X-Men: The Mutant Who Shagged Me ("film" #5)

Lauren Fidler

Professor Jennifer Fidler

FiftyFiftyMe 101: Film #5

February 21, 2012

I'll Make a Man of You: Gender Roles and the Cinematic 60s Weltanschauung

The world is a crazy place, that is, if we're meant to believe the trite vision espoused by Matthew Vaughn's X-Men: First Class. Predictably, we begin in the 40s, the dying embers of World War II, where most of these "films" draw so much of their seeming power. Moving from the vastly different upbringings of Charles Xavier and Eric Lehnsherr, one a lonely millionaire with a little blue friend and the other a Nazi test monkey with a German tormentor, we learn in brief of the tragic youths of three of the franchise's most potent and recognizable characters. Then, suddenly, it's 1960-whatever, and the times, they are a-changin'. The skirts get shorter, the men get sleazier, and the world is once more staring down a war of epic proportions. Amid the backdrop of sexual liberation, communist threat, and cultural shifting, mutants here rise to public cognizance, and, yet, for what should be a grandiose origin story,the film feels spectacularly hollow. The film sets back the feminist movement a solid fifty years, making the men from Mad Men look munificent in their treatment of women. To call this installment "first class" thus not only speaks to the blatant misogynistic irony of the title but also calls into question the integrity and intelligence of those involved in its construction.

Figure One: January Jones tackles the grueling task of playing a scantily clad female superhero/mutant.

Consulting a catalog of the female characters depicted in X-men: First Class, one will confront the following: an icy sexbot, a stripper, a would-be waitress, a much-maligned mother, a cute co-ed, and a CIA agent. Before you get all excited that one of those female's jobs seems highly forward thinking for the time period, let me assure you that in her first scenes on screen, she removes most of her clothing and parades around a gentleman's club dressed like an underfed, naughty orphan. Oh, how very far we've come. To pass this off simply as "it was the 60s" seems highly irresponsible, particularly considering that, historically speaking, women during this time period were curvy, not emaciated, and wore supportive, not suggestive undergarments. But I digress. The portrayal of female characters here leaves nothing to the imagination, and, by that, I don't mean merely visually. Mutants with powers like those belonging to Emma Frost or Mystique should not be lackeys of the men in their lives. Emma Frost is essentially Charles Xavier, only with the ability to turn into a deranged crystallized Barbie. Mystique can mimic anyone. Together, they could rule the world. Instead, Emma Frost serves the maniacal Sebastian Shaw, while the moon-pie faced Mystique wonders if anyone will ever really want to kiss her if she's sporting her mutant body. (spoiler: someone does!!!)

If the women here are maligned to suffer moodily through their half-naked scenes, the men here fare little better. Michael Fassbender is almost completely wasted as Magneto, a man whose own humanity cleansing proclivities render him on par with Stalin and Hitler and whose vendetta is never political, just personal. James McAvoy pulls off smarmy professor about as convincingly as someone who looks perpetually seventeen can. His early screen time consists, pathetically and predominantly, of him attempting to chat up gently mutated human girls in bars. The fact that he is a professor and they are undergrads is never mentioned. Hey, it was the 60s after all. If women are mainly objectified objet d'art in this weltanschauung, the men are gods of their little universes, wielding control and brandishing punishment to those who attempt to cross the lines. They seem preoccupied with 1. world domination 2. revenge 3. sex and 4. mutant cultivation. Oh, and wearing supersexy helmets to keep others out of their heads. A safe precaution and lesson in the dangers of making yourself emotionally vulnerable during a time when casual intercourse reigned supreme. Still, the image might have felt more poignant if it didn't not-so-subtly reinforce the notion that real men don't talk about their feelings.

Figure Two: Magneto sports a brain condom. Keep it secret, keep it safe.

The film's most disturbing parallel, however, doesn't stem from the battle of the sexes but from an uneasy correlation to fascism. Beginning with the Nazis and moving seamlessly into the Cold War relations with Russia, the film hits on some of the most difficult ideologies of the early part of the last century. Magneto/Eric's personal beliefs surrounding the dominance of mutants leaves then the viewer with no choice but to view him as the next societal devil. His murdering of Sebastian Shaw is, as I previously mentioned, distinctly personal - a "screw you" for killing his mother. He even admits that he shares a similar philosophy to Shaw, implying that, if things had been different, the two might have joined forces. Then, we normal humans really would have been screwed. Luckily, for all his mutant superpower, Sebastian Shaw is mortal, done in less than poetically by the same Nazi coin he gives young Magneto for unleashing his power in one of the film's earlier scenes. This is a mutant who internalized Havoc's man-magma and regurgitated it into an unfortunate Darwin; death by dime thus feels, like the rest of the film, more than a little forced.

X-men: First Class isn't unwatchable; it's just not very good. It purports to address the many questions unanswered by latter films, yet inevitably just leaves the viewer with more uncomfortable questions in their stead. The most pertinent being: would you watch it again? Well, in the immortal words of Professor Charles Xavier, I'll let you know tomorrow.