Hugh vs. Hugh

Yes, I saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Oh, the horror! I tell you, when the arrival of a teenage Scott Summers is the most exciting part, the film has issues. Many issues. Too many for me to do an actual review without my head exploding.

(I will say, however, that I'd been reserving judgment about that guy who doesn't look anything like Gambit, yet who'd been cast to play Gambit. Now I can officially and unabashedly say he deserves a good old fashioned stoning. How do you make Remy LeBeau boring?)

But what, you ask, about Mr. Jackman?

I'm afraid he was small compensation. I've never gotten off on bodybuilder physiques. I kept thinking that he must have spent every waking moment in the gym for six months, or else he'd resorted to steroids--neither option is sexy! I prefer when he carries less bulk on his six-foot frame. It's sexier to think he's naturally fit, rather than wondering about his ungodly regime. And I like when Hugh can emote, when he can be vulnerable, when he can act. This was a bunch of grunting and moaning and flinging. No good. Sucked away the awesome.

So give me his character from The Fountain any day, all day. Here he displays a lovely expanse of neck whilst kissing his dying wife in the bathtub. *cries*
Versus Wolverine, he of the icky vein arms. Sorry, bub. Not my cuppa.
Oh, and did I mention that the film was shit? Thought I should reiterate.

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