Writers: David Benioff screenplay , Skip Woods screenplay. From metacritic. Our Favorite Trailers of the Week. Sell or Trade Blu-rays. Use the HTML below. You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin. Which was your favorite summer Blockbuster?
Learn more More Like This. X-Men: The Last Stand Action Sci-Fi. The Wolverine Action Adventure Sci-Fi. X2: X-Men United Action Sci-Fi Thriller. X-Men X-Men: First Class X-Men: Days of Future Past X-Men: Apocalypse Logan Action Drama Sci-Fi. Spider-Man 2 Spider-Man 3 Spider-Man The Amazing Spider-Man Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Hugh Jackman Victor Creed Danny Huston Stryker Will.
John Wraith Lynn Collins Kayla Silverfox Kevin Durand Fred Dukes Dominic Monaghan Remy LeBeau Daniel Henney Agent Zero Ryan Reynolds Wade Wilson Tim Pocock Scott Summers Julia Blake Heather Hudson Max Cullen Travis Hudson Troye Sivan James Michael-James Olsen Edit Storyline Two mutant brothers, Logan and Victor, born two hundred years ago, suffer childhood trauma and have only each other to depend on.
Language: English. Runtime: min min extended cut. Color: Color. Edit Did You Know? Goofs at around 28 mins Kayla tells Logan the story of a wolverine howling at the moon. Wolverine vocal cords are unable to make a howling sound. But cultural stories are not always scientifically accurate, especially if they are a way for a culture to explain something in nature.
Quotes [ first lines ] Young Victor Creed : You're always sick. Young James Logan : You were sick when you were my age.
More than two dozen education start-ups have enlisted teachers as brand ambassadors. Something went wrong. After the Dementors' attack on his cousin Dudley, Harry Potter knows that Voldemort will stop at nothing to find him. I'd give that a shot first. As I said, Music Unlimited does seem to be a really good streaming option.
Alternate Versions German theatrical version was cut by the distributor before submission to the FSK to secure a "Not under 16" rating the killing of the old couple is shortened, you don't see Wolverine igniting the gasoline. Ironically, the uncut version, submitted for the home video release, was rated "Not under 16" as well, thus rendering the cut theatrical version completely unnecessary. Was this review helpful to you? Yes No Report this.
Edit page. Clear your history. IMDb Everywhere. Follow IMDb on. DPReview Digital Photography. Audible Download Audio Books. Victor Creed. Then I had the pleasure of talking to Beverly Daniel Tatum, former president of Spelman College and a renowned racial educator. I read books by Dr. I enrolled in a social justice workshop called Undoing Racism, and left in tears every night, as I began to peel back the veneer of who I thought I was from who I truly am.
Then I met with two former skinheads, to develop a vocabulary of hate for my White Supremacist character. My daughter Sammy was the one who found Tim Zaal — a former skinhead who had Skyped with her class in high school. Years ago, Tim beat up and left a gay man for dead. After getting out of the Movement, he started to work at the Simon Weisenthal Center talking about hate crimes and realized one day that the man he had left for dead worked there too.
There were apologies and forgiveness, and now, they are friends who talk about their unique experience to groups every week. He also is happily married, now, to a Jewish woman. Frankie Meeink, another former skinhead, works with the Anti-Defamation League. After recruiting for hate crews in Philly, he now runs Harmony through Hockey — a program to promote racial diversity among kids. These men taught me that the White Power groups believe in the separation of the races and think they are soldiers in a racial holy war.
They explained how recruiters for hate groups would target kids who are bullied, marginalized, or who come from abusive homes. Violence became a release, a mandate. They also taught me that now, most skinhead groups are not crews seeking out violence, but rather individuals who are networking underground. Nowadays, White Supremacists dress like ordinary folks. They blend in, which is a whole different kind of terror. When it came time to title this book, I found myself struggling again. Many of you who are long-time fans of mine know this was not the original name of the novel.
Martin Luther King, Jr. However, I also knew that both Ruth and Kennedy have moments in this novel where they do a small thing that has great and lasting repercussions for others. Plus, for many whites who are just beginning to travel the path of racial self-awareness, Dr. His eloquence about a subject most of us feel inadequate putting into words is inspiring and humbling. Moreover, although individual changes cannot completely eradicate racism -- there are systems and institutions that need to be overhauled as well — it is through small acts that racism is both perpetuated and partially dismantled.
For all of these reasons — and because I hope it will encourage people to learn more about Dr.
King -- I chose this title. Of all my novels, this book will stand out for me because of the sea change it inspired in the way I think about myself, and because it made me aware of the distance I have yet to go when it comes to racial awareness. In America, we like to think that the reason we have had success is because we worked hard or we were smart. A social justice educator named Peggy McIntosh has pointed out some of these advantages: having access to jobs and housing, for example.
Walking into a random hair salon and finding someone who can cut your hair. Getting a promotion without someone suspecting that it was due to your skin color. Asking to speak to someone in charge, and being directed to someone of your race. When I was researching this book I asked white mothers how often they talked about racism with their children. Some said occasionally; some admitted they never discussed it.
When I asked the same question of Black mothers, they all said, Every day. So what have I learned that is helpful? Instead, recognize that differences between people make it harder for some to cross a finish line, and create fair paths to success for everyone that accommodates those differences.
If your friend makes a racist joke, call him out on it, instead of just going along with it. If the two former skinheads I met can have such a complete change of heart, I feel confident that ordinary people can, too. I expect pushback from this book. I will have white people challenging me for calling them out on their racism.
I wrote it because I believed it was the right thing to do, and because the things that make us most uncomfortable are the things that teach us what we all need to know. There is a fire raging and we have two choices: we can turn our backs, or we can try to fight it. Yes, talking about racism is hard to do, and yes, we stumble over the words—but we who are white need to have this discussion amongst ourselves. Because then, even more of us will overhear and then, I hope, the conversation will spread.
I am not a social justice educator, so I can offer advice only as someone who is still a work in progress.
The first thing I can tell you is what NOT to do:. A really easy way to start to challenge implicit racism is to look at your bookshelf. Who are you reading? A really great little mnemonic device is one I stole from Kayla Reed, a Black activist on Twitter: ALLY: A lways center the impacted , L isten and learn from those who live in the oppression, L everage your privilege , Y ield the floor. Finally, if you have time or money, consider donating to a group like Black Lives Matter, Showing Up For Racial Justice, Race Forward, or a local community group that promotes racial justice.
The miracle happened on West Seventy-fourth Street, in the home where Mama worked. It was a big brownstone encircled by a wrought-iron fence, and overlooking either side of the ornate door were gargoyles, their granite faces carved from my nightmares. Mama had been working for Sam Hallowell and his family since before my sister and I were born. You may not have recognized his name, but you would have known him the minute he said hello. He had been the unmistakable voice in the mids who announced before every show: The following program is brought to you in living color on NBC!
The doorbell beneath those gargoyles was the famously pitched three-note chime everyone associates with NBC. The reason we were with Mama that day was because it was a snow day. School was canceled, but we were too little to stay alone in our apartment while Mama went to work—which she did, through snow and sleet and probably also earthquakes and Armageddon. Mina had to spread the peanut butter on her own sandwich bread. In fact the only time I remember Mama taking time off work was twenty-five years later, when she had a double hip replacement, generously paid for by the Hallowells.
But when I was little, during school vacations and bouts of fever and snow days like this one, Mama would take us with her on the B train downtown.
Hallowell was away in California that week, which happened often, and which meant that Ms. Mina and Christina needed Mama even more. So did Rachel and I, but we were better at taking care of ourselves, I suppose, than Ms. Mina was. When we finally emerged at Seventy-second Street, the world was white. It was not just that Central Park was caught in a snow globe.
Mama tucked away her coat, too, and her lucky scarf—the soft one that smelled like her, and that Rachel and I fought to wear around our house because it felt like petting a guinea pig or a bunny under your fingers. I waited for Mama to move through the dark rooms like Tinker Bell, alighting on a switch or a handle or a knob so that the sleeping beast of a house was gradually brought to life. It was imported from Paris, and it tasted like heaven. I made a house as big as this one.
I put a family inside: me, Mama, Rachel.
The only way to see them was to tilt the paper sideways toward the chandelier light, so I could make out the shimmer where the crayon had been. Christina was six, falling neatly between the ages of Rachel and me. Christina had the biggest bedroom I had ever seen and more toys than anyone I knew. When she was home and we came to work with our mother, we played school with her and her teddy bears, drank water out of real miniature china teacups, and braided the corn-silk hair of her dolls.
Unless she had a friend over, in which case we stayed in the kitchen and colored. But before Mama could answer, there was a scream so piercing and so ragged that it stabbed me in the chest. I knew it did the same to Mama, because she nearly dropped the pot of water she was carrying to the sink. I was drawn in her wake, a balloon tied to her wrist. My hand skimmed over the banister of the curved staircase, not touching.
The round of her belly rose like a moon; the shining whites of her eyes made me think of merry-go-round horses, frozen in flight.
She was holding the telephone receiver. Mina held her other hand in a death grip. She stood between Rachel and me. But we remained rooted to the spot as Mama quickly forgot about us, lost in a world made of Ms. I watched the cords stand out on Ms. I watched the pink lips between Ms.