X-Men: First Class

As different childhoods produce distinct ethical engagements, those possessing unique abilities for which they have been ostracized come together to form a team. Revelling in the emancipatory liveliness forged by the inclusive environment which provides them with the opportunity to openly nurture their gifts, a strong sense of self evolves which is nourished by the art of friend making. But opposing philosophies regarding how they should respond to the circumstances which stifled their progress introduce a spirited variable which constructs an internal polarity. Friends must decide where their allegiances lie if they are to be true to their feelings as they construct dreams for the future.

But it's really not that dramatic. True, Charles Xavier (James McAvoy, Laurence Belcher) and Erik Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender, Bill Milner) represent opposing politico-ethical stances in regards to sociological group dynamics, but even when said stances are materialized, through the act of a decision necessitated by ego (or a lack there of), they still remain friends as they attempt to thwart each others efforts.

Most of the thwarting takes place in X-Men: First Class's predecessors.

It's fun to watch as Professor X and Magneto youthfully engage in various extraordinary activities, but the film isn't the greatest. There are many, many, terrible lines that seem to be relying on the franchise's built in audience for cheerful support. Many of the scenes where characters meet one another or assume their future identities are as predictable and maudlin as they come, and it's sort of like they've just remade the original X-Men film and substituted a number of new characters and an unconvincing cold war scenario for its content. One major difference is that the writers seem to be favouring Magneto's outlook as evidenced by the sympathy generated for his character, the fact that he is given the last scene, the death midway of the only African American character, and the constant objectification of women. A forgettable instalment in the X-Men saga, First Class is still required viewing for fans nonetheless.

Q: the Winged Other

Quetzacoatl is a deity who was worshipped by the Aztec and Toltec civilizations before their cultures were cremated and their fascinating architectural and philosophical traditions cast as the product of aliens. Q is the plumed serpent: worshipped initially as the God of creation or that of the morning and evening star, Quetzalcoatl became the patron of priests, the god of literature and the alphabet, and paralleled the Greek Phoenix insofar as it became the symbol of death and resurrection.

Larry Cohen had all of this in mind when he created his wonderful low-budget Monster/Anti-hero cult-classic Q, also known as Q: The Winged Serpent. In Q, Michael Moriarty plays Jimmy, a down on his luck thug who suddenly discovers the answer to a macabre mystery confounding the N.Y.P.D: the nest of Quetzalcoatl. The nest happens to be located in the Chrysler building and since Q mows most of her victims during the day, it’s a brazen coincidence that no one ever spots her. But nevertheless, rather than dwell on this blunder/macguffin, let’s take the route less travelled, and unravel what this ridiculous element potentially means.

Here I'm suggesting it refers to the necessarily unfathomable presence of the Other, the foreign, the unknown. Cohen's giant monster attaches a hilarious degree of subtle irony to the aforementioned xenophobic rhetoric, if we invert the traditional viewpoint regarding the frightening external thing by focusing upon its terrorizing internal brother. That is, through our fear of the Other/Unknown, our militaries continually and persistently develop new weaponry through which they can symbolically and (occasionally) objectively keep their opponents in check. In order to test these new weapons, they often detonate them upon their own soil, thereby directly accomplishing the goals of their enemies by launching pre-emptive strikes on themselves. In Q, we find a citizenry that is terrified by a giant monster who persistently devours them in broad daylight but can never be located. What better image for the haunting background permeating the 'everything is okay' hokum of domestic military strategies?

Hence, Larry Cohen's Q also represents death and resurrection, the morning and evening star, insofar as it symbolically depicts the excessive, ironic baggage haunting the fact that militaries are necessary in order to defend ourselves against the Other, while frequently adopting the form of that Other in order to ir/rationally accomplish the goals of their hypothetical opponents.

Like G.D. Spradlin notes at the beginning of Apocalypse Now concerning Colonel Kurtz: "there is a battle between good and evil waged in the heart of every man[/culture], and good does not always triumph." In fact, good can take the form of a hidden yet visible monstrosity, devouring your goals by creating them unconditionally.