Comic books are like little storyboards. We sit there in silence, staring at a page, hallucinating vividly between the panels about people, places, things, and magic systems that don’t exist. It’s no wonder why books/comics/manga make great movies; everything the story needs has already been bound, published, and proofed by flocks of critical, obsessive nerds – of which I am proudly one. As a seasoned book dork who shelves everything from comics to non-fictions, I can’t help but wonder what kind of literature inspired the tone of The Marvels. Some features of the Captain Marvel comics are injected into the script, sure, but the overall feel sounds closer to a sub-sub-genre with a less than stellar reputation: fanfiction. Could a twelve-year-old have written this during recess? Possibly. Is there an even greater chance that some executive punched key words into ChatGPT and handed a producer the auto-generated final product? Terrifyingly, this seems most likely.
We begin with Marvel sticking to what 
it does best: a sky-beam. Generic villain, Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton), is looking for a magical relic with enough power to open a very large, very permanent portal. In essence, she finds the thing, half of it is missing, so she throws a tantrum and blows a hole in space. Enter Captain Marvel/Carol (Brie Larson), Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris), and Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani), who, through a phenomenal bit of plot reach, end up with interconnected powers. Yada yada yada, Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), more space, the trio find themselves on a mission to stop Dar-Benn from sucking necessary resources away from peaceful planets with her galactic vacuum. True story. Carol and Monica jump into action but this space stuff is a little out of Kamala’s depth. Five minutes ago, the New Jersey teen was walking us through a 
pencil sketch of how she and the great Captain Marvel would be best friends and save the day. The rest of the movie is like Kamala’s doodle come to life, picking up an unedited, amateur fanfiction vibe that it just can’t shake.
I would like to blame the script. These are good actors. They know how to play subtleties and yet, The Marvels could be a table-read. Larson (I’m so sorry, my girl) plays this I’ve-been-alone-in-space-and-therefore-can’t-personality role with all the range of a rubber ball. Characters can be socially inept and fun to be around, but Carol is just wooden. Paddling her through every scene in their leaky canoe are Monica and Kamala, the former of which is warm, self-assured, adorably under-prepared, and one of the few characters who can spew sciency jargon with conviction. But the true star of the show, from the moment she fangirls into
her notebook, is Kamala. She’s one of a slim margin of characters in The Marvels who brings the script to life. Kamala is the maple syrup to your pancakes, the milk to your latte, the jangle in your bangles.
This trio wades into the found-family trope on a spaceship with only three walls, searching for a villain who’s as wicked as a hair in your tea. Dar-Benn’s motives are so obvious and yet two captains and the veteran director of a spy agency need a teenager to draw the conclusion. The delayed eureka means we fall into another Marvel trope: the galactic scavenger hunt, where the real journey is to find ourselves along the way. You can’t hear it, but I just “ugh-ed” so hard, Alexa asked for clarification. In fairness, the scenic detour results in the very best what-the-flerken moment in the whole movie. Aladna, a planet whose national language is song and the only way to communicate is through musical number. It’s like Thor: Ragnarök stole the script, slipped in a few edits, and nobody noticed. This sequence is so random 
and I loved every second. Maybe that’s what Carol needs: a Ragnarök moment to shake up some personality.
I admit, I feel a little guilty about The Marvels. This movie was made for nerdy women who’ve been begging for more female main characters to kick ass and solve problems. Maybe with some platonic friendships, or a kitten and flawless hair – although that last one isn’t a priority and a practical hair tie wouldn’t be remiss. In short: hi, it’s me, I’m the problem – it’s me. I am The Marvels prime demographic and for that I feel like I need to apologize for the final product. I loved Kamala and her unflappable energy, but she isn’t enough to pull this movie out of what feels like a phoned-in dress rehearsal. It’s like being gifted a sweater that doesn’t fit, or begging the landlord to lower the thermostat only to freeze in regret. I wanted to like The Marvels very badly, but while some moments are sweet, strong, and downright kooky, in general it’s a few shades lighter than the dye you discussed with your stylist. The Marvels is a disappointing 3/10.
Plenty of Popcorn 