Hold Up, Marvel’s <em>Thunderbolts*</em> Is Actually Really Good

With thirty-six movies to its catalogue, I wouldn’t say the current state of the Marvel Cinematic Universe is boring. But it is bored. A middling Captain America sequel and countless subpar TV shows have failed to christen the next true leader of the A-team Avengers. The clock is ticking fast to Avengers: Doomsday, and it still feels like no one is coming to save the universe—let alone this franchise. The last thing the MCU ought to do is spin its wheels.

Enter the latest MCU entry, Thunderbolts*, directed by Jake Schreier and releasing wide in theaters on May 2. At a moment when the MCU is at its darkest hour, Thunderbolts* (the asterisk tees up a punchline delivered at the very end) rises to the occasion as a triumph. It’s an emotionally-driven spectacle that unearths fresh fruit in otherwise scoured artistic barrens. While Thunderbolts* treads familiar ground–literally, in the case of a dynamite act two set-piece in midtown New York–and still employs the MCU’s visual palette taken from TUMI luggage colorways, there's real blood coursing through its veins. You always see lightning before hearing thunder, but Thunderbolts* feels like getting caught in the storm.

Thunderbolts* opens with a sullen Florence Pugh—reprising Yelena, Scarlett Johansson’s adopted sister first seen in 2021's Black Widow—languishing in the ennui of Marvel blockbuster routine: A big stunt, ninja-like infiltration, hand-to-hand combat blending John Wick's tactical kung fu with acrobatic lucha libre in tight hallways. And punchy jokes. You know the vibe well. And yet, Thunderbolts* is another crowd-pleaser about the power of found families, this time with a roster made up of randomized villains, sidekicks, and side-characters from semi-recent Marvel media. They join in shared fury against antagonistic CIA director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, played by a salt-and-pepper Julia Louis-Dreyfus. The former Selina Meyer is no stranger to the MCU, having made a handful of appearances as a vaguely amoral authority figure with a silver tongue and a chess master's brain. But with more screen time to do literally anything besides speak in code about the next Disney+ spin-off, Louis-Dreyfus finally looks and feels comfortable in her villainous hues, allowing the movie the necessary gravitational pull to make its antiheroes look all the more heroic.

Wyatt Russell, Hannah John-Kamen, and Florence Pugh reprise their Marvel roles for the ensemble-centric Thunderbolts*.

Powersuit Elaine has an ace up her sleeve against the Thunderbolts. His name is Bob, a disturbed young man and former addict played by a multidimensional Lewis Pullman. If Pugh's Yelena is the face of Thunderbolts*, Pullman's Bob, later the government-sanctioned superbeing "The Sentry," is its heart. Pullman's tremendously sympathetic performance, characterized by wet puppy eyes and a shaky voice, is powerful enough to thaw even the iciest critics, a phenomenon I bore witness in an early screening surrounded by seen-it-all pros. In the spirit of Marvel's past breakout hit Guardians of the Galaxy, Thunderbolts* miraculously fosters attachment to characters whose first appearances in this franchise felt ethereal under the overwhelming shadows of Avengers: Endgame.

Thunderbolts* has a de facto main character in Pugh's Yelena, whose pouty face and dry smile mark the movie's central story arc. Pugh is more than up to the task as the movie's eye of the storm, her dependably stirring and textured performance giving Thunderbolts* heft beyond all its impactful body slams. But Thunderbolts* primarily succeeds as an ensemble piece, giving dimension to supporting players: There's John Walker (Wyatt Russell), a "junior varsity Captain America" who is sneakily the best character to emerge from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier; Alexei (David Harbour), the dad-bodded Russian super soldier who clings to a more glorious past. Hannah John-Kamen's Ghost, a discarded villain from Ant-Man and the Wasp, gets the second-shortest stick of the bunch, but stray moments of slickness ensure she's vaporware no more. Regrettably, the weakest tool in the garage may be Bucky (Sebastian Stan), a.k.a. "The Winter Soldier," now an entrenched saga staple. Perhaps playing the Winter Soldier for eleven years has taken a toll on Stan, or perhaps he's just instinctively comfortable with green-screen sleeves. But the Oscar-nominated actor feels the most like he's clocking in for another shift than his co-stars.

If Thunderbolts* is a coming-out party for anyone, however, it is Jake Schreier, the journeyman director whose last film was the tween rom-com Paper Towns in 2015. With such a short and unremarkable filmography up to this point, I cannot honestly describe Schreier's sensibilities as a director, if he has any. The bulk of his work has been on TV, consisting of notable cult faves and critical raves like Brand New Cherry Flavor and Beef. Now, back on the big screen and in an IP movie that has to balance abundant gun violence with selling toy sets, Schreier packs musculature as a filmmaker who can, in fact, do both. There's a budding identity to Schreier's eye; give him a few more of these movies and he could wind up on autopilot (see: Jon Watts) or break out (see: James Gunn). What kind of director Schreier will be is to be determined, but Thunderbolts* feels like the start of a promising new vision.

The secret sauce of Marvel's best movies? It’s always been the simple fact that even polar opposites can amount to a greater sum than their parts. Thunderbolts* is that to a T—no asterisk. It doesn't play a new tune. But Thunderbolts* knows thyself more than its sleek surface implies, and its beefy emotional core makes its exploration of Marvel's favorite themes–inherited traumas, the strength of friendships, superhero origins as delayed self-actualization–feel new again. With deep empathy for hardened yet attractive misfits and their engrossing journeys, Thunderbolts* is essential summer movie escapism, and proof that perhaps the lethargic Marvel Studios can still capture lightning in a bottle.