Thunderbolts*

So here we are, deep into the Marvel burnout era, where every new release feels like a post-credits scene from something better that came out five years ago. But against all odds, Thunderbolts* is… kind of good? Like, actually good? Or at least, good enough that you start wondering if it’s just the relative competence compared to Marvel’s recent sludge that’s making it seem like a masterpiece. Either way, I’ll take it. (By the way, the asterisk is part of the title and it will make sense once you see the movie).

The plot is simple and brisk: the Avengers are gone, or on vacation, or maybe just too expensive to get back on screen. So we’re left with a group of washed-up, damaged, D-list quasi-heroes — the Marvel misfit toys — who are forced to band together to take on an enormous threat. I assume that washed up heroes trying to make good is also a metaphor for Marvel trying to convince us it’s still got something in the tank. At least, I hope that metaphor is intentional, because it’s there either way.

Either way, the whole thing plays out over the course of a single chaotic day, and it moves. No multiverse lectures, no tedious origin story flashbacks — just a propulsive, tight timeline that knows how to keep the audience from checking their phones.

And weirdly? It has something to say. Sure, it’s a punchy action comedy, but underneath all the quips and chaos are themes like depression, regret, found family, and what it feels like to be broken — or worse, irrelevant. It’s Marvel’s own Suicide Squad, but emotionally literate. These are characters who’ve been used and discarded by life, as well as the MCU machine, and now they’re thrown together like damaged goods at a garage sale. Somehow, it works. There are real emotional beats here. Real feelings.

Florence Pugh is the heart and soul of this thing. She commands the screen with her comic timing and sharp vulnerability; a human lie detector wrapped in sarcasm and trauma. Wyatt Russell and David Harbour also bring some much-needed grit and comic relief, often in the same breath. The cast in general is a highlight because you get the sense they’re all in on the joke, but still care enough to make it land.

It’s also, importantly, funny. Like, actually funny. But with an edge. This is darker than your average Marvel fare. Not in a grimdark, Zack Snyder way, but in a “these people have been through some shit” kind of way. And when it hits those emotional notes, a moment of shame, of reckoning, of reluctant camaraderie, it doesn’t flinch.

That’s not to say it’s flawless. Some of the writing, especially near the end, gets a little sloppy. A few themes and lines hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. And while most of the cast gets their moment, a couple characters feel underused — Ava Starr (the one who can phase through walls) is a complete afterthought, almost to the point of being useless as a character. Of course, you need a couple of strong POV characters in a big group, and Yelena fills that out well. But you know the balance might still be off when you realize that Sebastian Stan’s Bucky is also severely underutilized.

Final verdict? Maybe it is a little better than it deserves to be. Or maybe I’m just so used to mediocrity that this thing feels like art. Either way, I laughed, I cared, I stayed for the end credits (you should too — there’s more story), and I didn’t leave the theatre questioning my life choices. I guess that’s a win.

SPOILERS BELOW:

I wanted to give two quick examples of the sloppy writing:

1. After Walker becomes an Avenger, with money and resources, he chooses to keep his shield in taco form?
2. Also, why would this team choose to let Valentina off the hook for some pretty heinous crimes, including trying to kill them, that also almost resulted in the death of everyone on Earth? Just so they could become Avengers? I feel like this betrays the very idea of the heroes they were trying to become. They’re aspiring to be better people than being those who would hide crimes against humanity just to gain some status.