Category: Comic book film

Captain America: Brave New World (2025)

Pure, unfiltered, content nothing more. Full of stuff you’ve seen, doing things you expect.

Director: Julius Onah

Cast: Anthony Mackie (Sam Wilson/Captain America), Harrison Ford (Thaddeus Ross/Red Hulk), Danny Ramirez (Joaquin Torres/Falcon), Tim Blake Nelson (Samuel Sterns), Shira Haas (Ruth Bat-Seraph), Carl Lumbly (Isaiah Bradley), Xosha Roquemore (Leila Taylor), Giancarlo Esposito (Seth Voelker/Sidewinder), Liv Tyler (Betty Ross)

Welcome to a Brave New World of Content. There’s nothing really wrong with Captain America: Brave New World. But there are also feels like no real reason for it to exist. Let it pass before your eyes for a couple of hours and you’ll have a decent time: then you’ll barely remember it, leaving you as brainwashed as it’s villain’s Mr Blue Sky programmed minions. It exists because the MCU is a gargantuan shark that has to keep moving forward, consuming more and more of the cultural conversation to stay alive.

What’s it about? Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie) is our new Captain America, still air-bound with his Falcon wings (now powered up with some Wakandan science) but without the super-serum that made Steve Rogers near-invulnerable. His new boss, ex-General-now-President Ross (Harrison Ford, replacing the late William Hurt), has his doubts – but is also dealing with his own anger-management issues. Ross is being manipulated by imprisoned evil genius Samuel Sterns (Tim Blake Nelson) who wants Ross’ hypocrisy exposed to the world – and to turn him into Red Hulk for good measure. Since every single scrap of publicity material reassured us Red Hulk appears in the film, it’s not a surprise to find out he succeeds.

It’s all told in a reassuring way: another film pressed out of the MCU cookie-cutter. There is an interesting story dealing with Sam’s doubts about his worthiness, not least since he lacks Steve’s strength and speed. It’s so interesting… that Marvel has already made a TV series about it. Brave New World offers a less interesting, crib notes version of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, while anxiously dancing round that series’ engagement with the moral complexities of a Black man taking on the name of Captain America, representing a country whose track-record on race is not something to boast about.

All the best stuff has already been rinsed once through the MCU content machine. Sebastian Stan pops up to repeat the moral message of that series in a single scene. Carl Lumbly returns as an aged Black Captain America, ill-treated by the government (although his background is skirted round by a film, terrified of being accused of any form of political statement). Sam, just as he did in the series, wonders about powering himself up to Steve levels and decides not. For anyone who has seen the series, it’s a shallow retread. For anyone who has not seen it, it makes very little impression.

Brave New World struggles to find its purpose and reason for being. There is an astonishingly large amount of exposition in it, constantly explaining and reminding us what everything is. Brave New World serves as a sort of side-ways sequel to two of the franchise’s least liked, least remembered films (The Incredible Hulk and Eternals), as well as being a thematic remake of a TV series. It feels like what it is: a film shot and reshot over years, until all sense of its tone and originality has been ironed out into the most generic, safe and pointless film you can imagine.

Marvel could sort of tell everyone was wondering why on Earth they should make this film, so dangled Red Hulk before us like a hook desperate that it would get bums on seats. There is something quite tragic about the series being reduced to spoiling their own ending. Particularly as all this transformation really just leads into a fairly familiar end-of-film smackdown in an all-too-obviously CGI created backdrop. This was probably a legacy of the years of delays and reshoots, the film tottering awkwardly between various political issues: hence it’s timid handling of issues from #blacklivesmatter, it’s attempt to not put off the anti-Woke brigade, to it’s meek fear of including an Israeli character in a leading role.

Perhaps that’s why we end up with something as formulaic and straight-forward as this. Anthony Mackie gives of his very best (although he has said in interviews, he prefers the long-form character building opportunities of TV shows – and who can blame him) and makes a winning argument for himself as a figurehead for a struggling franchise. Harrison Ford looks slightly bemused that he’s even in here (and I’ll eat my hat if we see him again in an MCU property), autopiloting through his gravelly grumpiness until he transforms into a big red monster with stretchy pants.

There are some decent action sequences. Giancarlo Esposito gets to riff on his Breaking Bad role in a character (again, some what obviously) added in reshoots years after the project completed filming. A mid-air battle over Japanese waters is gripping enough, if nothing special. A chase scene through the White House and across Washington lands well. Tim Blake Nelson does a decent job as a villain powered by intellect rather than strength. None of this is remotely new, original or particularly different from dozens of other MCU films (did they decide on locations based on where they haven’t really been before?) but its all entertaining enough.

It’s also though painfully, pointlessly, predictable. As inevitable as the arrival of the Red Hulk (a sure sign that the MCU was terrified the film was going to bomb, was when they smacked that guy all over the posters and trailers), every beat feels like dozens of other MCU films. It feels like a middling entry that will be easily skippable for what passes now for the series overarching narrative. Every moment feels fundamentally pre-packaged and shorn of any personality. It’s a highly professional, well-oiled, well-assembled film and you’ll forget almost every single thing about it within about an hour of it finishing. It’s just content from a series that needs new stuff like a lung needs oxygen.

Superman (2025)

A fun, character-led, engaging film that makes a better stab at starting a massive franchise

Director: James Gunn

Cast: David Corenswet (Clark Kent/Superman), Rachel Brosnahan (Lois Lane), Nicholas Hoult (Lex Luthor), Edi Gathegi (Mister Terrific), María Gabriela de Faría (The Engineer), Anthony Carrigan (Metamorpho), Nathan Fillion (Guy Gardner), Isabela Merced (Hawkgirl), Skyler Gisondo (Jimmy Olsen), Sara Sampaio (Eve Teschmacher), Wendell Pierce (Perry White), Pruitt Taylor Vince (Jonathan Kent), Neva Howell (Martha Kent), Zlatko Burić (President of Boravia), Frank Grillo (Rick Flagg), Bradley Cooper (Jor-El)

In 1978 Hollywood promised to make us believe a man could fly. In 2025 it just wants us to believe a franchise can be reborn. Superman, again, hopes the man of steel can launching a DCU franchise to compete with Marvel (in some ways, hilarious that this is just at the point when the world seems tired of interconnected monolith Comic Book worlds). Has it learned the lesson of the first attempt? I’d say yes: under the experienced hand of James Gunn, Superman is light, fun, exciting and engaging. It may all be (inevitably) heading towards a city-sized smackdown to save the world, but at least it does it with a bit of charm and character work along the way.

What it also definitely isn’t is an origins story. And, in many ways, thank God: is there anyone under this yellow sun that doesn’t know Superman is from Krypton, his alias is mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent at the Daily Planet, he’s got the hots for Lois Lane, his enemy is balding super-genius Lex Luther and he’s got a deadly fear of Kryptonite? Gunn is totally spot-on that we didn’t another hour plus on film laboriously putting all those pieces in place again.

Superman instead throws us straight into the second act: the invulnerable hero (David Corenswet) getting beaten for the first time, outmatched by Lex Luthor’s (Nicholas Hoult) Ultraman who has all of Superman’s powers and none of his personality. It’s part of a doom spiral where Superman’s decisions to unilaterally intercede in a war are condemned for overstepping, painful revelations about his past leave him ostracised by the world and he winds up imprisoned by Luthor who wants to reshape the world as he sees fit. Can reporting (and romantic) partner Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) rope in the Justice Gang (a group of meta-human heroes) to help?

That probably doesn’t give quite a clear enough picture of what a barmy, primary-colour spectacle Superman is. To say it throws in everything including the kitchen-sink at your would be an understatement. Gunn’s film is soaks in love for the scatter-gun, heightened reality of comic books. If the first wave of DCU films were about trying to ground superheroes in the real world, this throws us into a nutsy world where: the Justice Gang are celebrities and their members include a half-hawk woman and a cocky dickhead with a magic ring; the villain has a private pocket universe he’s using as a personal Guantanamo Bay; and battles with giant space monsters are such a regular sight people whip out their phones to film it rather than runaway.

In fact, in this world, Superman facing off against his super-powered foe in a city collapsing into a giant rip in space-and-time actually feels strangely grounded. Compared to floating around on flying platforms through a purple pocket universe or swimming through a river of anti-matter to save a meta-human baby who can change his form into any material on earth, it’s pretty normal. But Gunn’s film embraces its madness with a tongue-in-cheek joie d’vivre: in fact, it’s refreshing that the film acknowledges there is no point trying (once again) to Nolanise this stuff.

In fact, Gunn works hard to make sure any real-world commentary is delivered with a soft-touch. A key sub-plot about the invasion of Jarhanpur (a stand-in for both Ukraine and Gaza) by its neighbour Boravia (blatantly Russia) gets funnelled into a black-and-white moral issue. A Trump stand-in is Boravia’s blow-hard leader, with a thick Russian accent (distancing him from the real thing). Social media gets a kicking (not surprising considering the director’s personal experience on it), but with off-the-wall gags like Luthor owning a legion of engineered monkeys endlessly typing angry comments into the ether to drive algorithms. Metropolis is the only city where a daily paper not only drives discussion, but is the most trusted source of news.

The colourful barmyness also works, because Superman grounds itself in warm and relatable characters. Bought to life with a great deal of humility and relatability (the one area the film plays it completely genuinely) by David Corenswet, this version of Superman embodies the virtues of kindness. He’s endlessly polite and attentive, from his robot servants in the fortress of solitude to his hardest language being “gosh”. He’s dedicated to preserving life (from humane subduing of giant monsters to saving a squirrel mid-fight) and putting others first. He’ll go to great lengths to protect his pet dog Krypto (possibly the most genuinely endearing dog on screen since The Artist).

And it makes a great framework for a film that deconstructs Superman by stripping him of his certainties. Dramatically it’s always difficult to fear for an invulnerable hero, so Gunn’s decision to open with our hero having had the crap beaten out of him (not for the last time in the film) is a good touch. But Gunn also challenges Superman’s moral certainties, in particular with a unique reveal in Superman-lore leaving him questioning everything he thinks he knows about his past. It’s refreshing to see a film challenge superheroes for taking unilateral decisions on behalf of everyone, with even Lois criticising him for a power-grab. Sure, it’s a strawman – there is no doubt Superman’s decision to stop Boravia is the right thing to do – but it’s good to see it discussed and questioned.

Superman uses this to explore characters, in particular the emotional vulnerability of Clark Kent and the bond between him and Lois. There is a refreshing scene where Corenswet and Brosnahan simply sit and talk about his turmoil, while outside the window in the distance a bizarre intergalactic-eye monster is fought by the Justice Gang. (Both a good gag, and a sign of the film’s focus on character). But, unlike other Superman films, Corenswet’s Man of Steel confronts him with the possibility of physical and moral failure on every level. Throw in a Luthor who, for all his man-child antics, carries out some of the darkest, most brutal acts any version of the character has before and this leads to some genuinely affecting moments of grief and guilt.

Gunn combines this genuine interest in character with some engaging use of obscure comic book characters, about him the general viewer has no pre-viewing expectations. Krypto is a genuinely funny addition as a hyper-active chaos pet. Nathan Fillion is good fun as a dickish blow-hard with super-powers. Edi Gathegi is wonderfully droll as the wearily frustrated Mr Terrific. And the three leads make a very effective combo: Corenswet’s selflessness and kindness very well contrasted with Hoult’s petulant arrogance while Brosnahan gives Lane gallons of determination and can-do attitude.

It’s not perfect. A sub-plot about Luthor’s girlfriend is presented as a victim of an controlling relationship and a source of comedy for a desperate neediness. It’s resort to a big-city smackdown is overly familiar, while a few reveals can be seen coming far off. Hoult’s Luthor is a big-swing of a performance that doesn’t always hit. But when it works, it’s a bubbly ball of super-hero-fun that celebrates basic decency, kindness and looking after each other. And maybe that’s the hero we need right now.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

Fun entry in the MCU, bright, pacey and entertaining – but never engages with its deeper issues

Director: Matt Shakman

Cast: Pedro Pascal (Reed Richards / Mister Fantastic), Vanessa Kirby (Sue Storm / Invisible Woman), Ebon Moss-Bachrach (Ben Grimm / The Thing), Joseph Quinn as (Johnny Storm / Human Torch), Julia Garner (Shalla-Bal / Silver Surfer), Ralph Ineson (Galactus), Sarah Niles (Lynne Nichols), Mark Gatiss (Ted Gilbert), Natasha Lyonne (Rachel Rozman), Paul Walter Hauser (Harvey Elder / Mole Man)

It’s taken almost seventeen years (can you believe the MCU has been going for so long?!) but ‘Marvel’s First Family’ finally make it to the party, escaping one of those legacy rights deals the comic giant signed before working out it could make films itself. Since, for those interested, there are already three Fantastic Four origins-films for you to seek out (they gained their powers from flying through a space storm), Fantastic Four throws us straight into the second Act of our heroes lives, communicating their origins in an in-universe TV show celebration of their achievements (including a montage of them defeating a parade of second tier villains, including Mole Man and an army of super-intelligent chimps) before throwing them up against their biggest challenge yet.

For their unofficial leaders, Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal – whose real life super-power seems to be that he appears in all movies) aka Mr Fantastic science super-genius and master strategist with limbs of rubber and Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby) aka Invisible Woman, the world’s greatest diplomat, who can create forcefields and make herself (and others) invisible) there is the challenge of impending parenthood. And for the whole gang, also including scientist and wild-child Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn) – he can set his body on fire – and Reed’s best friend, astronaut and Herculean powered made-of-stone Ben Grimm – it’s the threat of Galacticus (Ralph Ineson) a planet-eating giant whose herald (Julia Garner) arrives on a silver surfboard and announces Earth will be his next snack, unless the Four hand over Sue’s unborn child.

The Fantastic Four’s decision to skip the origins story throws us straight into a story that’s a lot of fun. A very enjoyable romp with some well-sketched out characters (played by engaging and charismatic actors), a few extremely well-made set-pieces, plenty of humour, just enough heart and a decent, city-crushing, smackdown at the end. It’s directed with a lot of bounce and joy by Matt Shakman and despite being about literally earth-shattering events manages to keep the focus tightly on the family at its core (perhaps a little too tightly, but more on that later).

It’s also a delightful triumph of design. Set in a sort of cyber-punk 1960s (the idea being that Richard’s intellect has super-powered mankind’s development), it’s a gorgeously realised world of 60s design, all curving surfaces and primary colours, intermixed with souped-up 60s technology like ingenious androids that run on cassette decks and flying cars, like The Jetsons made flesh (doubly engaging as the film so obviously committed to real sets rather than blue-screen invention). I also rather liked the implied joke that the world has progressed only in the areas Richards’ considered worthwhile: so this world has faster-than-light travel, flying cars and abundant energy sources, but totally lacks hi-def television or social media (and who can blame Richards for that).

There is also a certain charm in how the Four are universally beloved heroes. Everywhere they go, they are flooded by admirers and merchandise wearing children (it’s quietly never explored if the Four paid for their colossal, futuristic tower and private space base with a fortune in image deals). Reed fills time between inventing the future with hosting a TV show about science for kids, while Sue essentially runs the United Nations. Johnny is the star of every social event and Ben bashfully lifts the cars for the kids in his Brooklyn neighbourhood and flirts shyly with a primary school teacher (Natasha Lyonne).

This world is pleasingly shaken up by the arrival of the Silver Surfer, a charismatically unreadable turn from Julia Garner (under a CGI naked silver body). First Steps successfully uses this threat to humanise a group of heroes who otherwise might have proved too good to be true. For starters, their confident assurances all will be well when they head for space turns out to be far from the case when they are comprehensively outmatched by an immortal planet eater and his physics-defying silver herald. First Steps most exciting and thrillingly assembled scene is their retreat from a first encounter with this giant, a brilliantly managed high-octane chase around a black hole with a few extra personal perils thrown in on top, made even more gripping by Michael Giacchani’s pitch-perfect score.

That’s before the devilish conundrum of balancing the fate of seven billion people with Sue’s unborn son. If First Steps refuses to really dive fully into it, it does successfully raise the emotional stakes. It’s also a ‘reasonable’ offer from Galactus, a surprisingly soulful anti-villain, played with a mix of disdainful arrogance and death-dreaming melancholy by Ralph Ineson (there is a lovely moment when he takes a break from imminent city-smashing to pick up and sniff a fistful of Earth as if he’s forgotten the smell) desperate to escape the cycle of endlessly devouring planets to maintain his interminable life.

Horrific as it is to imagine a baby taking his place, First Steps avoids really delving into this intergalactic trolley problem. Because, at heart, it’s a film where superheroes alarmingly make decisions for billions of people with no oversight or pushback. Having unilaterally decided to reject Galactus’ offer, the Four seem surprised the rest of Earth are less than thrilled at their impending demise because the Four won’t make a Sophie’s Choice. There is some rich potential here to really delve into the way the Four are, arguably, benign dictators, reshaping this world in their own image and accepting adulation and unquestioning following. First Steps ignores it – the world’s discontent underdone by a single speech from Sue – and only for a split second is the moral quandary treated as something meriting genuine debate. As the surfer points out, if the kid was an adult he would certainly accept: is it right to take that choice from him?

But it’s a comic book movie, right? So, let’s not overthink it. And Marvel was never going to darken its First Family with hints of elitest oppression, demanding sacrifices from others (and the world makes huge sacrifices to protect their child) but not themselves. First Steps is a fun film. I liked its vibe, like a live-action Incredibles (only not that good), I enjoyed the BB4-like robot Herbie, all four of its leads are highly likeable with excellent chemistry. So, I’m trying to just not think about where this onrushing trolley is going and instead enjoy the view.

Thor (2011)

Branagh lives his dream by making the most comic-book, bombastic Shakespeare-homage ever

Director: Kenneth Branagh

Cast: Chris Hemsworth (Thor), Natalie Portman (Dr Jane Foster), Tom Hiddleston (Loki), Anthony Hopkins (Odin), Stellan Skarsgård (Dr Erik Selvig), Kat Dennings (Darcy Lewis), Clark Gregg (Phil Coulson), Rene Russo (Frigga), Colm Feore (Laufrey), Ray Stevenson (Volstagg), Idris Elba (Heimdall), Jaimie Alexander (Sif), Josh Dallas (Fandral), Tadanobu Asano (Hogun), Jeremy Renner (Hawkeye)

If you’d told people after Henry V that one day Kenneth Branagh would direct a high-octane comic book movie about a Norse God who bashes things with a hammer, you’d have been laughed outta town. But Branagh was who Marvel called to launch the Thor franchise – and doncha know it turned out to be a pretty shrewd choice.

Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is the arrogant son of Odin (Anthony Hopkins) and heir to the throne of Asgard, the planet that keeps peace in the Universe. After an attempt by Asgard’s old enemies, the Frost Giants, to re-capture a stolen super-weapon, Thor leads a reckless attack on their homeworld that threatens to shatter a hard-won peace. Disappointed and furious, Odin strips Thor of his powers and banishes him to Earth, where the fallen God of Thunder must learn humility to be worthy of regaining his powers. On Earth, he falls in love with gifted scientist Jane Foster (Natalie Portman), while on Asgard the realm falls under the control of his brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston), who manipulates events to make his own claim for both the throne and their father’s love.

You can sort of see the Shakespearean bits bubbling away there. Fathers and sons, ambition and power, tragic flaws. Destiny verses desire. Loki as a mix of Edmond, Iago and Cassius. Thor as a Prince Hal earning the maturity to lead. Odin as a kindly Lear. Hell, you could see Thor washing up on the shores of New Mexico, like Twelfth Night’s Viola, forced to pretend to be something he isn’t. He even has his own mini-Falstaff, in gluttonous warrior Volstagg. It’s a heightened story of Kings and Queens, Tempest-style magic and Hamlet-style family intrigue. Marvel, of course, partly hired Branagh to bring attention to this (effectively, paying Branagh for his Shakespeare-street-cred to make an otherwise snigger-worthy concept of Norse Gods in space get taken seriously), Thor does a great job of bringing this out without drowning the fun.

And of course, for those paying attention, Branagh had been dying to do bombastic nonsense for years. Shakespeare had disguised that Branagh adored loud crashes, big bangs, showy camera work (half of Thor is done in Dutch angles, apeing comic books) and pounding soundtracks. His Hamlet is crammed with half a dozen genres, from romance to action and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein showed he could fly over the top with the best of them. But he’s also an actor’s director, and he draws performances here from Hemsworth and Hiddleston in particular that would lay the groundwork for making these two of the most popular actors in the whole damn franchise.

Thor above all does a brilliant job of making us care for a lead character initially presented as a likeable but arrogant, immature and cocky hit-first-think-later warrior, cavalier about people’s lives. There is a very funny humiliation conga inflicted upon Thor on arriving on Earth (a classic rule-of-three gag) leaving him successively tasered, tranquilised by a syringe in the ass and knocked over by reversing car. It’s a brilliant way of breaking the haughty – the Mighty Thor, who trashed an army of Frost Giants, laid low by a middle-aged doctor yanking down his hospital pants. But it all sets us on a path for caring about him, helped by how chivalrous and polite he is with Portman’s winning Dr Foster. Sure, he’s still dripping with hubris – assuming once he gets his hands on his hammer Mjolnir again, everything will be as it was – but at wider traces of humanity emerge we start to care for him.

It’s cemented by a very effective scene where Branagh proves his worth as a director of actors. After failing to lift said hammer – being, at this point, unworthy due to having not really learned anything – Thor sits alone in an interrogation room, visited by a disguised Loki. Hemsworth is very good in his scene: he suddenly makes Thor humbled, fragile, accepting his failures, not lashing out but tearfully apologising for his past behaviour, meekly asking to just be allowed to come home then bravely accepts his permanent banishment. It’s actually an effectiveportrait of overcoming hubris: Thor’s true heroism isn’t trashing Loki’s rent-a-robot that is the film’s penultimate foe. It’s accepting, in his depowered state, his role in the battle is to stay out of the way and help get people out of the way before offering his own life as a sacrifice if he will end the robot’s rampage.

If Thor, in Hemsworth’s gently sweet and funny performance, overcomes hubris, Loki succumbs to it. Tom Hiddleston’s charisma here (cemented by his excellent turn in The Avengers) helped him become Marvel’s most popular anti-hero. Like Thor, he’s a complex character: a second brother who secretly resents his brother’s prominence, wants his father’s love, learns things about his past which make him lean into his worst instincts, all to try and be what he mistakenly thinks his family wants. Hiddleston carries all this angst and tragedy with real skill, while also filling the role with wit and playfulness: it’s a great, star-making turn.

It’s a sign of the film’s surprising complexity that it’s hero and villain switch perspectives over its course. Thor starts by dreaming of destroying the Frost Giants to impress Odin while Loki counsels restraint. He ends it by making enormous personal sacrifices to protect them from a genocidal plan unleashed by Loki who wants to prove he’s as tough as Thor. The film ends not with a hero triumphant, but alone and grieving losses. It’s stuff like this that makes Thor a truly interesting, engaging film in a way other MCU outings are not.

And a lot of it comes from Branagh’s skill with actors. Thor might not offer the greatest acting challenges to the rest, but Hopkins in particular was better here than he had been for years (he credited Branagh with helping him rediscover his passion for acting) and Portman and Skarsgård bring a lot of humanity to thinly written roles. Sure, in other ways Thor is less special: it’s action set-pieces are, by and large, fairly uninspired and run-of-the-mill, the small town trashed by a robot looks and feels like a backlot stunt show, some of the comedy lands flatly. But when it focuses on the character drama of two contrasting brothers and their love for their father it’s feels more real and engaging than a host of more technically adept comic book movies.

Thor gets over-looked in the MCU rankings. But it’s a surprisingly thoughtful, well drawn character study about worthiness not being about muscle and force, but on your wisdom, compassion and humility and putting other people before your own needs and desires. All captured in a magic hammer that is otherwise impossible to pick up. Branagh’s film gets that, with added bombastic comic book thrills. Thor has entertained me each time I’ve seen it and will go on doing so.

The Flash (2023)

The final death rattle of the DCU franchise, a terrible film fill of bad storytelling and lousy gags

Director: Andy Muschiette

Cast: Ezra Miller (Barry Allen/The Flash/Young Barry Allen/Evil Barry Allen), Michael Keaton (Bruce Wayne/Batman), Sasha Calle (Kara Zor-El/Supergirl), Michael Shannon (General Zod), Ron Livingston (Henry Allen), Maribel Verdú (Nora Allen), Kiersey Clemons (Iris West), Antji Traue (Faora-Ul), Ben Affleck (Bruce Wayne/Batman), Jeremy Irons (Alfred)

This is how it ends. Not with a zippy bang, but a stumbling fart. The Flash is, quite simply, one of the most dreadful, misguided messes you are likely to see: the final sad, rammed-together-by-committee piece of pandering from a franchise declared DOA before the film was even released. Could The Flash have worked if the DCEU had been a success? Its defenders might say yes, but let’s be honest: no. And not just because of Ezra Miller. Though God that didn’t help.

Anyway the plot. We meet Barry Allen/The Flash (Ezra Miller), fighting crime with the Justice League. Because the DCEU was in a rush (and never bothered to make an origins film allowing muggles to understand who the hell he is), after an action-packed opening we are basically rushed at dizzying speed through his backstory (the sort of thing Marvel, back in the day, would have spent two films building). Allen’s Dad (Ron Livingston) is in prison for the murder of his Mum (Maribel Verdú) though he’s innocent. Allen works out he can go back in time to change this. He does but then (naturally) ruins the past. He finds himself back in Man of Steel time which – we are hurriedly told – is the same time he got his powers. The grief that made Barry a hero in our timeline didn’t happen here so the Barry of this timeline is, to put it bluntly, a complete prick. He’s also changed lots of other fan-pleasing stuff, lost his powers, wiped most of the DCEU characters from history (no loss) and has to team up with a different Batman (Michael Keaton) to train his past self and save the world.

First and foremost – who thought it was a good idea to make a film that depends on this much knowledge of a character who has never had a film made about him before? Marvel’s Spiderman got away with jumping over the origins story because we’d already seen it twice. Joe Regular Public has no bloody idea who Barry Allen is. They aren’t ready to be introduced to his backstory like it’s established, famous stuff and watch it being twisted upon. Or watch a plot twist about the granting of its powers unfold at the same time as we are told when we event got them in the first place. It’s totally bizarre – it’s like the film is throwing in call-backs to films that never happened.

This sort of plot, watching our hero change the past, needs us to actually have lived through the past with that hero. To understand the emotional impact it’s had on him and to have watched him mature. Instead, we get all this stuff dumped on top of us and then watch a version of a character we don’t really know teach another version of that character how his powers work without us having been given any knowledge ourselves of how those powers work, meaning we are as ignorant as he is.

It doesn’t help that we’re given no reason to bond with Barry Allen – any of them. Firstly, let’s get the elephant out of the room. We now know what will prevent a Hollywood studio cancelling a troubled star: if they have invested $200 million on a film in which they appear in every single frame. Miller is sort of beyond toxic now: someone who has stolen, assaulted women, groomed minors, proclaimed themselves an Indigenous messiah and faced multiple arrests and restraining orders. If this film had cost $20 million it would never have been released. Hell, if it had cost $75 million like the tax-written-off Batgirl, it would have been spiked. But DC and Warner had too many eggs in the Ezra basket so hoped we might forget they were asking us to bond with a literal criminal.

Leaving that aside though: all iterations of Barry Allen seem pretty awful people. The first is selfish whiner with poor empathy. The second is an absolute douchebag, a character so irritating he manages to make the original look like a wise mentor. The third who pops up later is a 2D man-child. Nothing Barry does is engaging or sympathetic, but yet the film assumes we love him as much as those working on it clearly do.

This multiple iterations could have worked if we had seen Barry mature over multiple films and then gone back to meet the “initial” version of himself. It makes no impact when we have no bond with the character. The film assumes emotional connections with characters and totems that simply don’t exist. For example, Future Barry is furious Past Barry uses a cherished teddy bear (his dead mother’s last gift) as a dartboard target. That might mean something if we’d seen Barry carry this totem for a couple of films: The Flash has to give us all the information about the totem (including its existence) within thirty seconds. It’s a small example of the film’s topsy-turvy nonsense.

While sprinting to introduce a franchise, it also indulges in piles of fan-bait nostalgia. The most obvious is, of course, the return of Michael Keaton as Batman. Perhaps due to Miller’s toxic nature, the film played this angle up big time in its trailers. But it’s nostalgia that only really means something to people in their 40s and 50s and literally sod all to most of today’s audience. Every second Keaton appears on screen it “homages” the Burton pics – he can’t take a crap without hearing Elfman’s music, the visuals are littered with references and Keaton wearily says things like “let’s get nuts”. Keaton looks like he hates himself for saying yes to the (presumably) truckloads of money he was paid to be here.

He only doesn’t win “most disengaged actor” because we have a thinking-of-his-castle Jeremy Irons and Michael Shannon trotting through the film practically wearing a t-shirt saying “by contractual obligation”. Shannon centres a CGI filled smackdown that inevitably ends the film’s penultimate act, before the multiple Allens disappear to a CGI world of parallel universes and dead actors recreated by the power of special effects and the desire of deceased actor’s estates to earn a tasteless quick buck (there is something really tasteless about Christopher Reeve’s appearance in particular).

The CGI in this film, by the way, is some of the worst you are ever going to see in a tentpole release. Never mind the uncanny valley of its array of nostalgia cameos or the blurry, explosion in a paint-shop vision of alternate realities, crammed with utterly unconvincing CGI clones of its actors. Watch Barry’s rescue of babies from a collapsing hospital in act one – these are hellish figures of uncanny unreality, looking like nothing less than the spawn of Satan. Let them fall Barry, let them fall!

That’s before we even start on the crazy morality of this film. It’s idea that that past is sacrosanct and must never be changed fits it’s worship at the altar of nostalgia – after all it’s the film where a film from 1989 is treated like a holy text. It could have worked if the film had committed to its idea that we have to learn to let go of our grief and that heroes need moments of tragedy to set them on the path to greatness. But after witnessing all this, our Barry at the film’s end… changes the past AGAIN to save his Dad. Did he learn nothing? What kind of message is this?

But then this sort of muddled nonsense probably comes from the length of time the film gestated: it was in development for nearly a decade. So long, that its star became a toxic criminal, a separate TV-show about the Flash was developed, screened for eight seasons, adapted this very story and ended and the franchise this was meant to be part of died. The Flash emerges from this rubble as a catastrophic piece of contractual obligation. The death rattle of a franchise, which was released because its studio had invested so much in it, it was desperate to make something back. It’s a film no-one wanted to make, release or see. A test case for the nightmare modern franchise box-office film-making is.

Venom (2018)

Totally unoriginal and standard comic book caper, saved only by its inventive lead performance

Director: Ruben Flesicher

Cast: Tom Hardy (Eddie Brock/Venom), Michelle Williams (Anne Weying), Riz Ahmed (Carlton Drake/Riot), Scott Haze (Roland Treece), Reid Scott (Dan Lewis), Jenny Slate (Dora Skirth)

Did this film catch me in a good mood? Much to my surprise I rather enjoyed this dopey attempt to bring fanboy-fav villain Venom to the big screen. Last seen adding to the silliness in the utter mess that was Spider Man 3, the outer-space slime who possess its host returns as an anti-hero. Sure, he likes to eat people and suchlike, but when push-comes-to-shove he’s on our side helping to keep our world safe. Safe sums up Venom, which offers a series of set-pieces none of which are troubled with originality. What makes it stand out is the delight Tom Hardy brings to the role.

Hardy is Eddie Brock an investigative journalist framed by the film as a success who gets unlucky, but embodied by Hardy as a loser (it’s the first sign of Hardy’s originality butting up against the film’s obviousness). Fired after his investigation into shady goings-on at Biotech company Life Foundation – run by charismatically cold billionaire Carlton Drake (Riz Ahmed) – Brock goes from hero-to-zero and his fiancée, lawyer Anne Weying (Michelle Williams) leaves him after finding out he stole from her to gain access to Life Foundation. Brock continues his investigation after homeless people start to go missing. They were unwilling test subjects in Drake’s attempt to bond human beings to mysterious alien symbionts. Eddie is infected with one of the symbionts, Venom, the two of them forming an uneasy partnership in their body share. Will they work together to save the Earth?

Most of the success in Venom is exclusively down to Hardy. Where the film zigs, Hardy zags. Venom clearly wants a traditional, handsome, charismatic journalist hero, the sort of guy who puts the greater good first and only fails when he’s let down. Hardy plays him as a grungy odd-ball with a whiny voice, frames most of his decisions as taking the easy path and is happy to show him backing down from challenges. Hardy then pounces on the chance to counter-balance this with Venom, a gravelly id-machine that ends up playing like the dark underbelly of Brock’s hidden desires.

The most interesting parts of the film by far is the internal conversation between these two Hardy performances. Venom is the foul-mouthed monster who wants to indulge himself, Brock is the passive timid figure forever asking Venom to behave himself. Hardy gives the film a sort of gay subtext as frenemies Brock and Venom settle into an odd-couple life partnership. At one point Venom infects a second character: how does he “re-enter” Eddie? Through a passionate kiss between the Venomised second host and Brock. The two of them spark off each other like a feuding married couple, with Venom’s decision to protect the Earth based eventually on ‘liking’ Eddie.

It’s the main original beat in the film that Hardy seizes upon to make its heart. His performance is droll, playful, physically committed, strangely funny and rather sweet. It’s a heck of a lot better than the film deserves and its leaning into making its personality-split lead a weakling and a monster who effectively, unspokenly, fall-in-love feels very different from things we’ve seen elsewhere.

Which is good because almost everything else has been seen and done elsewhere. Fleischer largely fails to make any of the action sequences particularly new or interesting. There is a punch-up in an apartment (which does see Hardy bouncing around the room with a symbiote induced athleticism), a traditional car chase full of car smash-ups that Flesicher is so excited about he presents the smash-ups occurring multiple times from different angles. A SWAT team chases Venom around a building before a Terminator 2 style tear-gas filled foyer smackdown – with the hero imploring the killing machine he’s working with not to hurt anyone. (The humanising of Venom does have echoes of the taming of Arnie’s Terminator).

As in multiple Marvel films the villain is a dark echo of the hero. Riz Ahmed coasts through a barely written role of an egotistical Steve Jobs type, before merging with a-properly-Evil symbiote intent on loosely defined global destruction. This inevitably leads to a prolonged film-closing CGI-smackdown, as two opponents with the same skills face-off to control the launch of a rocket. No interesting comparisons or contrasts are drawn between Brock and Drake who gets only a whiff of motivation.

There are more interesting beats – though again not quite original – with Michelle Williams’ former fiancée who is given both a few proactive beats and a highly likeable and sympathetic new boyfriend in Reid Scott’s Dan Lewis (playing against the sort of smug roles he is often cast in). These fine actors bounce well off Hardy – and share in his delight in dopey humour and slapstick, noticeably in a posh restaurant sequence that sees Hardy sink himself in a lobster tank and eat the inhabitants.

Away from this though Venom is nothing special. So why did I enjoy it? Because I suppose in its derivativeness it at least offers brain-relaxing fun and it’s lifted to a slightly higher level by Hardy’s inventive approach. Aside from him there is almost nothing original, interesting or different here – but yet I enjoyed it while it passed the time.

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022)

Grief and loss are the beating heart of this tender and heartfelt Marvel film, mixed with standard action tropes

Director: Ryan Coogler

Cast: Letitia Wright (Shuri), Lupita Nyong’o (Nakia), Danai Gurira (Okoye), Angela Bassett (Queen Ramonda), Tenich Huerta Mejía (Namor), Dominique Thorne (Riri Williams), Winston Duke (M’Baku), Martin Freeman (Everett K Ross), Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Valentina Allegra de Fontaine), Florence Kasumba (Ayo), Michaela Coel (Aneka)

There is one thing you can never imagine – and never want to – having to plan for in your franchise. The tragic loss of your lynchpin. For Black Panther that man was Chadwick Boseman, and his heart-breaking early passing hangs over the film like a shroud.

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever is two films in one. One is a standard Marvel adventure film, with gags, set pieces and careful groundwork laid for future entries. The other is a heartfelt eulogy, a processing of the raw shock the people making the film – and many watching it – felt at the loss of this fine actor. In universe, T’Challa (Boseman) has passed away. His sister Shuri (Letitia Wright) blames herself for failing to save his life and his mother Queen Ramonda (Angela Bassett) has become protective and unrelenting in her judgements.

With its monopoly on vibranium, Wakanda is now the most powerful nation on Earth. Other powers want a piece of that apple – and the US are plumping the deaths of the oceans for vibranium. But their search intrudes on a secret underwater civilisation led by wing-footed, super-strength Namor (Huerta Mejía). Namor threatens to unleash destruction unless Wakanda deliver him the scientist who created the US’s vibranium detector – who turns out to be a college student genius with Tony Stark vibes, Riri Williams (Dominique Thorne). When Shuri refuses to hand her over, Namor states he is coming for the surface – and will destroy Wakanda, a country he cannot trust.

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever is bookended by two heart-breakingly genuine moments of emotion. The death of T’Challa (off screen) and his funeral – a grief stricken, beautifully filmed funeral procession – carries a great deal of genuine rawness. A final montage of shots of Boseman, presented as the memories of Shuri finally coming to terms with her brother’s death is moving. The strongest parts of the film are these human moments. Wright has been open at her shock and pain at Boseman’s death and this translates beautifully in her affecting performance.

These adjustments to the script are the strongest parts of the film. Letitia Wright and Angela Bassett provide subtle, delicate work as two people affected by grief in very different ways, but both now more reckless, protective and retributive than before. The responses, guilt and pain of several characters carry real force and leave the deepest mark on the audience. It also builds a subtle “passing the torch” narrative, as Wakanda fears they have seen the last of their “Black Panther” who protected their nation through history.

Away from this, the film settles into being a more traditional Marvel franchise extender. Rightly much time has been given to the real-life tragedy, but this means much of the remainder of the plot feels rushed. Our new antagonists are hurriedly introduced – so much so that leader Namor (well played by Tenich Huerta Mejía with a charisma that covers an under-written part) introduces his people’s entire culture in an awkward info dump an hour into the film. Not a single other character of his merman race gets so much as a name (as I can remember) let alone a personality.

Despite being a slightly silly concept of an Atlantan (but definitely not Atlantis because that’s already been claimed by another franchise) underwater city with water pressure having given its inhabitants super-human strength, it is another strong commitment to diversity. These people descend from the Mayan civilisation, meaning they share the same history of persecution by the West as the African nations Wakanda represents. It should make them natural allies, right?

Of course, it doesn’t as this is a film that pivots on the mistakes and miscalculations of political leaders and how these force them into war. The film makes its point about political rivalries early with Ramonda giving the French and US an almighty ticking off at (a surprisingly small) UN for their ruthless attempt to obtain vibranium for themselves. However, Black Panther: Wakanda Forever dodges really delving into the most interesting implications of this.

Because there is a kernel of a really interesting, challenging idea here. In many ways Wakanda behaves with exactly the same domineering arrogance as the Western powers they criticise. The Wakandans take unilateral decisions for the world because they know best, treat other nations like recalcitrant children and horde the world’s most powerful resource for themselves. They are this close to a benign, dictatorial state. But the film isn’t interested in exploring this.

Bringing Wakanda and Talokan into rivalry on the grounds of Talokan seeing them as potential oppressors – as the most powerful among the surface nations they have always feared would crush them – would have been more interesting than the confused, convoluted “with us or against us” war we end up with. But I understand that a film, which prides itself on celebrating African culture, is not going to want to be seen as undermining any of that with something sharper.

Besides, this is all a set-up for the inevitable large scale action sequences. The finest is a haunting attack on a ship, where the Talokans use their siren voices to inspire the crew of an American black ops ship to drown themselves. There’s a decent car chase, some well-choreographed fights a pitched battles that thrill. It’s also notable that the loss of Boseman has led to this franchise being dominated by women of colour, all of whom deal with the sort of dilemmas and consequences that are normally the preserve of male (and white) comic-book heroes.

But the film’s heart is in the personal moments – and more interesting when looking at Shuri’s protective affection for Dominique Thorne’s plucky (sometimes overly so) inventor. It’s also interesting that this is a film that flirts more than I was expecting with its leads choosing anger and vengeance, over forgiveness and conciliation. Shuri and Ramonda lash out, with dangerous consequences, and express minimal regret. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever deserves points for being willing to tackle the negative implications of grief.

That’s the strength of the film, just as a pain of Boseman’s death is the beating heart. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever is overlong and skips more challenging ideas, but it is also shot through with genuine grief. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, well-meaning and (for all its silliness and bombast in places) has a heart firmly in the right place. When a Black Panther rises in the final act, you will feel the film has earned it.

Thor: Love and Thunder (2022)

Injokes, backslappery and smugness abound in this terrible Thor adventure

Director: Taika Waititi

Cast: Chris Hemsworth (Thor), Natalie Portman (Dr Jane Foster/Mighty Thor), Christian Bale (Gorr the God Butcher), Tessa Thompson (Valkyrie), Jaimie Alexander (Sif), Taika Waititi (Korg), Russell Crowe (Zeus), Kat Dennings (Dr Darcy Lewis)

Okay. Part way through this desperately unfunny tonal mess I wondered: if I had to choose would I watch this again, or Thor: The Dark World? I can’t quite believe it, but I’d rather watch that functional, forgettable, mundane film. At least it doesn’t make me angry as it drifts past my eyes. And I say that as someone who loved Thor: Ragnarok. Thor: Love and Thunder is terrible. So, unlike Star Trek, it looks like even numbered Thor films are awful – so at least Thor Five should be a doozy.

Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is in a state of ennui – although that doesn’t stop him restoring his buff form after we last saw him as a coach potato in Avengers: Endgame. He doesn’t know what to do with his life: he has (and I can’t believe the film doesn’t make this obvious joke considering its jukebox score) “lost that lovin’ feelin’”. Will the arrival of bereaved father Gorr (Christian Bale), and his mission to butcher all Gods because they don’t answer your prayers, give him meaning? Or will it be the chance to finally rekindle his love for Jane Foster (Natalie Portman) when she unexpectantly lands back in his life? However, it’s not the Jane he remembers: unknown to him, she’s dying from cancer, but his old hammer Mjolnir is keeping her alive, transforming her into a female version of Thor.

Thor: Love and Thunder is a bit like attending a victorious Thor: Ragnorak after-show party. Everyone there thinks everything they say is like the funniest thing ever and the air rings to the sound of backs being slapped. It takes everything that it believes worked best in that film and dials it up to eleventy thousand. Waititi doubles down on his quirky, off-the-cuff, shoulder shrugging humour at every turn and you get the feeling that no one once tapped him on the shoulder and said “you know that’s funny to us on set, but are we sure that will be funny in the audience?”

Because, based on the audience I saw it with, it wasn’t. I think I chuckled about three times in the film. Which considering it takes every single bloody opportunity to tell a joke, is damning. Perhaps it fails to land because, unlike in Ragnarok or other Waititi films, its like he’s surgically removed anything emotional or gives a weight to the gags. He’s also sacrificed much of his trademark sweetness. Instead, this is full of incredibly knowing, tip-the-wink gags at the audience, as if trying to say “hey it’s okay, we can’t take this seriously, comic books are all silly, silly shit”.

And you know, that’s fine many people take these things too seriously. But what worked about Thor: Ragnarok was it balanced a quirky sense of humour with genuine stakes and real emotional quandaries. This however is just a tonal mess. We have an opening scene dealing with child death, that shifts swiftly into knock-about farce. A leading character dying of cancer sitting alongside a pair of screaming goats. It is revealed Jane is effectively draining her life source using the hammer (that it is keeping her alive and killing her at the same time). Here’s a chance to explore the cost of heroism and finding a purpose in life (after all isn’t Thor supposed to be depressed? Wouldn’t Jane make a good contrast here?). instead, the film constantly retreats to playing the humour card (worst of all unfunny humour!), as if Waititi perhaps thinks this genre stuff is silly and slightly below him.

Ragnarok allowed moments of impact: this film shits all over any moment of potential emotional reality. Hemsworth’s Thor used to be a guy with a strong moral purpose and seriousness, but allowed to stretch his wings with comedic sharpness. Now he’s a buffoon who interrupts a speech to distraught parents with gags. Any attempt to build an arc of a hero who is internally lonely and searching for purpose is constantly smashed by self-consciously irreverent humour. It says a lot that Thor’s axe Stormbreaker feels as much a character as anyone else – although the film is overly pleased with the gag of the axe being jealous of Thor’s doe-eyes at his old hammer.

The entire film feels like it’s been plotted out in about four minutes. Presumably Waititi was confident “hilarious” off-the-cuff inspiration would solve any problems. Christian Bale struggles manfully with his villain – but it’s like no one gave him the memo that the film was a piss-take. Tedious detours fill the plot – like an un-funny Guardians of the Galaxy cameo at the start, a tiresome trip to an orgy-tastic God planet and the screeching giant goats which feels like a joke whose punchline has been cut. A major plot point about a wish granting Eternity God is suddenly introduced to establish a secret plan for the villain. It’s like no one gave a damn.

Waititi doubles down on funny stuff that worked in small doses in Ragnarok by stretching it past any point of humour here. Liked Neill, Damon and Lesser Hemsworth playing bad actors in that film? Well, you get bucket loads of it here with Melissa McCarthy as a Fat Hela (that’s the joke: she’s fat). Liked Korg’s overly literal asides? Well, he’s in seemingly every second of the bloody film here, including narrating it. Russell Crowe pops up for a cameo that everyone clearly feels was hilarious but really looks like a big-name actor amusing himself with a borderline racist Greek accent. The film is crammed with this crap.

Hemsworth does okay I suppose, but in many ways the film feels as much of an ego-trip for him as it does Waititi. Natalie Portman gets to do some some fun things, but comedy isn’t her natural forte and she struggles with getting the zing in the dialogue that Tessa Thompson manages. It builds towards a big ending where Thor weaponises children and then the film lands on an utterly unearned emotional ending at a secret place – as if Waititi suddenly remembered his films work best when they have a heart – at the centre of the universe that is so easy to reach you wonder why people didn’t go there much earlier in this franchise. Even the final explanation of the title feels thrown in at the last minute and I’ve no idea what we are supposed to make of Thor’s character arc in this film.

The lack of heart is what is missing here. There is nothing heartfelt or emotionally true really in this. Nothing to give you warm feelings or to make you say “ahh”. Instead there are just endless, endless smug insiderish-gags. This is a piece of shit and the silent reaction it got from the full audience I saw it with says it all. A smug, tonal mess by a director who is over-indulged and unrestrained and forgets that humour works best when grounded with some sense of drama. I’d definitely rather watch Thor: The Dark World again.

Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011)

Sexist, violent, crude and deeply disgusting. Transformers continues to make you weep for your childhood memories

Director: Michael Bay

Cast: Shia LaBeouf (Sam Witwicky), Josh Duhamel (Colonel William Lennox), John Turturro (Seymour Simmons), Tyrese Gibson (Robert Epps), Rosie Huntington-Whiteley (Carly Spencer), Patrick Dempsey (Dylan Gould), John Malkovich (Bruce Brazos), Frances McDormand (Charlotte Mearing), Kevin Dunn (Ron Witwicky), Julie White (Judy Witwicky), Alan Tudyk (Dutch Gerhardt)

I’m ashamed to say when I saw it in the cinema I sort of enjoyed it. Goes to show how the excitement of a trip out can make the most ghastly, horrible, vile piece of work feel like fun. Even at the time, I recognised enjoying Transformers: Dark of the Moon was like becoming engaged with the story-telling in a porno. Doesn’t change the fact it’s a crude exercise, pandering to your baser instincts.

The plot? Autobots. Decepticons. Blah, blah, blah. Don’t worry if you’ve not seen the previous films: this merrily contradicts them. In the 60s an Autobot ship crashes on the moon, the moon landings were all about exploring the wreckage. In the present day our “hero” Sam (a never more annoying, unlikable Shia LaBeouf) can’t land a job and the Decepticons hatch a plan to destroy the planet by bringing their homeworld Cybertron here. Former Autobot Boss Sentinal Prime betrays everyone. Optimus Prime doubles down on being a psychopath. It’s very loud and makes no sense.

Transformers: Dark of the Moon exposes Michael Bay’s aesthetics as those of a porn director. Everything is crude, huge, brash, obvious, tries to do as much work for you as possible and panders to your worst instincts. Dark of the Moon is shocking in almost every possible sense: from its crude sexism and leering camera, its revoltingly heavy-handed, end-of-the-pier, terminally unfunny comic relief, its overlong, explosive battle sequences (shot with the slavering longing of a pornographic gang-bang). Dark of the Moon is a revolting film, a disgusting perversion of what was a kids cartoon.

Can you imagine letting a child watch this? Let’s deal with its disgusting sexism first. Megan Kelly had been sacked between this and Revenge of the Fallen for denouncing Michael Bay’s working basis (I’ll admit calling him Hitler went too far). Every chance in the film to disparage her character is taken (two appallingly unpleasant tiny Autobots all but call her a bitch). She’s replaced by Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, introduced walking up-stairs, the camera starting at her feet and trailing up, lingering on her bottom (she’s wearing just a slightly-too short shirt). Later two characters will discuss “the perfect curves” of a car – while the camera pans up her body. Those are only the most egregious of the deeply uncomfortable sexual objectification of this poor woman.

How about its crude humour? Several actors enter a private competition to give the loudest, least funny comic cameo. Malkovich gurns and rants as Sam’s pointless, kung-fu obsessed boss. John Turturro does whatever he wants as a Transformers obsessed former-agent. Kevin Dunn and Julie White are eat-your-fist levels of unfunny as Sam’s parents. Worst of all is Ken Jeung as a Deep Throat style informer whose every scene is crammed with homophobic jokes about anal and oral sex. Remember, once upon a time this was for kids. All this alleged humour does is add to the already bloated run-time. You’ll suffer through every single word, because you certainly won’t miss it due to laughing. Bay’s idea of funny is if the joke is delivered LOUD by a wild-eyed actor, preferably accompanied by a whip-pan. He’d probably love Roy Chubby Brown.

The film has two of the least likable heroes perhaps ever placed on film. Shia LaBeouf must have genuinely hated himself by the time he made this. Perhaps that’s why he makes no effort to make Sam even one per cent likeable. Sam is a whining, petulant man-child, alternating between bitching about his job to bragging about his trophy girlfriend (whom he spends half the film whiningly chasing). In the first of these films, LaBeouf had a goofy charm. Now the character is just a deeply arrogant little prick, with major entitlement issues. LaBeouf shouts and screams throughout, but mostly just looks really angry at himself for even being there.

Then we come to the pièce de resistance: Optimus Prime. When I was a kid, this noble warrior was like the perfect Dad. Traumatised kids wept when he died in the animated movie. Revenge of the Fallen started turning him into a violent killer. This completes the journey. Bay probably thinks Prime is a bad-ass taking names. He’s actually a violent, psychopathic killer who arrives at a battle with the inspiring words “We will kill them all”. Prime allows the whole of Chicago to be destroyed (at the cost of millions of lives) to prove a point to the stupid humans. At the film’s end he reacts to Megatron’s offer of a truce by ripping out his spine and then executes Sentinel Prime by shooting him point blank in the head while Sentinel pleads for his life. Ladies and gentlemen: our hero.

It’s customary to say the special effects are good, so: the special effects are good. The violence is pornographic, shot often in slow-mo, with explosions, fast editing and huge noise filling the screen. Transformer bodies are mauled, beheaded, eviscerated. There are several rather chilling executions. Prime rips out the equivalent of heart, lungs, eyes and brains. Bay adds a reddish oil to the transformers, which looks like blood spraying up. Just like the humour, the action goes on FOREVER. The final Chicago battle takes up fifty minutes of buildings falling, brutal slaughter and triumphalist flag-waving. After repeated viewings it’s not just boring, it starts getting offensive.

Dark of the Moon is, quite simply, only just (only, only, only just) better than Revenge of the Fallen – and it says it all that it’s because it’s not as racist. In every other sense it’s simply revolting: violent, crude, sexist and homophobic. This is a horrible, horrible film made by a soulless director. It genuinely is like a beautifully shot pornographic film that wants you to respect the craft that’s gone into it while you finish yourself off. For a brief few seconds you might get sucked in – but you’ll certainly not be boasting about it afterwards.

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

Marvel opens up its infinite universes as it lays the groundwork for bringing back old characters with new faces in this corporate outing

Director: Sam Raimi

Cast: Benedict Cumberbatch (Dr Stephen Strange), Elizabeth Olsen (Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch), Rachel McAdams (Dr Christine Palmer), Chiwetel Ejiofor (Karl Mordo), Benedict Wong (Wong), Xochitl Gomez (America Chavez), Michael Stuhlbarg (Dr Nicodemus West)

Spoilers: The main spoiler would be looking at the cast list. I won’t name the cameos are but I do mention a main plot development revealed within 15 minutes.

Parallel universes have infinite possibilities. These are largely not found in this lumpen, fan-service obsessed and (whisper it) slightly dull film that fails to follow-up on either the promise of the first film (to which it makes awkward call-backs) or its main concept. It allows Raimi scope to indulge his Evil Dead style visuals, but all within the confines of producing another entry in the series that feels like a bridge between chapters rather than an interesting story in its own right.

Dr Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) attends the wedding of former girlfriend Christine Palmer (Rachel McAdams), when he’s torn away to fight a squid monster chasing a teenager, America Chavez (Xochitl Gomez). America has the power to travel between parallel universes – and is dragging behind her the dead body of a parallel Strange who failed to protect her from a mysterious foe trying to steal her power. Strange, Wong (Benedict Wong – the most engaging performance in the film from this under-rated actor) and the Sorcerers protect America – but Strange’s attempt to recruit Wanda Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen) goes awry when it turns out its she hunting America, using dark magic in an attempt to find her parallel versions of her lost children.

DSITMOM has been called the MCU’s horror film: which by no means makes it The Exorcist. It’s a sort of very, very gentle entrée to the genre – like Cronenberg’s Videodrome was turned into a kid’s TV series or a comic-book version of Raimi’s The Evil Dead. It has a few flourishes, but none of this is allowed to get in the way of the corporate enterprise. It’s more interested in giving people what it feels they want and fitting itself into the timeline of a series.

In fact it sometimes feels like an attempt to mirror the success of Spider-Man: No Way Home (I wonder how many of the cameos were added after that film’s release?). It takes the elements of guest stars and parallel universes and presents them in ways that provide little insight or long-term reward. In No Way Home alternate versions of characters are used to explore how different events could have shaped our heroes. The returning stars aren’t just thrown in, they have arcs and emotional journeys. The whole is both fun and an engaging story but also nostalgic. Compare, as well, the TV series Loki (by the same writer) that brilliantly used parallel versions of its lead to deconstruct and develop his character.

DSITMOM does none of this. There are rich opportunities to see how Strange may have developed in different universes: after all this is the closest thing to an “ends justify the means” character in the MCU. Would different versions of him go more or less further – and how might it make our Strange reflect on his occasionally ruthless ‘big picture’ thinking (this is after all, as the film mentions, the guy who allowed half of all life to blink out of existence as part of a masterplan only he knew). We don’t get nearly enough of that. In fact, we get virtually none of it.

These opportunities are ignored in the two parallel universes we spend the most time in, where Strange is either a dead war hero or an insane hermit corrupted by dark magic. Neither of these characters is really contrasted effectively or interestingly with our version. A faint plotline of Strange learning trust from the mistakes of others is threaded through, but only lightly. Instead, the film focuses more attention on Strange’s lost love for Christine Palmer, an oddly unsatisfying focus since Strange has appeared in at least four films since his first solo effort six years ago, and the franchise has failed to mention this motivating loss once (not even a throwaway line in No Way Home to build it up).

Mind you it’s better than the development Wanda Maximoff gets. DSITMOM is pretty much impenetrable unless you’ve watched WandaVision. Even if you have, as I have, you’ll probably be a little annoyed at the ‘development’ she gets here. At the end of that series, Wanda had accepted the damaging consequences of her grief and started moving on. Here though, she’s a sociopathic monster defined solely by her motherly grief and her ruthless determination to tear universes apart to heal it. It feels retrograde to, essentially, be saying “women who suffer loss go axe-crazy” or to double down on her willingness to harm others to cling to a ‘normal life’ fantasy (as well as contrary to the hopeful tone the series ended on).

That’s not to mention the clumsy fan service peppering the film. The main outing to a parallel universe is basically an excuse for fan-pleasing cameos. These amount to nothing more than a series of actors popping up say “Hello I’m Y” and promptly suffering terrible fates (because it’s a parallel universe and your plot armour means nothing there). Like Yoda fighting Christopher Lee, it’s cool when you first see it but risks becoming less and less rewarding overtime because it’s utterly insubstantial.

DSITMOM is basically insubstantial. It drags on – it’s a chase film that largely lacks momentum – it has a series of slightly bored looking actors (Ejiofor wins, with a Mordo who seems to have become Strange’s nemesis in the interim between this and the first film despite never being mentioned in any other film since), gets absorbed in a MacGuffin filled plot (there are no less than two Magic Books of Wham-a-bam that are being hunted or fought over) and flattens down most of Raimi’s style into a corporate product with little heart (compare this to his Spider-Man films which look like Citizen Kane or Vertigo next to this).

There are about two moments of invention: a sequence when Strange plummets through a series of bizarre parallel universes (including one where he’s made of paint) and a battle between two Stranges that utilises musical notes as weapons. Everything else feels production flattened, as do the actors, and ends teeing you up for a third film with another “whoop” cameo. Flat, lumpen and failing to capitalise on its possibilities, this is a big disappointment, an empty lightshow with brief but shallow pleasures.