When the audience erupts into
cheers and applause three or four times in a sold-out cinema, you know that the
filmmakers have knocked one high and clear, right out of the popular cultural
ballpark.
For some time now, I’ve thought
that the Disney-Marvel films, starting with 2007’s Iron Man, are not really separate movies at all in the old sense
but something new to Hollywood — 20-odd pictures that conspire to tell one
overarching story, just like the best comic books used to do in their big crossover
events.
And Avengers: Endgame proves it.
It’s an operatic flourish that
finishes this 12-year saga, and handsomely pays off the debts and bets planted
in at least dozen of the films that preceded it, with a good deal of change to
spare.
Every astounding cosmic conflict
is balanced by notes of recognizable, ordinary humanity — sad, funny, touching,
or all three — that keeps the audience caring about these outlandish
proceedings.
These are people who shoulder the
responsibilities of gods as lightly as anyone can — superhumans in whom those
last two syllables are always underlined.
Like only a handful of other
superhero movies I’ve seen, it’s a completely satisfying film. It’s the Marvel
saga, perfect and complete. Somewhere out there, Stan Lee should be smiling,
even while shaking his head in disbelief, True Believers. How could stories
inspired by a once-despised medium become the biggest entertainment franchise
on Earth?
The movie even left me with a
philosophical lesson to ponder, summed up in this line of dialogue: “Everybody
fails at being the person he’s supposed to be, Thor.”