apologies

When one extends apologies there are assumptions of sadness, embarrassment, submission, humility, or contrition. Yet wrapped up in the act there is also an attempt to assert control. Whichever other expressions the apology may contain, there is a hope for mastery even if the initial posture is that of bowing one's head to the blade. An example?

The dawn of the modern super hero movie is most commonly dated as the release of the first X-Men movie in the year 2000. (Some would perhaps argue for Blade (1998) but if anything could argue for this honor(?) I think it might be The Matrix (1999), regardless of if Morrison's The Invisibles was its driving influence or not.)  While resurrecting the comic book super hero from the fires of Batman & Robin (1997), the film, X-Men, was dominated by one particular feature: it continually apologized for its source material.

Why would you continually belittle your source? If you can prove you are self-aware, the audience can forgive your silliness. Apologize frequently so as to preempt your detractors. It is a power play. If you have already spoken their chief critiques, then you disarm them and they must find new implements of derision. It proves you aren't taking yourself too seriously; you don't think this comic book thing is really of worthy substance but perhaps we can wring something out of it for the audience.

Wolverine: "So... what do you say, we give these geeks one more shot?"

The film depicts Wolverine as the cool guy dropped into a den of geeks. Interrupting Xavier's geek speak with "What do they call you? "Wheels"? This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Leaving Cyclops and Storm aloof, continues to draw the audience to the normalcy of Logan and Rogue, providing you with human sympathies for one while making the others the geeks at which you laugh.

Of course, this movie had little to fear from the comic fan base, desperate for some affirmation of their beloved, but needed to prove to the general moviegoer that you don't have to be a geek to enjoy the movie, "Look, we think they are silly too."

It is reported that director Bryan Singer forbade any comics from the set, fearing that they would be taken as farce and frivolity. And this was the same treatment the script would ultimately depict after its varied pens took a pass.

Yet the consequence of the apology is a lack of confidence. You don't trust the story. You don't trust the characters. As you try to draw all of the teeth from your critics, you forget to give teeth to your art.

Perhaps in this transitional period of the genre, this was the only approach that would have passed the approval of a Bat-burned audience, but it is a sad byproduct of the assumption that film is a truer narrative form than comic books. And while there is a Marvel franchise that has built itself on trusting its source material, there is still the prevailing sense that film legitimizes these worlds.