I’m a bit of a sucker for the superhero film. While nowhere remotely in the vicinity of a fanboy level of devotion—I have little familiarity with the comic-book source material, and am often stumped by the mythology—I admit to considerable faith in the genre’s potential. Which is why, despite years and years of being fed bland, predictable “blockbusters” struck with a serious case of CGI bloat, every time a new one arrives in theatres, I still make that trek—overpriced popcorn in hand—hoping that this time it will be different. But it rarely is. 

Of late, however, disappointment has been allayed somewhat by the fact that major superhero studios seem increasingly inclined towards R-rated fare, the most recent, and effective, example of which would be 2016’s Deadpool. There’s no doubt that the rating opens the door for more complex, more adult-oriented storytelling, rather than the formulaic “family-friendly” stuff we’re usually subjected to. And just in to underscore that point is the new Logan, the latest instalment in the X-Men series, and the darkest and grittiest of them all—swooping in like a breath of fresh air and making its predecessors feel like frivolous, funhouse silliness in comparison. And what’s more, the film—directed by James Mangold, who also helmed 2013’s Wolverine—has the added weight of being the last one to feature actors Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart in roles that they’ve manned reliably for close to two decades now, putting a fitting cap on their contribution to the franchise.

It’s 2029 or thereabouts and mutants have been more or less exterminated as part of some elaborate government campaign: We learn that no new mutations have been spotted in over a quarter of a century, and the few old mutants who have survived the cleansing are not exactly in their best shape, forced to scatter and tunnel ever deeper underground. This includes Logan (Jackman), who is quite a ways from the sprightly young Wolverine he used to be—presently eking out a living as a freelance limo driver in Texas and seemingly determined to drink himself into oblivion. You see, not only have the preceding years stripped him of a sense of purpose and all his friends, but he’s also on the verge of losing his powers, his body now slower to heal, the Adamantium in his bones that once made him invincible having begun to poison him from the inside out. Needless to say, our hero has no more delusions of world-saving; all he wants is to pull together enough cash to be able to buy a boat, so that he can take his mentor, Charles Xavier (Stewart)—also alive, but barely just, suffering from a degenerative brain disease that causes psychic ripples strong enough to debilitate people around him—out on the water and spend the remainder of their days at sea. 

These plans, however, are derailed when they run into a young girl with mysterious powers (Dafne Keen), on the run from some vague corporate military force. Her guardian (Elizabeth Rodriguez) desperately entrusts her in the mutants’ care, begging them to deliver her to a safe haven up north in Canada. Though Logan is understandably not keen on the added responsibility, Xavier eventually persuades him that they must take on this one last quest, if only to prove that everything they ever believed in and worked for was not entirely in vain.

It was clear, even just looking at the promos, that Logan was not going to be your typical comic-book movie. It’s far more sombre in tone and style, for one, and despite hewing to a number of genre clichés, still manages to pack in enough surprises within those strictures of convention to satisfy. Part of the film’s appeal is how scaled down it is in terms of the stakes—world-domination is still on the agenda, of course, but the script doesn’t allow the broader implications to override its close focus on the inner lives and evolution of the three main characters—striking, in the process, a more personal, more human note than any other instalment has in the series. And though the X-Men narrative has long embodied notions of prejudice against and persecution of misunderstood “others” by an intolerant majority, the analogy has never had more real-world currency than it does at this point in time—especially given Logan’s explicit references to immigrants and borders.   

Moreover, while other superhero franchises have been so fixated on linking up individual films to be part of ever-expanding incestuous “cinematic universes”—to the point where each unit can no longer be expected to function as a standalone—Logan eschews that temptation, not bothering to invest too much time explaining the wider X-Men mythology or pimping future sequels/prequels too obviously (even poking a bit of fun at the whole business by bringing in actual comic books). 

There’s no question that Jackman has become all but synonymous with the role of Wolverine—it’s hard to picture anyone else carrying off those metal claws quite so convincingly, and he has served as a steady connecting line through most of the various X-Men films since 2000. But he’s never been this terrific—pulling through the quieter, emotional moments just as powerfully as the action sequences, a rounded, solid, moving performance. And Stewart, who has been in the game just as long, if for shorter stints at a time, is expectedly great, too, seeming to enjoy getting to be a touch more playful than his previous appearances have allowed. But the biggest blooming surprise comes in the littlest package: the diminutive Keen is a scene-stealer if there ever was one, wielding those eyes and that preternaturally-mature face with incredible control, not to mention nailing the physical pyrotechnics.

Speaking of pyrotechnics, the fights in Logan have been choreographed with great care. Unlike in a lot of genre offerings, buildings are not leveled, or streets ripped open, or vehicles tossed around willy-nilly, in an exercise in empty spectacle; the action has a sense of logic, even a note of grace, about it, and people are not disposed of thoughtlessly—the deaths have weight, they matter. Not to imply that Logan is in any way squeamish about violence—it can, on occasion, be much more visceral and brutal than other X-Men movies, particularly scenes where those claws tear through skin and bone the way you always suspected they could. 

Logan is enjoyable, period, with or without the “comic-book film” tag. It does sag a bit around the middle and could have done with a touch more tightening altogether, but it’s nothing you can’t forgive. If Jackman truly intends to hang up the metal claws and mutton chops after this, we couldn’t have asked for a more perfect, poignant way to say goodbye.