Logan -

Logan does not pull its punches. It buries its hero in the only way that matters: not with a parade, but with a quiet grave by a lake, a cross turned on its side to form an “X.” It is a masterpiece.

Logan transcends its genre. It is a masterwork of melancholy, a Western elegy for an era of superhero films that dared to be small, sad, and personal. Logan does not pull its punches

This is not a superhero movie. It is a neo-Western, a road-trip tragedy, and a brutal meditation on aging, legacy, and mortality. It is also, quite simply, one of the finest comic-book films ever made. The year is 2029. The mutants are gone. Logan (Jackman) is a shadow of his former self. Now a limo driver in El Paso, Texas, he is gray-haired, slow-healing, and perpetually drunk. He spends his days saving pills for a dying, 90-year-old Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), whose once-mighty telepathic mind now suffers from degenerative seizures that can freeze or kill everyone in a mile radius. It is a masterwork of melancholy, a Western

They live in hiding, waiting for death. Then a frantic nurse forces a strange, mute girl named Laura (Dafne Keen) into Logan’s care. She has claws. She is angry. And a mercenary army led by the cybernetic Donald Pierce (Boyd Holbrook) is hot on her trail. The first thing you’ll notice is the R-rating. This is not the bloodless, quippy combat of other Marvel films. When Logan pops his claws here, people are dismembered, impaled, and eviscerated. Heads are torn off. Limbs are severed. It is also, quite simply, one of the