Jonah Naplan   November 9, 2023

Marvel won me back with “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3.” Now they’ve lost me again.

"The Marvels” is the latest reinforcement of that feeling we’ve all been experiencing nonstop since around the time the first season of “What If…?” premiered in August 2021: Marvel fatigue. It is no less than further proof that we maybe don’t need a new Marvel project every two months, or, more obviously, a constant stream of clichéd, lackluster content just for the sake of it, especially since real fans haven’t actually shown much satisfaction over the Phase Four and Five projects, save for some of the genuinely inspired and heartfelt entries (i.e. “GotG Vol. 3,” “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings,” and “Moon Knight”). This is, among other things, an embarrassment to the franchise, the characters involved, and, most importantly, the trio of fine actresses who play them, all of whom have proven themselves more than worthy of competent star vehicles in the past, either on their respective big or small screens.

I’ve openly defended 2019’s “Captain Marvel” on grounds that it’s not without flaws, sure, but it’s also a perfectly acceptable comic book picture to introduce an iconic character. I was a massive fan of the “Ms. Marvel” Disney+ series, up until the clichéd finale episode, of course. And Monica Rambeau in “WandaVision” was perhaps one of the show’s best facets. This is a powerhouse trio of strong, capable women, who have each performed their badassery in other Marvel incarnations that have held them in different roles and spectrums of significance. “The Marvels” centers an intergalactic, humanity-destroying plot around the three of them that forces the girls to join hands and team up against yet another Kang the Conqueror, or Ultron, or Thanos, this time named Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton), a Kree soldier with retribution in her heart.

The plot is merely an abbreviated version of so many things we’ve already seen in other Marvel TV shows and movies, and the new twists it does offer aren’t nearly interesting enough to reach the heights of anything memorable. Carol Danvers (Brie Larson), Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani), and Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris) are all going about their typical lives (well, typical to where they find themselves by that point), when they, quite instantly, start switching places whenever they use their powers, with no precise rhyme or reason as to why. We learn later on that this has something (but only something) to do with the sister bangle of Kamala’s, discovered by Dar-Benn on a mysterious planet in the opening sequence of the film, and this narrative corner is trotted out so obnoxiously for slapstick and sight gags that we start getting annoyed after a while.

This inevitably lends itself to lots of comic-book fighting, as the Marvels switch back and forth between planets, corridors, and suburban New Jersey homes, the first example of the movie’s frenetic style that doesn’t really seem to have a pause button or an object for detail. And much of the film’s action will continue to follow in the same lane, wallowing in indiscernible crashes and bangs and bright lights, never furthering the narrative or even enhancing the stakes in an organic way. Among this mess is Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson, snarky as always), who never offers anything to this saga, other than another outlet for fans to point at the screen and shout the name of a character that they recognize. Director Nia DaCosta, whose 2021 “Candyman” remake was a horror revelation, was a promising choice for this superhero picture, but her talent is wasted, seemingly even more stamped out by a content machine than normal, with more prerequisites for what these movies must cover instead of mining actual creative routes.

And so much of “The Marvels” feels soulless, existing only as a vehicle to propel the plot forward and build upon the neverending timeline that will continue to grow as the franchise perseveres for decades to come. Like the worst Marvel projects, the movie seems to have zero interest in the action of the moment, focusing all its attention on what may or may not happen in other series installments and iterations. Watching a movie so infatuated with the future rather than the present is sickening, and the fact that the plot is so one-dimensional brings to light the real struggles creative writers face when it comes to being replaced by AI content-generating machines.

The few moments where “The Marvels” actually feels original and fresh are its highlights. A landing on a flamboyant planet in which all of its inhabitants speak only in song is an inspired touch, but one that may rub some viewers the wrong way. And a climactic sequence backed by the song “Memory” from Cats is funny in its absurdism, sort of in the same vein as Taika Waititi’s “Thor” outings. But the rest of the movie holds our trio basically running from one big CGI action sequence to the next, shouting things about saving the world, protecting the sacred bengal, and whatnot.

Yet again, this Marvel movie has a villain problem, which is buoyed by an uncharacteristically hammy performance from Ashton, who, like Jonathan Majors in “Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania,” seems to be acting opposite everyone else here, perhaps living in a different movie with a more dour tone; her dead-pan demeanor never matching the upbeat energy of the rest of the ensemble. The difference between her and Gorr the God Butcher in “Thor: Love and Thunder,” a similarly grisly villain, is that Bale’s disconnect was played for laughs, and he was the best part of the whole movie. The second Dar-Benn, in essence, starts to morph into Thanos, is when the movie loses individual personality, milking the character into submission to become a threatening terrifier, even though no one can live up to the Purple Raisin, both in power and screen presence.

“The Marvels” is at its strongest when Carol, Monica, and Kamala are kicking butt together, even though most of the “kicking butt” is just torpedoing super fast in a ball of fire towards large, ominous objects that they would like to destroy. Their camaraderie is passable enough, but it’s mostly used as a narrative device that I’m hoping will be enhanced in future installments. The movie gives very little justice to each of them individually, and if you watch the film without any prior knowledge about the characters, you won’t leave knowing any more than you did walking in. It’s a real shame, especially because of how great each actress is. Brie Larson, regardless of offscreen brushes with fans, has always been an indomitable screen presence, luxuriating in the light of the most powerful Avenger, while Teyonah Parris and Iman Vellani—the latter especially—have been so intriguing to watch in Marvel’s television projects. Their talent gets hopelessly wasted amidst this expensive slog, which has them barrelling through cringey dialogue exchanges and clichéd jokes that never get funnier the more they’re replayed.

I remember a time when we’d go into each new Marvel movie expecting it to be great. Now we can only pray that they’ll at least be good. “The Marvels” is the latest hiccup of a corrupt entertainment complex that feels as though the only way it can stay relevant is if it constantly regurgitates new content to keep the franchise wheels greased and turning. But their most recent effort falls especially flat, begging the question: what are we even doing here anymore? Nothing, apparently.

Now playing in theaters.