who, with his *****e-chills facial hair and cigar-chomping makes a superpower out of being a total tool - is sent half-a-century back in time, to theoretically 'align' Singer's early-'00s X-Men movies with Matthew Vaughn’s 2011 origins-tale X-Men: First Class, a College Years vision of fledgling mutantry given unexpected gravity by the presence of James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, acting their asses off whilst dealing with dialogue punched out by the tired simian fingers of that millionth chimp at the millionth Marvel typewriter.
It also means we get more of high-kickin' heroine Jennifer Lawrence as some semi-nude blue shapeshifter named Mystique, a name so hilariously-bad it sounds like a budget celebrity fragrance line you can buy in K-Mart. Every time she morphs back-and-forth into various figures is, frankly, embarrassing; yet another eyesore of eyerolling CGI. Far from the mania of O. Russell, Lawrence is pretty awful, and if all her screentime was given over to Evan Peters' budding blur - a figure of manic hilarity who stars in an ultra-slow-motion, bullet-time set-piece that feels like a high-end Vodka commercial, yet comes off like a Buster Keaton set-piece - then Days Of Future Past would be exponentially more enjoyable. Instead we're left with much mediocre moral handwringing, and lots of Fassbender levitating whilst commanding bits of metal to whoosh around like some maestro conducting a fleet of invisible digital-effects-artists to do his bidding.
Given the opportunity to create the future, Singer fails badly; and given the opportunity to meld together two separate cinematic takes on the franchise, well, how he does depends on how you felt about X-Men and X2. The time-travel gambit could've let him lock in the storylines from the 'future' of the movies he's already made, but instead he detonates a retcon bomb: the action, here, wipes the slate so clean that the distant-future goes from dystopia by utopia in a blink, and old, dead heroes are let rise from the grave. It positions the franchise as free to jag off in any direction, and with any contracted actors, it pleases. Though only the nerds being fan-serviced will 'get' whatever Egyptian-clichés villainy the obligatory post-credits teaser is foreshadowing.