Review: Larry Crowne

Grade: B

The Good: Charming and consistent in delivering heartwarming humor. Hanks and Roberts deliver as only Academy Award winners could.

The Bad: Crowded cast leads to some underserved performances from great actors. Clearly designed as older-skewing counterprogramming.

The Ugly: Hanks in tightie whiteys. Nuff’ said.

Full disclosure: I’m not a big Tom Hanks fan. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with his acting or even his films. They’ve just never really captured my attention. If I had to venture a guess, it’s because most of Tom Hanks performances occur in classically styled movies that hearken back to a more innocent era of filmmaking and storytelling that runs counter to the edgier cinema I grew up with.

That said, I was genuinely charmed and entertained by Hanks’ Larry Crowne, a cute comic tale of one man’s journey through his first semester of college after his life is turned beyond upside down. Crowne, directed by and starring Hanks, follows former retail specialist the eponymous Larry Crowne as he navigates his first semester of college in the wake of being fired from big box retailer, UMart (a fictional, but still unholy, merging of Target and Wal-Mart). In his first semester, Crowne, who went from high school to the navy to retail work, encounters bubbly free spirit Talia (Gugu Mbatha-Raw of NBC’s Undercover fame), eccentric Econ maestro Dr. Matsutani (George Takei, clearly enjoying himself way too much), and disenchanted speech professor Mercy Tainot (Julia Roberts, delivering wonderful energy and range), who just might change Crowne’s life, or vice versa.

Crowne opens with some solid, if not entirely original, observations on life in recession-afflicted America. When audiences first meet Larry, he is the master of his domain. He is fully invested in his, admittedly unglamorous, job. He drives a gas-guzzling SUV and lives in cozy rancher that he probably shouldn’t be able to afford on a TargetMart salary. Larry’s unceremonious firing—for what has to be the most contrived reason possible (lacking a college education is reason enough to fire a long term employee in retail, really?)—and some nudging from his wacky next door neighbor, yard sale entrepreneur Lamar (Cedric the Entertainer), leads him to enroll in his local community college, trade his SUV in for a hip fuel-efficient scooter and start rocking vintage threads. The problem with most of these changes is that they are all thrust upon Larry rather than being the result of active personal growth. The fact that Larry is a bit of a passive lead doesn’t cripple the story, but it does keep him from truly owning his growth.

Every person or class Crowne encounters challenges him to rethink his life, but none more so than Julia Roberts’ Mercy Tainot, who is facing her own life crisis with a middling career and a lazy husband (Bryan Cranston) who would rather surf for porn than work. Roberts doesn’t bring her trademark high energy to the proceedings until the midpoint, but her evocation of Tainot’s crushing ennui in the early goings is pretty spot-on. Anybody’s who’s been generally fed up with where life has taken you will find a lot of common ground with the early stages of Roberts’ performance. Interestingly, Roberts spends most of the movie dealing with her circumstance in relative isolation. Sure, any viewer with a passing familiarity of popular cinema knows how her story will end, but allowing her character, and Hanks’, to grow without sharing every scene helps to dial back some of the typical rom-com tropes that sneak into better films.

By avoiding some clichés of modern dramedies, Hanks, directing his second feature since 1996’s That Thing You Do, focuses intently on a charming cast of slightly off-kilter characters. Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s is the breakout here, playing the manic pixie dream girl the way it should be played, as the agent of change rather than the object of affection. Here infectious positivity and freewheeling attitude recall that of a young Julia Roberts, whose early subtle antagonism with the character could double as commentary on the way older actresses view their “replacements”. Mbatha-Raw is only one of a star-studded cast that is so packed with talent that many are criminally under- or misused, especially Bryan Cranston and Taraji P. Henson. However, the sheer abundance talent in front of and behind the camera—including My Big Fat Greek Wedding’s Nia Vardalos as co-writer along with Hanks—ensures that Crowne is no amateur night. It may not be riotous, but it is consistently funny, due in no small measure to performances that focus on character-based humor rather than sight gags or cheap shots.

Some more full disclosure: I’m probably outside of the target demo for Larry Crowne, but as adjunct at my local community college, I was intrigued to see a big screen take on the institution. Between this and Community, it’s almost as if community college is becoming a thing. Almost.

Regardless of content and target demos, Larry Crowne is the definition of a feel-good movie going experience. It’s not particularly edgy or challenging, but the great character work and consistency of good-natured humor should hit the sweet spot in the hearts of audiences of all ages. Sadly, Crowne is clearly being setup as counterprogramming to some movie about robotic cars, or some such nonsense, but that doesn’t mean it deserves to be overlooked. Take a cue from Larry Crowne himself and do the opposite of what is expected of most moviegoers this holiday weekend by giving this flick a chance.

The Mainstream Niche - How DC and Marvel Can Expand Their Audience

DC Comics announced a line-wide reboot last week in which 52 of their most popular superhero comics, along with a smattering of new titles, will start over from issue #1.

This is not even a remotely shocking move. DC has officially rebooted its entire line at least once, and that’s not even counting semi-reboots like the recent ‘One Year Later’ and countless restarts for titles with beloved characters and weak sales. The more significant news to come from this announcement—despite the insistence of major media outlets and comic snark forums that are wasting time analyzing the DC pantheon’s new costumes—is DC’s new digital sales strategy, which will see the publisher releasing digital versions of its comics on the same day as print versions. Besides siphoning a few customers from the comic book stores on Wednesdays and drastically undercutting the retailers the industry has depended on for almost twenty years, this initiative is a step in the right direction to grabbing the mainstream market.

The industry has been flopping around like a sturgeon on the deck of the Pop Culture Entertainment yacht for years now with sales decreasing, across the board, steadily since the early ‘00s. After its recent re-organization under the DC Entertainment banner brought it more closely in step with Time-Warner’s multimedia strategies, DC Comics quickly became a target for the bigwigs at Warner looking to actually turn a profit from “funny books”. The decision these clever folks arrived at after months of reshuffling DC’s upper echelons was to restart the line and go digital. An interesting strategy, but it’s not enough to capture the unicorn that is new readership and it will likely diminish the already miniscule hardcore enthusiasts.

Assuming hardcore fans will stay, in some capacity—those who don’t might simply migrate to Marvel for a moment then drift back, but eventually most will age out of collecting—how does DC, and Marvel, capture the elusive mainstream niche. Simple, follow the models of television and film to make these stories more accessible, available and captivating. Today’s comic publishers and creators need to realize that consumption of media has changed significantly since the 1930s and to catch up with the times they need to seriously revise their approach to the quantity, frequency and style of comic storytelling.




Accessibility of material and story is the key to grabbing and retaining a larger, more mainstream, audience. Digital distribution is the most logical step for any comic publisher to take in today’s marketplace, but it’s not enough. Comic publishers need to push their comics through the same distribution channels that major film studios and television networks use. New issues of comics could be available not just through iTunes, Amazon or Comixology, but through cable providers’ On Demand services and video game marketplaces like the PlayStation Network (PSN)—securely, of course—and Xbox Live. Imagine downloading a comic to flip through on an HD screen, using the remote to scroll and zoom from the comfort of the couch. Such an approach would give the art the chance to breathe and allow visually impaired readers a chance to see the words on page without squinting. Voice and soundtracks could even be added to make the comics come alive—not necessarily as motion comics, but closer to audiobooks. To my knowledge Marvel sells some of its motion comics collections through the PSN and Xbox Live, which is genius because gamers are more of a target market for comics than they’re willing to accept.

If these companies really want to capture a growing audience like gamers, and impress casual audiences, they need to consider interactive comics in the vein of Square-Enix’s mobile app Imaginary Range. Imaginary Range is an interactive comic that blends simple point and click gameplay with elements of motion comics. The app lacks static images with creepy moving mouths and swinging limbs; instead, the camera sweeps and scrolls across panels like a movie allowing users to watch and read panels individually, outside of a page construct. Thus, Imaginary Range unfolds like an animated movie rather than a comic. Square-Enix adds value to the app by dropping in short click/drag/point mini-games—such as locating a lost character by dragging a rifle sight around the screen or pointing missiles at a killer robot’s weak spot—at crucial plot points. The plot progression that follows these games may be predetermined, but at least the readers aren’t just passively responding to the material. The game-comic is reloadable like a video game—complete with save points—and offers some bonus material like image galleries, all for free, which is more content for 100% less than the average $4 comic.


If a free mobile app can has the potential to offer more entertainment value and interactivity—a relative distinction, but one that shouldn’t draw too much argument—than a costly weekly comic then there’s no reason to wonder why the industry is having trouble making significant profit. As publishers expand their digital distribution, either through Marvel’s subscription models or DC’s new initiative, they need to seriously consider reducing the prices of digital, and print, comics that will be available. DC is planning on continuing to charge $2.99 for print and digital versions at the time of the relaunch, which is roughly equal to the cost of purchasing or renting a TV episode on iTunes or Amazon. An hour or 45-minute long TV episode, which is about 45 to 60 pages of script on screen, is the same amount of money as a 20-page comic—that’s not even considering shows available for free on network television. Makes sense. Doesn’t it?

…

No, it doesn’t. Publishers need to deliver content that is equal in quantity, frequency and form to that of their biggest competitors: television and film. As a writer-artist, I understand that developing a monthly comic is an often time-consuming, painstaking, solitary process. Most comic creators don’t have the personnel resources available to them that TV and film productions do—and asking these creative minds to increase their output is like asking a fish to walk—but they would need to increase their output for new strategies to work. In terms of scheduling and distribution, the closest analogue to monthly comic production would be the weekly, daily in some cases, model used by television networks. Yes, new comics are released every week, but generally readers must wait a month between installments for each series. As long as TV shows release new episodes each week and the Japanese have mastered the art of weekly/bi-weekly manga, the monthly model of comic distribution will not stand.


Readers should not have to wait a month to find out if the Black Hand will upend Batman after a taught cliffhanger. Comic readers deserve to have content with, at bare minimum, the same frequency as television viewers. If the publishers are unsure of how to pull this off, they should consider this strategy: rotating creative teams produce a season (13-22 issues) well in advance of release, allowing publishers to distribute these “episodes” on a weekly basis, digitally and in print. Using this model, the publishers will not only rival the release schedule of television shows, but they will invariably keep readers hooked and prevent, to some degree, impatience among casual readers. The weekly/bi-weekly model has proved a boon to the Japanese manga market, which releases new chapters of its series on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, and manga thrives—maybe not as much as it used to, but more so than American comics—as a mostly mainstream form of entertainment in Japan.


Staying on the topic of manga, Japanese creators publish monthly/bi-monthly tankobons (paperback sized collections of ten chapters) at half the cost of American comics’ graphic novel collections. These tiny books are cheap and collectible, just what the hardcore fans like. More importantly, they offer nearly 200 pages of content each month for a few dollars more than the average 22-page American floppy. Publishers could follow this trend by swiftly compiling a 13/22-issue season of a comic—like a DVD set of a TV season—and selling it on Amazon or in the few remaining big box bookstores at a reasonable cost that will not alienate cost-conscious consumers of the casual or hardcore variety.



Traditionalist comic creators may balk that adhering to such intense scheduling would be impossible, nay blasphemous. However, if the medium—which is exactly what comics are—is to survive, this is the type of change that must occur. Change of this nature will have to stretch far beyond increasing distribution schedules. It will need to be supported by a renewed approach to storytelling that unchains itself from complicated continuity, stifling events and the insular, albeit colorful, elements that have defined comics for nearly a century.

The seasonal publishing schedule presented above is one of the most effective ways to push creators toward a more accessible storytelling model. Publishers and creators will find a great avenue for creating more focused, accessible stories by releasing comics on the 13- or 22-issue season schedule. Publishers can divide this schedule into two to three seasons (fall, spring, summer) per year, with a different creative team crafting the story for each season. The seasons will each focus on one extended arc that could be peppered with one-off stories as part of the main plot or as backup stories from other creators. Continuity—the age-old of enemy of the casual reader—can be loose with a few elements of character and plot development carrying over between seasons, but, generally, each new season will be a fresh start with a new story.



In-between or alongside the seasons, publishers can release mini- or maxi-series events that are divorced from the current season’s continuity—think Elseworld, annual issues, or movies for anime series—which could serve as source material for feature film releases. This new approach to event comics would eschew the tie-ins that most readers, hardcore and casual, loathe and focus on a central mini-/maxi-series based on major adventure affecting one family of books (i.e. the Bat-family) or a small number (1-2) of loosely connected books (e.g. Teen Titans and Justice League). These isolated event comics will serve not only as the high points of the year, as current summer events do, but they can also function like blockbuster films. Events will be independent of continuity and the excess of tie-ins, becoming quick, exciting, high profile reads that any reader can pick up and use as a gateway to the weekly issues.



Once the events and weekly issues hook readers, a dash—and nothing more—of continuity will keep them hooked. With respect to the intelligence of modern audiences, continuity will not be overwhelming nor will it be completely abandoned in either the weekly issues or event series. Instead, it will become loose, pliable to the whims of creators and, primarily, sound storytelling. Plot arcs and character developments that creators wish to retain or that publishers want to promote will be available to mold at their discretion, but the canon will be simple: an origin story plus a supporting cast and a rogues gallery, and nothing more. Much like any of the hundreds of variations on NBC’s Law & Order, there is a foundation for the characters and the purpose of the series, but each week, or season, the leads face different criminals. Sometimes, plot threads carry over from season to season. Most of the time, they don’t. That degree of flexibility is essential to making comics as widely accessible as possible, and that is the cornerstone of DC’s new storytelling strategy, for now. The publisher who holds fast to that philosophy, long-term, will see readership grow and witness respectable turnover because the moat of continuity will be drained.

Loosening continuity will also allow creators to use superheroes the way they were intended, as archetypes that could be grafted onto and enliven a variety of narrative genres. Superheroes will no longer be the draw in and of themselves. Instead, Batman may become more of a gritty crime comic with cases dragged from the headlines that just happen to be committed by his creepy rogues. Catwoman may be a weekly heist comic in the vein of Ocean’s Eleven. Imagine Superman as a weekly reflection on immigration and the thrall of the American dream like an HBO series with earth-shattering battles and none of the TV-MA trappings.

This strategy could also work at Marvel. Spider-Man could exist as teen/young adult drama with a running commentary on the loss of innocence as reflected in his aging adversaries. Conversely, X-Men could work as a soap-ish drama rife with racial tension and cover military action. Captain America could be Jason Bourne with a slick jumpsuit and Nazi villains. Not that these series weren’t already steeped in genre tropes, but going full bore could give each series a clearer voice. In addition to inserting superheroes into popular narrative genres, publishers can ease their way into releasing popular non-superhero comics based on westerns, crime drama or spy fiction. Publishers who apply a multi-genre approach to comics storytelling will not only widen the field for consumers who may desire more than flights and tights, but they will open the doors for creators who’ve grown beyond writing superhero stories.

In truth, if the publishers really want to grab an audience beyond the hardcore, they may need to accept that contemporary audiences have, to a large degree, grown out of viewing superhero comics as they did at the height of the Silver Age. Many of the trappings that defined comics of that era simply don’t appeal to a majority of the contemporary audiences. The formatting of comics, the costumes, and some of the more explicitly fantastical elements can work for or against comics. These days, they mostly seem to hinder a mainstream audience’s desire to pick up the latest issue.

Creators should consider how audiences absorb visual information when formatting comics, as a way to make the panels easier to follow. Artists should learn from the lessons and mistakes of the first generation of widescreen comics. Horizontal paneling would be a real draw to audiences who are acclimated to widescreen HD viewing options. Publishers could also provide primers on how to read comics from panel-to-panel like many of the American manga distributors did when manga first hit the scene. Retaining the “Previously in…” sections and character guides at the front of issues will also help. Costumes, one of the most important visual touchstones of the industry, could stand to be toned down. There’s no need to eliminate costumes and switch to civvies for every hero, but give the characters something respectable, modern and realistic to wear so that when it comes time to adapt the characters to film they don’t look like plastic statues. Some of the hottest properties of the past decade—Harry Potter, Twilight, Hunger Games, Vampire Diaries, Buffy, Heroes(I said hottest, not necessarily the best)—have found a way to ground the fantastic in a reality bereft of characters running around in gaudy armor or colorful speedos. In turn, these works do the same job as comics without the packaging that may keep a wider audience at a distance.


With the desire of expanding the audience comes the need to acknowledge that females will read comics. As such, the level of misogyny and objectification of female characters must disappear. Creators will need to cease storytelling that hangs on stuffing girlfriends in the fridge or finding new ways to stick powerful women in bikinis and bustiers. Also, publishers should avoid trying to appeal to female readership solely with rehashes of Twilight or any other romantic twist on the medium. Not every female reader enjoys those type of stories, and many would relish a good superhero yarn as much as the next guy. This shouldn’t be news, but, in an industry where women and minorities are grossly misrepresented on both sides of the page, a reminder seems absolutely necessary. Respect the female audience and they will flock to the stories right next to the male readers. Fail to respect them and risk alienating over 50% of the potential audience.

Finally, and above all, creators and publishers must work together to make the fantasy of comics real and relevant. Comics are more than throwaway entertainment. It is a medium with the same inherent power as any art form. Unlike film or television, comics can swiftly respond to changes in the social climate and examine the human condition with the reverence of literature and the bombast of film. It is a medium where imagination can run wild, but it is also one where the fantastic can touch upon the mundane with profound insight. If creators and publishers can look beyond what comics where and push them forward to become more than what they are, they just might save the medium before the contemporary audiences find a cheaper, more entertaining and accessible alternative.

Review - Super 8

Grade: B

Good: Great performances and old-school flair give Super 8 more heart and character than most modern summer movies. A couple of amazing sequences--particularly the early train crash--are thrilling and well staged.

Bad: Pacing suffers from significant drag in the middle. Focus on nostalgia and old-school storytelling leads to a slightly less entertaining experience than some recent similar films.

Ugly: The big secret. Trust me.

Nostalgia’s a funny thing. Invariably, it pulls us back to a time, a place, a moment that defines some aspect of our being. Occasionally, it can push us forward, using our memories to fuel our ambitions. J.J. Abrams’ and Steven Spielberg’s Super 8 is a pitch perfect example of the regressive and propulsive qualities of nostalgia, with all the shine and warts such an endeavor would entail.

Set in 1979 Lillian, Ohio, Super 8, named for the classic super 8mm camera, is a throwback to the first generation of summer blockbusters (apt considering the influence of that era’s most iconic voice). In the vein of classic Spielberg, the retro-styled flick follows a group of young aspiring filmmakers at the start of a summer they will—clichéd as it sounds—likely never forget. In the midst of filming an ambitious, if amateurish, zombie flick, the group of middle schoolers—led by director-in-training Charlie (Riley Griffiths), best friend Joe Lamb (Joel Courtney), and lead actress Alice (Elle Fanning) —witnesses the most spectacular train crash ever committed to film. The cause of the crash is a mystery that will threaten their hometown, pushing Joe’s father, town deputy Jackson (Kyle Chandler), to his limit as he attempts to contain the mysterious chaos—including the antagonism of the U.S. Air Force in the form of shady Col. Nelec (Noah Emmerich)—that follows. Beneath the wreckage and chaos is a mysterious presence that will force friends and family members alike to re-evaluate their ability persevere in the face of tragedy, great and small.

Everything about Super 8, from plotting to setting to characterization, is gloriously old school. The main group of tweens working to uncover the mystery of the train crash is composed of charming, if rote, archetypes culled straight from 80’s classics like Stand by Me and The Goonies. De facto leader Charlie is every neurotic chubby sidekick rolled into a ball of anxious energy, while Joe and Alice play variations of the sensitive, damaged youth coping with life-changing tragedies and parent issues, respectively. Even the adult characters, such as the beleaguered deputy and the town drunk (Ron Eldard), hearken back to an era when character types were more common than pure characters. All of these great character types exist in an environment where they can encounter the unknown without the cynicism and irony of more contemporary characters, but rather the innocence and pluck of a bygone era.

Super 8’s late-70s setting is rendered perfectly as a mix of tight-knit, small town community and late 20th century Americana best remembered in films like Spielberg’s 1975 blockbuster, JAWS. Despite a frustratingly mysterious marketing campaign, Super 8’s plot is fairly light, allowing for less of a focus on plot mechanics and more on pure character development. While the plot jumps through some hoops to drag out the central mystery, Super 8 is, at its heart, a coming of age story built around characters struggling to recover from unforeseen tragedy. A narrative made all the more effective by some uniformly wonderful performances from both the teen and adult casts.

Joel Courtney delivers a superb subtle performance in his breakout role as young Joe Lamb, the tortured anchor of the amateur film crew. Courtney gives Joe, reeling from the passing of his mother, an air of shell-shocked detachment, but that quality never overwhelms the performance. Joe still shows spark of youthful enthusiasm when working on the film, and even genuine nervousness in the presence of his crush, Alice. Elle Fanning mirrors the detached quality of Joel Courtney’s Joe as Alice, who is also affected by the tragedy that befell Joe’s mother. Fanning, much like her older sister, Dakota, displays amazing restraint that lends a sublime gravity to her performance as Alice. She portrays Alice as even more haunted, rightfully so, than Joe, with scant flashes of true happiness tinged with a longing for escape. The remaining teen cast are mostly two-dimensional, ranging from the cowardly actor Martin (Gabriel Basso) to the smart-alecky pyro Cary (Ryan Lee), with the standouts being Griffiths’ panicky director, Charlie, and Ryan Lee‘s quick-witted fireworks enthusiast, Cary.

With respect to the adult cast, Friday Night Lights star Kyle Chandler delivers, as always, an awesome performance as Joe’s father, Jackson. Chandler brings the same simmering intensity that defined his five years as Coach Taylor to his role as Jackson, who, like his son, is struggling to contain his grief over the loss of his wife. Chandler’s Jackson is nowhere near as “warm” as Coach Taylor, routinely marginalizing and snapping at his son. However, Chandler uses the distance and intensity to setup some affecting growth in Jackson that will move some of Super 8’s more jaded viewers, but won’t surprise FNL fans at all. With Super 8 largely focused on the kids, few of the other adult characters shine like Jackson, with the exception of Alice’s father Louis, played by Ron Eldard, who brings a melancholy pathos to this broken character.

Abrams wrangles these solid performances in a film that is unsurprisingly biographical—focusing on a group of young filmmakers who grew up during the 70's is a pretty clear tip off. Abrams familiarity with the material is especially evident in the scenes of the kids attempting to become master filmmakers with limited resources, which are comical and a bit inspiring to young filmmakers. However, they smack of an indulgence that may push some viewers away who may care more for the stories filmmakers tell than the stories about filmmakers.

The autobiographical slant is not Abrams only indulgence, as a few of his narrative and visual trademarks surface early and often. Yes, the lens flares are back, and they are far more out of place in this earthy story than they were in Star Trek. Also, anyone with a keen eye and a familiarity with Abrams filmic oeuvre will figure out the big secret by the Super 8’s midpoint. Despite his indulgences and stylistic flourishes, Abrams excels in capturing the simplicity and warmth of small town America, giving it a respect and majesty usually reserved for indies, and the power of human connection in quiet, albeit powerful, scenes between cast members of any age. He also staged one heck of a train crash, and ramps up suspense with some great Hitchcockian leave-it-to-their-imagination shots.

Super 8 is a solid piece of late 70s/early 80s filmmaking thrust into the 21st century. Being significantly retro in tone, style and content, Super 8 drags significantly in the middle. And, as par for the course with Abrams, the mystery drags on longer than it should to less than stellar results. While this approach might appeal to moviegoers who fondly recall the age of E.T., it will definitely challenge younger audiences, and that’s okay. Not every modern blockbuster has to be all bombast and spectacle, but that doesn’t mean pacing should suffer. I’d say Super 8 would make a phenomenal TV series, but then the pace would slow even more, so maybe it’s for the best that it landed as a feature.

The closest current comparison to Super 8 may be Joe Cornish's Attack the Block, which also deals with teens coming of age during an extraordinary event. Whereas Block balanced humor, heart and action, Super 8 places heart heads and tails above humor and action. Super 8 may not be as wholly entertaining as fare like Attack the Block, but it does have a heaping of warmth and will likely be a touchstone for future film auteurs. For families and fans of old school summer blockbusters, Super 8 is a decent way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but it may be best to just give this one a few months and enjoy it in the comforts of home where its more deliberate pacing, nostalgia and character focus can be better appreciated.

Review: X-Men: First Class

Grade: A-

Good: Slick, intelligent spy-fi with superheroes instead of super-spies that puts a very cool twist on the comic book film genre. Uniformly great performances, with Michael Fassbender’s Magneto and Jennifer Lawrence’s Mystique as the high points.

Bad: Some of concessions to comic design legacies; Can delve into melodrama on occasion.

Ugly: The fact that the last three films under the Marvel banner can’t even compare to First Class.

X-Men: First Class is a spectacular gamble. None of the popular X-Men take center stage. The few characters who are familiar to audiences look completely different than their older, more memorable incarnations. And, perhaps the biggest challenge, it is set in a time well before many of its target demographic were born.

Yet, First Class is an exceptional superhero film that exceeds not only the three previous installments of the franchise, but it easily surpasses many of the superhero flicks crowding the multiplexes these days. Smart, compelling and respectful of the source material’s central themes, First Class is everything hardcore comic geeks and casual moviegoers could ever want from a superhero film.

Matthew Vaughn puts on an absolute clinic in the art of properly making a superhero film that clicks on all levels with First Class. Tracing the origins of the X-Men before well-known mainstays Wolverine, Storm, Cyclops and Rogue ever joined, First Class follows a just-out-of-grad school Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) as he begins his life-defining quest to seek out beings with mutant powers and bring them together to face an unimaginable threat.

The threat(s) in First Class are far more tangible—relatively—than any villainous force outside of Christopher Nolan’s Batman films. Set just before the Cuban Missile Crisis, an event that defined John F. Kennedy’s presidency and set the stage for a near-30 year cold war between the U.S. and Russia, the first generation of X-Men deal not only with coming to terms with the world that hates and fears them, but a world being nudged to the brink of nuclear war by the subversive Sebastian Shaw— played with a delightfully affable and polished smugness by Kevin Bacon—and his proto-Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, the Hellfire Club.

While the burgeoning Cold War drives much First Class’ plot, the heart of the movie is the fragile relationship between friends-and-soon-to-be-rivals Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender), better known as Magneto. First Class fills in the blanks of how Xavier and Magneto came to be such bitter enemies by looking at the precipitating events behind their disparate philosophies. Between the two, Magneto, or Erik for the purposes of this film, gets a superb level of development, far outpacing the attention given to Xavier. Erik, a survivor of the Holocaust, begins the film as a man on a mission of revenge fueled by haunting memories the inhuman punishment of the Nazis and the heinous actions of the one of their less than ethical doctors.

Fassbender does a superb job of capturing Erik’s edgy intensity, releasing it in explosive bursts of physicality and fiery dialogue that will easily convert viewers to ranking Magneto just below the Joker as most badass comic book villain. Conversely, McAvoy breathes an ample amount of life into Xavier, making a more of charming cad with the best of intentions. Suffice to say, this is not yet the stuffy bald guy with the bitchin' wheelchair. He’s on his way, but, as a man just out of college, he’s just as interested in chatting up the ladies and getting plotzed at the local pub, all of which come of wonderfully through McAvoy’s mellow charisma.

As one of the most equitable X-Men films since…well, ever, First Class gives solid screen time to develop ‘supporting characters’ like Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence), pre-Beast fur Hank McCoy (Nicholas Hoult) and Emma Frost (January Jones). Behind Xavier and Erik, First Class belongs to Jennifer Lawrence’s Mystique. Playing the shape-shifting temptress when she was still young enough to be somewhat innocent, Lawrence gives Mystique the right balance of optimism, shame and resentment that will turn her into the scene-sealer of the earlier—chronologically later—X-films. Together with Hoult’s understated performance, Lawrence tackles the unavoidable, angst at the core of every X-Men story, but does so with a fire that renders Mystique's plight—the struggle to be respected as normal despite looking like an overgrown Smurfette—far more believable than a pretty girl with a skunk stripe and opera gloves ever could.

Even Shaw’s compatriots, including sly telepathic seductress Emma Frost and Satan’s night crawler, Azazel (Jason Flemyng), get more into the action than any of the ‘evil’ mutants from the previous X-flicks, with each getting some great scenes that highlight their abilities. It’s a testament to Vaughn that he includes so many under-the-radar characters as more than cameos (though there are a few choice cameos). With some uniformly dignified turns across the board, these characters, who surely would have been rendered unbearable by another director (cough*Ratner*cough), come off even cooler than they do in the comics.

The performances in First Class are anchored by Vaughn’s—who has now delivered the most entertaining and thematically cohesive X-film to date—deft direction. Vaughn positions First Class as pure spy fiction with mutants instead of possibly super-powered super-spies like James Bond. In grafting superheroes onto a specific narrative genre, Vaughn succeeds where other superhero directors have failed by using super-powered characters as part of a larger story rather than forcing the audience to simply marvel (sorry) at seeing these characters on screen behind a flimsy concept.

Despite a two hour plus run time, Vaughn keeps the flick tight and focused like his last turn at superheroes, Kick Ass. What begins as somewhat amorphous and deliberate quickly gains shape and immediacy, as the players are drawn together—on both sides—to face common enemies. That patience in a director is rare in superhero films, but it bears excellent results in First Class. Vaughn allows the audience time to absorb each characters story motivation completely before thrusting the events of the plot forward, and even offers an extended training sequence that finally shows the X-Men learning to use their powers.

Visually, Vaughn captures the essence of the sixties with a naturalistic touch that avoids overstatement or parody. The world of First Class looks and feels very real for about 95% of the film. It is only when Vaughn incorporates some of the more outrageous design elements that the film loses some visual weight. Actually, it’s only one element that hurts the film--Magneto’s goofy helmet. Even in the comics that thing looks silly. The helmet aside, the other design elements lifted from the comics--such as the X-Men uniforms--look better here than perhaps any superhero outfit on screen. Flight suits with a simple yellow stripe down the middle? Genius.

Vaughn also stages some superb action scenes that somehow make people waving their hands and touching their temple appear compelling. Trust me when I say the money shot of Erik force choking a submarine is not the only highlight. Azazel’s teleporting attack at the midway point, Erik’s attacks on his tormentors, and the final showdown off the shore of Cuba are all well worth the price admission.

First Class, as mentioned earlier, is a major gamble. Many of the characters are unfamiliar and that may keep less adventurous audiences at bay, despite the power of the X-men brand. Additionally, there some racy content in the form of a mutant sex club that parents may need to be leery of, but it’s truly not as bad as it sounds. However, the emphasis on the political strife of the early Cold War may be too distant for some viewers. The performances, in spite of their general excellence, fall into mild melodramatics. While it’s expected to a degree, the melodrama can be unbearable to more discerning tastes. Overall, the missteps don’t even equal a fraction of the successes with this flick, and it’s not an overstatement at all to start proclaiming this as the best X-Men film. Period.

Marvel take note. The one franchise not in your control has easily surpassed your last three films. You might want to do something about that.

Check Out the Storytelling in Games Article Series on IGN

As a lifelong gamer, I have had the privilege of watching the medium develop its approach to storytelling, from lamentable, intrusive 8-bit cut scenes to interactive, cinematic experiences like Metal Gear Solid 4 and Rockstar Games latest, L.A. Noire.

Starting this week, IGN's Australian division has published a series of articles on the development and challenges of stroytelling in interactive media. With some great insight from game developers and writers, this series is delivering a welcome look at the future of games as storytelling engines.

Part 1, Part 2