Star Wars in the Twenty-First Century

Last week, I finally got around to seeing The Last Jedi.

I’ll admit, I had some trepidation. I’d seen the Rotten Tomatoes debacle, heard about fan reactions. Low expectations were a part of why I took so long to see the film. The spoiler-free reviews I read seemed pretty promising, but that was almost even more discouraging. Was The Last Jedi just going to be another example of why critical opinions need to be taken with a grain of salt?

As it turned out, The Last Jedi reminded me why I tend to take fan reactions with a grain of salt.

To avoid spoilers, it’s only the last week I’m letting myself read commentary and the fan reactions. But after watching the movie and reading the articles that have slowly accumulated in a folder on my desktop, it seems the main justification for the vitriol is that the movie “absolutely ruins 30 years of cinema lore.”

While there is a kernel of truth in this statement, I have to admit, I find this thinking somewhat reductive.

In responding to that particular Tweet and the countless fans who agree with its sentiment, I’ll start by acknowledging that, yes, The Last Jedi disappointed me. It was a disappointment for the little boy who’s still somewhere in there, that continues to drive my fandom. In many ways, The Last Jedi spit in the face of the little boy who watched the originals as long ago as he can remember before getting his own generation of Star Wars.

This newest movie disappointed the part of me that drives my belief that Return of the Jedi is the best of the series. In many ways, The Last Jedi is the sequel to Episode VI we never saw with The Force Awakens.  Like all good sequels, The Last Jedi addresses the legacy of its predecessor. Luke’s bleak monologues cut to the romantic heart of Return of the Jedi’s neat fantasy ending: the comradery, the optimism, the mythologizing. The kid inside who continues to idolize Luke’s hero’s journey felt pretty hurt and even offended by the writers’ cynical manipulation of the mythology.

I get why people dislike this movie.

But I’m no longer just that kid. I’m also an adult who attempts to engage at least somewhat critically with the cultural artifacts I am exposed to.

My adult reaction to any offense taken after seeing The Last Jedi is basically this… the existence of a third Star Wars trilogy in a universe where George Lucas sold his baby to Disney is fucking offensive.

Most of the problems with both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi can be directly tied to the fact that the series should not even exist. Any manipulation of fan-favoured franchise lore isn’t the fault of a single writer or his film. His directing is not the reason Luke seems like an entirely different character in this movie. It would have been inevitable. Luke’s story ended with Return of the Jedi.

Any problems arising with his character can be traced back to the increasing commodification of franchises like Star Wars by entertainment giants (remember, Disney also owns Marvel Entertainment). Rian Johnson seems to understand this, and I wonder if this knowledge played a part in his choice to characterize Luke this way. Is it, perhaps, a statement? At the very least, he’s given an alternative to the predictably Yoda imitator we might have ended up with under a different director.

Whatever people say about the prequel trilogy fit, it directly into the creative vision Lucas created. The first follow up trilogy enhanced the franchises core themes and deepened the universe (providing space to revive a dying expanded universe) while mostly acknowledging the original trilogy as its foundation piece. This new trilogy was unplanned, clearly a product of corporate machinations. Our Twitter friend succinctly summarizes what many of us have been thinking since 2012: “cash cow only and goodbye to all that made #StarWars great.”

I’m almost tempted to say the world did end in 2012, because the world where Star Wars fandom is untainted by the postmodern malaise is no more. Hence, I return to my reaction The Last Jedi: I loved it. It’s up there with the best of the canon, precisely because it understands the place Star Wars is at in the 21^st century.

One of Star Wars’ many values is its reflection of the culture that produces it. The original trilogy reflected Reagan-era anti-communist rhetoric, centered on a hero’s journey to join the collective fight against the evil Empire. Concerned with diversifying the series mythology, the prequel trilogy is perennially well suited for the post-9/11 world, dissecting empires, republics, and religions. In the prequel trilogy, we witness an outdated order being torn down in a manner that seems both reflective and eerily prophetic. The prequel trilogy remains relevant when we look back from sixteen plus years into the War in Afghanistan.

Rian Johnson asks hard questions that have always existed in the Star Wars franchise but have never been tackled in the film’s main line. He exposes some of the problematic thinking promoted by the original Star Wars series, and the way that dogged faith in organizations and religions can exacerbate these problems. Despite Return of the Jedi’s optimistic ending, I’ve always wondered if the Jedi need to return. It was, after all, (as Luke notes at one point in the new film) the overconfident and bureaucratic Jedi order that allowed Darth Sidious to organize the Empire and order the Jedi’s destruction.

Perhaps, The Last Jedi asks, it is time to stop looking for the past for answers. This, of course, brings the film into conversation with contemporary political debates.

The Republic and the Empire both function as analogies for the American state. Though fans debate over how those analogies map onto the real world, look around the world today. Does any other political entity represent the First Order better than the United Sates and the late capitalist west more generally? Specifically, who better represents the First Order’s incompetent and extremist leadership than those politicians currently sitting in the White House?  

It’s no longer enough to joke about “the only other woman in the galaxy” as some form of empty lip service. It’s time to actively dismantle and deconstruct the institutions that reproduce social ills. On the fandom level, that means criticizing franchises like Star Wars and others when they fail to promote socially diverse narratives. It means questioning elements of fandom that are unwilling to compromise their views about the social ramifications that fiction has.

In terms of the franchise’s creative direction, it means little humanization for the villains and even less romanticism in dealing with them. The Last Jedi excellently deconstructs the naiveté of believing in the good inside. In real life, the good guy doesn’t turn, the eleventh hour plan fails, and a petulant man child is in charge of the most dangerous and powerful military in the galaxy. In real life, a villain’s backstory is second to the threat he poses threat. In the real world, actions define a person.

The Last Jedi is the first truly adult Star Wars film not just because it strays heavily into PG territory but because it is aware of itself and the franchise as a set of cultural artifacts with social ramifications. While the child in me will always love the original trilogy the best, The Last Jedi seems to point towards a future where nine films form a unified progressive update to the six-episode saga my heart still considers the core of Star Wars.

Mishandled, though, J.J. Abrams and Episode IX’s creative team risk dismissing some of the thematic depths reached in The Last Jedi. Though The Last Jedi is certainly one of Star Wars’ best moments, this seems largely due to Rian Johnson’s update to George Lucas’s creative vision. Two years on from The Force Awakens, I’m still unsure how I feel about this new trilogy.

A Short Review of Spider-Man: Homecoming

A while back, I wrote a piece addressing my thoughts on Spider-Man joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe. A few months later, when Captain America: Civil War came out, I wrote a review with my updated thoughts on Tom Holland’s web slinger.

Now, after his first solo outing, I am truly convinced: Tom Holland is Peter Parker.

As I’ve said before, the choice to make this incarnation of the character so distinctly innocent, so obviously a kid, serves to give him a degree of relatability that previous incarnations have lacked. 

This Peter Parker, true to the comics, is a fifteen year old social outcast who’s stumbled into a world that’s bigger than he is. And, unlike the Greek Gods and billionaire playboys of this universe, Peter has to deal with the very real struggles of teenaged angst, high school, and dating.

Spider-Man’s ability to navigate the fantasy of superpowers as well as the monotony of daily life is the true strength of his character. This is why he holds such a special place in my heart, as I know he holds a special place in so many others.

With Spider-Man: Homecoming, I am happy to see that the role has been placed in good hands. The tone of the movie is light, paying homage to the world he came from with references to The Avengers and Civil War, with Tony Stark playing a main role. This crossover allows for a certain passing of the franchise torch, and shows a degree of forethought on the part of the writers. With the knowledge that Robert Downey Jr and Chris Evans can’t anchor the franchise forever, Spider-Man: Homecoming marks what I expect to see in the post Infinity War era MCU, with a new generation of superheroes coming to the forefront.

A lot of thought seems to have been put into how Holland’s Parker learns to use his powers. The villain he faces in Homecoming, the Vulture, is arguably relatively weak on the scale of MCU villain hood. The film’s dialogue notes that Vulture would be finished if Iron Man or the Avengers were to notice him. In fighting the Vulture, we see an immature, eager, and clumsy Spider-Man learning his limits and learning to use his powers wisely. This dynamic between Parker and the movie’s villains makes for some entertaining scenes, including one hilarious interrogation scene. On a technical level, this learning curve also allows for a certain break in the monotony of super-hero action scenes. Rather than yet another film where Iron Man fights an army of robots, we have a refreshing mixing and matching of super-powers.

Spider-Man: Homecoming is one of the best films to have been released in Marvel’s shared universe, possibly the best behind only Civil War. More down to earth and relatable than many of its counterparts, Homecoming is a perfect Spider-Man film, staying true to the character and the tone of the world. Unlike many character introductions, this film dispenses with the well-trodden origin story, instead infusing backstory references to the dialogue.

Ultimately, Spider-Man: Homecoming is well worth the time and money to see in theatres, a truly loyal and heartfelt portrayal of my favourite superhero.

9/10

Logan: A Milestone Superhero Film

On-screen adaptations of comic book superhero stories have been around for decades, but the 2008 release of Iron Man and the growth of the Marvel Cinematic Universe kick-started a generation of blockbusters with superheroes at its core. It’s impossible to go more than a month or two without the release of a new entry into the canon. And while most of these films are hollow reiterations of the same action tropes – relying on beautiful stars and overbearing special effects – Hollywood occasionally produces a masterpiece within the framework of the genre.

Logan is one such masterpiece. Arguably one of the best superhero films of all time and certainly the best X-Men film since X2, the film is reminiscent of last year’s Deadpool, flipping the worn out superhero genre on its head.

After a decade of confusing timelines and alternate continuities, Logan brings the X-Men franchise back to its base. The film deals with concepts that much of the genre seems to forgotten, tackling complex themes you’d never find in an Avengers movie.

The film explores ideas of mortality and pain that Hugh Jackman’s previous solo outing, The Wolverine, introduced. In the year 2029, a visibly aged Logan (who has long given up the mantle of Wolverine) struggles with the slow and steady degradation of his powers. Meanwhile, Patrick Stewart’s equally decrepit Charles Xavier struggles with dementia and seizures.

Embedded in a brutally realistic and vaguely dystopic future, Logan asks uses the framework of the superhero film to ask relevant and timeless questions: what are the psychological and physical effects of aging? What happens when the most powerful mind in the world begins to break down? What happens when the immortal becomes mortal?

Much like Deadpool the film understands where it’s come from. It understands the tangled mess that the X-Men franchise has become, and does not try to resolve it. Where Deadpool addressed this issue with humour, Logan does so with cold, hard reality. Logan exposes the man behind the curtain, highlights the writer’s hand that is so often the curse of the superhero genre. Logan is grounded in reality more than any genre film to be released in the last few years.

In this way, the film tackles issues we’ve all had with the superhero genre. Of course it’s rewarding to see Iron Man fight off a hundred robots and then meet up with Thor, but is that really plausible? Is it really plausible that after 14 films, there hasn’t been a single major character death in the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

Logan calls bullshit. At one point, it is revealed that the young Laura is a fan of the in-universe X-Men comics. Logan’s reaction to the fictionalization of his stories is suitably cynical: “Maybe a quarter of it happened, and not like this.”

Indeed, if we lived in a world with super humans, it would not be a polished and clean one. It would be dirty and scarred, imperfect as our own. Logan knows this.

Logan takes our expectations of the genre – and our disillusionment with it – and crushes them beneath a clawed heel. There are no city-levelling battles, no clash of titans. Stadiums don’t fly and there are no robots. The Wolverine does not fight ninjas. Yes, the film uses its R-rating to the fullest potential, letting Wolverine show us what he is capable of; there is plenty of brutalization and dismemberment, in shocking yet somehow beautiful detail. But these scenes are window dressing. They are not where Logan’s weight lies.

No. Logan’s conflicts are far deeper, far more poignant.

In real life, people die. Mistakes are made. Conflicts are not resolved by the time the credits role. Sometimes, the heroes are not good people. Stories rarely have neat resolutions, and even rarer are those solutions happy ones.

Logan does not have a happy ending. And that’s okay. Because life doesn’t have a happy ending.

Ultimately a beautifully poignant character piece, the movie’s strength lies in the interplay between the two leading actors. In their swan song, both Jackman and Stewart offer their best performances yet, giving new dimensions to their characters as Logan struggles to continue taking care of himself and his mentor. Logan shows how apparently inhuman characters deal with intensely human problems. 

By giving us relatable themes of aging and loss, Logan shows us the true potential of the superhero genre. The struggle of Logan and Charles is our struggle. We all have ghosts, and we all have secrets.

One day, we all lose our powers.

Logan is a story about one man’s attempts to come to terms with the things he has witnessed, what he’s done. An attempt to find purpose in an existence that has become meaningless.

Isn’t that something we can all relate to?

Logan represents the way forward for a genre that has become stymied. It joins the canon of great genre films and, hopefully, marks what we will see in the years to come.

I’m sad to see Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart go. I’ll miss their iterations of their characters. But their time was up, and this movie was the perfect way to say goodbye.

Beautiful, powerful, a masterpiece of cinema: for realizing the limits – and therefore the potential – of its genre, Logan is one of the best films I’ve seen in years.

Why Jared Leto’s Joker exemplifies everything wrong with Suicide Squad

In light of underwhelming critical reception, the performances of a few talented individuals are Suicide Squad’s only saving grace. Jared Leto’s portrayal of the Joker, in particular, has been the subject of much praise, with many fans complaining that he was not given enough screen time. This complaint is surprisingly apt, given that the film’s mishandling of the character represents many problems originating from a case of too-many-cooks-in-the-kitchen.

Just as the film failed to determine a consistent tone, the writers seemed unable to decide whether the Joker was a sub-plot character or a primary villain. This confusion led a sense of pointlessness to the character, especially in light of the previous two years of promotion. Furthermore, despite all the hype surrounding the intensity of Leto’s performance, the end result is rather underwhelming, leaning heavily on Heath Ledger’s previous incarnation of the character.

Throughout the film, we see the Joker attempting to rescue Harley Quinn, the object of his twisted desire… and that’s about it. His plotline is secondary, a tangent that doesn’t really fit with the film’s storyline. Certainly, Leto’s villain is engaging while he’s on camera, yet one feels like they are watching different movies as the story jumps back and forth between the Joker’s pursuit and the Suicide Squad’s mission.

The relationship between Harley Quinn and the Joker is analyzed through clunky flashbacks that do not give either character the depth needed to fully shine. Though the pair are not the only characters introduced in such rushed exposition, they do provide the most prominent example of the writers’ failure to follow the basic “show and don’t tell” rule. Shots of the Joker seducing Dr. Harleen Quinzel are too rushed for the viewer to empathize with the truly appalling nature of their relationship, and the end result is far more unsatisfying than if their backstory had been left a mystery.

Through this twisted relationship, the writers had a perfect opportunity to portray the depth of the Joker’s depravity, the horrifyingly seductive nature of his madness. Instead, they opted to use the Joker as a promotional piece and Harley Quinn as a fetishized sex object. Given that Margot Robbie’s performance was, perhaps, the film’s greatest aspect, it was disappointing to see her constantly tied down to a tangent plotline. The scenes in which the Joker was not mentioned were her strongest by far.

Margot Robbie's performance was the highlight of the film,
but she was continually tied down to a pointless plotline

Suicide Squad reeks of studio meddling, best seen in the handing of the Joker, right down to the casting of Jared Leto. The character seems to serve no purpose other than to create cool shots for the trailers and increase the film’s marketability.

Given how soon Suicide Squad comes after Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece The Dark Knight, comparisons to Heath Ledger’s previous incarnation were inescapable. As Ledger’s Joker was easily one of the greatest cinematic performances in recent memory, any actor taking up the mantle so soon would inevitably do so in his shadow. Viewers wanted to see how Leto would fair, and the studio knew this. Thus, they continually manipulated the Joker’s promotion and portrayal in order to increase hype around him.

Indeed, Leto’s reputation for method acting was probably the reason he was cast in the role. Consider the stories circulating of his intensity on set. According to the reports, Leto was so into character that he terrorized cast and crew with gifts of anal beads, used condoms, and dead animals. Will Smith even went so far as to say that he never met Jared Leto, just the Joker.

This echoes the stories that circulated back in 2008 about Heath Ledger’s method acting and the circumstances of his death. Reportedly, Ledger spent a month locked in his apartment preparing for the role and emerged fully in character, presenting an on-set intensity that few actors could match. Shortly afterwards, he died under initially unclear circumstances. All this led an air of mystery to the film and to the villain, and farther deepened the film’s themes of madness and power.

Unfortunately, intense acting does not always equal a good performance, something Suicide Squad doesn’t seem to realize. Such intensity of acting has to be combined with effective writing and direction, as well as a purpose. In The Dark Knight, Ledger’s performance was used to enhance Nolan’s themes and ideas; in Suicide Squad, a generic summer blockbuster with little substance to it, Leto’s performance seems empty and pretentious.

In scenes like this one, Leto's intensity could have been
used to elevate the film somewhat

Suicide Squad’s Joker owes a lot to his predecessor. The attempted realism, his mobster-like stylization, and the on-set stories of the actors all echo back to Heath Ledger. Regardless of the film’s (many) writing errors around the character, this heavy reliance on his predecessor gives the character a sense of familiarity that doesn’t mesh with the praise Leto has gotten.

Indeed, I found the performance to be quite underwhelming. Was it good? Sure, especially when compared with the rest of the film. Was it amazing? No, not really. If you take away the hype, Jared Leto’s Joker is an unoriginal version of the character with very little to distinguish him from his predecessor. Or any other psychopathic film villain for that matter.

Simply put, Jared Leto’s performance is not as ground-breaking as he would like to imagine.

Suicide Squad was a (sometimes enjoyable) mess. The film couldn’t figure out what it wanted to be, and it relied too heavily on the hype surrounding a single secondary character. Despite being one of the film’s better performances, the writing of Leto’s Joker hindered the development of Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn (the film’s strongest asset), and caused an already confusing plot to become even more jumbled. All told, Leto's Joker represents a squandered element in a film with so much wasted potential.

A Review of Requiem for the American Dream

I recently watched Noam Chomsky’s Requiem for the American Dream. In true Chomsky fashion, the film dismantles the mechanisms of our capitalist society, illustrating clearly exactly how the current economic system serves to keep the rich rich and the poor poor. Some of the ideas in the film are typical Chomsky, but in a world where inequality is a political buzzword, the film could not be any timelier.

For those who aren’t familiar with his work, Noam Chomsky is often regarded as one of the greatest intellectuals of our time. Originally a linguist, he has written over a hundred books in a broad range of fields including history, politics, and philosophy. Chomsky’s views are not for everyone (he is very much a socialist and an anarchist), but even his critics cannot argue against the fact that he is one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century.

In Requiem for the American Dream, Chomsky illustrates the “10 Principles of Concentration of Wealth and Power,” including rules like “Run the Regulators,” “Attack Solidarity,” and “Manufacture Consent.” It is through these methods, Chomsky argues, that America’s so called “one percenters” maintain their own exclusive place among the economic stratosphere. By running the government and manipulating the masses, big business continually marginalizes the working class. Chomsky illustrates here why the American Dream is truly just that: a dream.

The timing of this film is especially fitting, given the current state of American economics and politics. Inequality is at an all-time high, with even the IMF admitting the failure of neoliberalism, breeding a political climate in which candidates like Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump can ride the wave of frustration on both ends of the political spectrum. The increasing polarization of politics is not limited to the United States (as we can see from events like Brexit, or the increasing popularity of nationalist parties); however, as the capitalist standard bearer and the cultural heart of the western world, this phenomenon is, unsurprisingly, most visible in America.

With all this in mind, Chomsky’s diagnosis seems all the more poignant. For those acquainted with Chomsky’s work (a claim that I can only partially make), the film will seem familiar. It’s the classic critique of capitalism laid out in fairly simplistic terms.

It’s this simplicity that makes the film so effective. If one wants an in depth analysis of the problems with capitalism, one reads in-depth works of economic and political theory by Chomsky and others. A seventy minute documentary makes the arguments appealing to a lay audience for whom it is not necessary to understand the intricacies of microeconomics. Indeed, I’d count myself closer to this audience.

The filmmakers do an excellent job of accompanying Chomsky’s analysis with effective and poignant imagery. Chomsky’s words are interspersed with shots of Wall Street juxtaposed against images of the homeless and countless other representations of economic inequality.

One scene in particular stuck with me long after the film ended. When discussing the principle of “Manufacturing Consent,” Chomsky highlights the engineering of society to prioritize material wealth so as to discourage meaningful thought. Accompanying this analysis, we see a shot of perhaps the most appropriate symbol of consumerism, Walmart, overplayed by the words: “A group of teenagers with a free afternoon will go to the shopping mall rather than the library.”

I found this point in the film particularly haunting. By looking around on any given day, one can see the prominence of rampant consumerism. As a society, we, in general, have prioritized frivolous materialism above all else.

As an example, just look at the recent prominence of Pokémon Go. Sure, many of today’s youth are getting outdoors more than ever before. But what is the point of going outside if we never look up from our phones? A plugged in population is far more likely to consent. By focussing on such, ultimately, trivial things (video games, the newest smartphone, or other material possessions), our attention is taken away from meaningful causes. Consumerism, as Chomsky puts it, has become the measure of a good life.

Requiem for the American Dream is filled with such poignant moments, and I hope it will encourage some people to reflect on their lives and their role in society. I don’t hold myself above anyone – I realize I am just as complicit in the system as all those around me. However, I believe it is important for people to think critically and consider their own role in society, something I continually attempt to do.

The film isn’t perfect. It isn’t ground breaking by any means. It relies highly on rhetoric, and recycles some old criticisms of capitalism. But it is this simplicity that makes it accessible for the average viewer. I would highly recommend that everyone go watch it. The film is only seventy minutes long and available on Netflix, so put it on in the background while you’re doing homework or chores. You never know. It might change your perspective a little.

7/10

A review of Captain America: Civil War and my updated thoughts on Spider-Man joining the MCU

A couple of months back, I wrote a post explaining why I didn't think Spider-Man should be included in Captain America: Civil War. Simply put, I didn’t believe that justice could be done by including him as a secondary character in a larger story.

Having seen Civil War, I have been proved wrong.

"Avengers: Civil War"

Titling the film Captain America: Civil War is a little bit of a misnomer. Really it should have been called Avengers: Civil War. But I imagine Disney simply didn’t want to draw attention away from the upcoming Infinity War films. Besides, what would a cinematic portrayal of the Avengers be without Chris Hemsworth’s Thor or Mark Ruffalo’s Hulk?

This is, perhaps, the most mature film to have emerged from this series. Rather than dealing with cosmic entities and alien invasions, Civil War attempts to present a realistic approach to governments dealing with super powered beings. At the same time, the film does not become trapped by the seriousness of this premise. The Marvel Cinematic Universe has always effectively balanced realism, plot, and entertainment without being bogged down in any of them, and Captain America: Civil War is no exception.

The movie has some major plot holes, and in many places one can clearly see characters being guided by the writers’ omnipotent hands. Some of the action scenes are over the top, and I find it hard to believe that Iron Man’s armour only would only begin to show damage when it provides the most dramatic effect. Martin Freeman’s American accent is about as believable Tom Cruise playing a Nazi colonel.

I refuse to take Falcon seriously as a member of the Avengers.

Yet, despite the number of things one could say was wrong with this movie, it does something very right. As with all of the MCU’s films to date, the undeniable problems with Captain America: Civil War are eclipsed by some intangibly endearing quality. Unlike many comic book adaptations that attempt to transcend the genre, Civil War succeeds because it firmly embraces the best aspects of its source material. In its aesthetics, its narrative, and its action, Captain America: Civil War thrives as a comic book movie.

Civil War’s combination of entertainment value, quality casting, and pure heart allows – no, demands – that the viewer simply forget its problems and embrace its better aspects. In its ability to do this while tackling mature and realistic themes, Civil War is arguably the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s best film yet.

Also, there’s an undeniable pleasure to watching our favourite superheroes duke it out.

But what about Spider-Man?

As some of you may recall from my previous post, I was rather skeptical about whether Civil War could do justice to Spider-Man’s MCU introduction. Among so many top notch characters, how could the directors accurately capture the heart of what makes the character so uniquely endearing?

Apparently the Russo brothers understood these concerns, as the film seemed to consciously address them. The choice to cast Tom Holland as a high school Peter Parker, true to the original source material, was an effective method of distinguishing his portrayal from those before him. This Spider-Man’s age is very apparent in his actions and his dialogue. Though his screen time is short, the banter he engages in with other characters is incredibly amusing, one of the film’s most endearing aspects.

The choice to make Spider-Man so distinctly innocent, a kid who’s stumbled into this world of super powers and epic battles, gives him a huge degree of relatability, which has always been Spider-Man’s best quality. As an admirer of the Avengers, just as the viewer is, this Spider-Man finds himself thrust into the middle of battles he is only just beginning to understand, forced to engage in combat with people he admires.

The best depictions of Spider-Man embrace the character’s coming of age story, and I’m willing to say that this seems like no exception. Skipping the origin story did little to hinder his introduction – though I’d like to see the loss of his uncle dealt with in the upcoming standalone film – and Tom Holland provides a unique performance to distinguish him from previous portrayals. Visually and stylistically, the character fits into the tone already establish by the MCU.

I really love the paternal relationship introduced between Peter Parker and Tony Stark. The two actors have some great chemistry, and I think there’s some great potential here. I’d love to see many more “I’ll call Aunt May” jokes.

At the same time, this dynamic lends another layer of thematic significance to the film. As I noted, Spider-Man is young and impressionable, a teenager struggling to come to terms with his new identity. Tony Stark, arguably, takes advantage of this, as Captain America notes during the film when Spider-Man insists that he “has to impress Mr. Stark.” Tony Stark uses the young Parker’s admiration to compel him into a fight where he has no real stakes. This situation poses some questions about the morality of manipulation, an added layer of significance to a film that already questions the extent that one should go to do what is right.

Overall, I was highly impressed with Captain America: Civil War. The film’s ability to handle mature themes without losing entertainment value gives it a rare place among the ranks of comic book movies. Spider-Man’s introduction exceeded my highest expectations, and I’m really looking forward to seeing his follow up movie, as well as that of Black Panther.

Some of the action sequences are predictably over the top, and there are a few big plot holes, yet the film embraces its comic book heritage in a manner that one can’t help but like. Arguably, this is the MCU’s best film yet.

I’ve never liked arbitrary numerical ratings, yet I know that many people do.

8/10