Marvel makes a minor comeback with ‘Thunderbolts’

A movie made of Marvel misfits and also-rans, Thunderbolts—stylized as Thunderbolts* in the credits—is the saga’s 36th big screen entry, and works as a sequel to several different movies and shows. Thankfully, you don’t need to have seen them all to follow along, which is a relief as well, given how much of Marvel’s shared continuity has gone from selling point to crutch. Stylistically and tonally, it’s a breath of fresh air, and when it eventually grows stale, it does so for reasons other than the usual MCU complaints about disconnected third acts, extended cameos, and mealy mouthed political apologism.

No, the pros and cons of Thunderbolts are much more streamlined, given how much of itself the movie wears on its sleeve, warts and all. It begins with Black Widow and Hawkeye supporting character Yelena (Florence Pugh)—sister to Scarlett Johansson’s long-dead Natasha—letting herself drop off the side of a skyscraper, as she waxes poetic (in voiceover) about feeling lost and depressed. Her opening mission, to get rid of evidence in a secret lab, is probably the most relatable thing in Thunderbolts despite its espionage premise, since it sees her going through familiar motions in baggy sweatpants, wishing she was somewhere else. Minus the gunfire, who among us hasn’t been there?

Yelena desperately wants a break. She says as much when she visits her estranged father Alexei (David Harbour), the former Soviet superhero Red Guardian who, conversely, wants to leave the boredom of his limo service behind, and revert to his crime-fighting glory days. Yelena, on the other hand, wants to ensure her next mission is her last, but her government bigwig boss, the two-faced Valentina (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), has more sinister plans for the former assassin.

Under congressional investigation, Valentina tries to tie up all the loose ends of her off-the-books operations, by having four of her hired guns—Yelena, disgraced Captain America knock-off John Walker (Wyatt Russel), wall-phasing thief Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen) and martial arts mimic Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko)—all try to kill each other in a covert mission at a secret warehouse. However, after discovering this four-way double cross, and with more of Valentina’s troops en route to destroy evidence, the makeshift team fights their way out with the help of an apparent civilian they come across at the off-the-books facility: the confused, self-effacing, puppy-dog-like Bob (Lewis Pullman), whose “aww, shucks” simplicity conceals morbid secrets.

As one of Valentina’s experiments, Bob is gifted (or rather, cursed) with supernatural abilities that involve peering into people’s darkest memories, which they relive as out-of-body experiences, observing their past selves during their lowest moments. This makes for a neat plot device that allows us to witness some characters’ backstories, while simultaneously progressing the plot. It also allows the dour, depressed Yelena to find kinship in Bob—someone equally self-loathing—as both Pugh and Pullman are afforded the chance to dig deep into character-centric drama. The result is a welcome combination of a headstrong heroine and an emo, scraggly haired I-can-fix-him hero, bound by their common desire to give up and die. That they nearly sacrifice themselves on several occasions isn’t altruism, but rather, the result of feeling like their backs are against a wall.

As the film goes on, and Valentina hooks her manipulative tendrils into Bob, his looming darkness takes terrifying physical form: a deep void that sucks in anyone it touches, while spreading across physical spaces in the form of enveloping shadows. We primarily see this happen in New York City—specifically, near Grand Central, the site of Marvel’s most iconic battle scene in The Avengers, if only to further emphasize just how unlike Earth’s Mightiest Heroes this new band of misfits really is. It also means saving civilians is, once again, central to the “hero” part of supero-heroism, which hasn’t been the case for Marvel in a very long time. (Are the consequences eventually undone? Sure, but they’re scary nonetheless).

Along the way, the group partakes in some delightful banter that feels like an organic part of the proceedings, rather than an interruption. These scenes are shot with a sense of fluidity, with characters entering and leaving the frame as they argue (sometimes mid-action), as opposed to the visually stilted, improvisational feel of most Marvel comedy. The humor is often dry, but it gels well with the movie’s frigid visual palette—an extension of its dreary undertones, which director Jake Schreier balances well with more jovial moments.

The biggest laughs come courtesy of Alexei’s infectious enthusiasm, as well as Walker’s pompous self-confidence (a holdover from his time as the U.S. government’s “official” Captain America, on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier). Walker is probably the most intriguing character Marvel has introduced in recent years, a figure whose frustrations boil over into toxic, nationalistic furor. And while he doesn’t develop all that much in Thunderbolts, he gets delightfully and deservedly dressed down. Most other characters, however, get the short end of the stick, including the former Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), whose surprising role as a U.S. congressman offers nothing novel, rendering him a disposable sidekick once more.

One of the biggest culprits here is how rushed Thunderbolts feels. While it features the effective setup of abrasive anti-heroes forced to cooperate for the greater good—the plot of every B-tier superhero team-up, from Suicide Squad to Guardians of the Galaxy—it resolves this tension in an instant. The movie essentially lacks a second act, during which it might have better wrestled with its own themes, and forced its characters to actually arrive at emotional conclusions, rather than swerving into them at the drop of a hat.  When Bob’s powers extend to creating physical constructs of the team’s worst nightmares (à la Avengers: Age of Ultron), Thunderbolts feels especially impatient to reach its closing credits, ensuring that fewer than half the main characters actually experience or partake in these visions. Again, this is the movie’s central plot device, and the primary mechanism by which emotional information is conveyed.

The second way it comes across is dialogue. This isn’t always a bad thing. The movie’s many verbal references to depression, substance abuse, or the writings of philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (yes, really) establish a genuine thematic ambition Marvel hasn’t seen in a while—not at least since 2016’s Doctor Strange, a story steeped in death anxiety and confronting mortality. However, a great setup demands equally great execution, and Thunderbolts is lacking in that department.

The film does occasionally deal in naked symbolism, with a villainous manifestation of one character speaking the themes out loud and embodying thoughts of depression and addiction. There’s a lot of talk of “giving in,” which is a step towards bold territory for a major superhero movie. However, mere interpretability isn’t a virtue on its own. Not when so much of its approach to confronting horror-adjacent visions and psychic constructs is punching one’s way out of them, thus letting the air out of the room.

Until its climactic collapse, Thunderbolts is good enough. It’s visually coherent, and it doesn’t depend too heavily on having a working knowledge of the Marvel universe. It also makes for the kind of olive branch to casual viewers this franchise sorely needs—if only to build up enough goodwill for the next noisy outing whose success depends on how many returning actors you recognize. Then again, is clearing an ever-lowering bar really something to celebrate? Perhaps not when a blazing original blockbuster like Sinners is still going strong. But for a series whose last few films have been downright abysmal, it’s a step in the right direction.