Thunderbolts* strikes home
Threats in the Marvel Cinematic Universe have come in all shapes and sizes but none have lacked in grandeur. There have been rogue gods, out of control robots, characters able to alter time and reality, mad sorcerers and eternal beings that wield unimaginable power. The threat in Jake Schreier’s Thunderbolts* is seemingly much more benign but no less dangerous as the enemies its heroes contend with are fear and self-loathing.
Thunderbolts* is remarkable in the MCU in that it is such an intimate story, relatively speaking. Galaxies aren’t being saved, multiple dimensions aren’t being traversed and alien invasions aren’t being repelled. No, this character-driven exercise is about dealing with inner turmoil as its roster of extremely flawed characters are forced to come to terms with the sins of their past, each desperate for a moment of atonement. As such, it winds up being perhaps the most accessible and relatable of the Marvel adventures, one that hits home with an understated power and poignancy that, in a genre that’s become known for its numbing bombast, is most welcome.
There’s a reason you might be unfamiliar with the members of the titular team as they are all castoffs, would-be heroes and sometimes villains, that have been brought low by fate or hubris. Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh), Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), Alexei Shostakov (David Harbour), John Walker (Wyatt Russell), Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen) and Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko) all have two things in common: they are haunted by past transgressions, and each has been hired by CIA Director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) at one time or another to complete under-the-table acts of espionage.
Under investigation by the U.S. Congress, de Fontaine is desperate to cover her tracks regarding her association with OXE corporation. This diverse multi-national conglomerate has its fingers in many pies, among them the Sentry Project, an initiative involving experiments on humans to create a superbeing that would be militarized. She contacts Belova, Walker, Ghost and Taskmaster to infiltrate a bunker to destroy some sensitive material and then, unbeknownst to each, kill each other. Of course, this all goes sideways, as only one of them is slain before the others deduce what’s happening. In the aftermath, they find an unassuming guy by the name of Bob (Lewis Pullman), who winds up being much, much more than he seems.
Catching wind of de Fontaine’s plan, Barnes sets out to bring in the rogue group, which now also includes Shostakov, Belova’s foster father who has come to their rescue. He soon realizes nothing is as it seems and before you know it, these reluctant allies decide to work together to bring in one of de Fontaine’s guinea pigs, which is raging out of control.
To be sure, the plot hardly smacks of originality, yet the depth of the characters and the committed work of the cast makes this far and away the best of the recent Marvel fare. Pugh is an absolute delight to behold. Her droll humor and unaffected demeanor are at the forefront but beneath Belova’s icy facade is a great deal of pain, which the actress poignantly gives voice to. She’s captivating in every scene she’s in, especially when playing off Harbour as her clueless, arrogant pseudo-father. A hero in his own mind, Shostakov’s grandiose pronouncements concerning himself and ill-fated attempts at optimism cause eyerolls from all in earshot. Harbour’s over-the-top approach compliments Pugh’s stoicism, yet during a sincere heart-to-heart that occurs between them, all artifice falls away for a genuinely moving moment.
While the other characters aren’t given as much to do, each make the most of their moments in the spotlight. The bravado Russell brings to Walker is, appropriately, never wholly convincing, reflecting the character’s doubt, while the desperation John-Kamen imbues Ghost with is in keeping with her longing to do good. As for Pullman, he ends up being the film’s secret weapon, the actor’s initially unassuming guise giving way to something much more tragic. As for Stan, he’s the veteran of the group and wisely underplays his part while in the company of the broader characters.
As Marvel movies go, this is a very modest affair in terms of action. There are only three set pieces, much of the derring-do restricted to confined or remote locales. As expansive as it gets is perhaps a square mile of Manhattan real estate outside of Penn Station. Seeing our heroes rescue everyday folk from falling debris or tossed cars proves refreshing, these acts more meaningful and relatable than feats of universe saving. None of the action sequences overstay their welcome or come off as too much. Rather than feeling exhausted or numbed by it all, which has become all too common with modern action films, I left thrilled and satisfied.
Hopefully, this approach does not alienate Marvel’s core audience and result in bad word-of-mouth. That would be a shame, as this is perhaps the most relatable of the entries in the vast franchise. Seeing Belova and her comrades brought low by guilt and shame, then fighting to find a way to put their demons to rest grounds Thunderbolts* in a way none of the other Marvel films have. Like us, they are faced with the temptation to simply give up and wallow in their troubles or find the will to face another day, hoping for an opportunity to do better. In the end, they display a brand of heroism we all can aspire and relate to. In theaters.
Cage rides Surfer’s tumultuous waves
We come to expect certain things with established actors. We tend to think of Meryl Streep in austere, serious roles, while a George Clooney movie tends to feature the actor as the cool, confident sort who can handle most any situation. Obviously, both accomplished performers have successfully played against type again and again, showing a versatility that tends to keep the audience on their toes, but we tend to associate qualities from them they find hard to shake.
As for Nicolas Cage, once his name is attached to a film, all bets are off. It may be a drama, it might be an action flick, it could be a horror feature with a B-movie sensibility. You’re not quite sure what you’ll get with him, other than the fact that the actor will be completely committed in his role, to the point he will hopefully lose all abandon and generate some meme-worthy moments.
Such is the case with his latest, The Surfer, a small wonder from Down Under, helmed by Irish director Lorcan Finnegan. Cage is featured in the titular role, a man desperate to reconnect with his teenage son (Finn Little). Though sporting an American accent, the Surfer insists he was born in Australia and is intent on buying his old family home, which overlooks Luna Bay. When he tells his boy of his intentions, the young man is disinterested. Hoping to reconnect with him, the old man suggests they go surfing; however, they’re rebuffed by a group of locals who insist only natives from town can be on the beach.
This encounter doesn’t go well, the Surfer’s son leaving even more disillusioned with his father, who winds up stuck at the beach when his car battery dies. Things spiral further out of control when the leader of the – for want of a better word – tribe (Julian McMahon) sees his presence as trespassing and encourages the others in his group to harass our hero.
The attacks on the Surfer escalate until he’s completely emasculated and forced to resort his most base tendencies to survive. Toxic masculinity is in Finnegan’s crosshairs, the members of the cult seen as brutish, propelled by the need to dominate everything and everyone they encounter. This behavior leads to a shocking conclusion that’s both cathartic and terrifying.
That the main characters are given no names is telling, though to delve into that here would be to strip away some the film’s mystery. Why the Surfer is unable to leave the beach and ignores the repeated warnings of “You don’t belong here,” is the key to the movie. Suffice it to say, it is a hell of his own making, one in which a reckoning must be rendered before he can move on.
The film’s middle sags a bit, the ever-increasing degradation of the titular character somewhat overdone. Thomas Martin’s script is very deliberate in the way it doles out information regarding the Surfer’s past, which may tax your patience. However, it does pay off handsomely with an ending you’ll be turning over in your mind for days after seeing it.
Be that as it may, Cage keeps you hooked throughout, the slow degradation of his character allowing the actor to channel the sort of manic desperation he’s become known for. However, here it is not done for comedic effect, a sense of pain and pathos coming through, the actor never mocking the Surfer’s plight or what he’s enduring. Cage’s humanistic approach provides The Surfer with heart and soul, leaving us to pity the character’s plight rather than scorn him for his mistakes. In theaters.