“Thunderbolts (2025): More Talk, Less Smash”
- Dan Brooks
- 16 hours ago
- 3 min read
After finding themselves ensnared in a death trap, an unconventional team of antiheroes must embark on a dangerous mission that will force them to confront the darkest corners of their pasts.
So here’s the thing about Thunderbolts: it bills itself as the ultimate antihero movie event of Phase 5, yet somehow feels like it forgot to add the “hero” part. I walked into the theater expecting a Marvel wham‐bam, got a whimper instead, and found myself counting the minutes until Florence Pugh, Sebastian Stan, and Julia Louis‐Dreyfus could bail me out of this narrative ice rink. But let’s peel back the Kevlar, shall we?
I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for a ragtag ensemble of villains pretending to be heroes—or maybe the other way around? Here, our merry band of misfits answers to the codename “Thunderbolts*,” which sounds badass until you realize half the time you’re asking yourself, “Wait, who’s supposed to be the lead?” They all scramble for the spotlight like a pack of seagulls fighting over a fry, and none really earns the crown.
Florence Pugh tries her damnedest as Yelena Belova—part nimble spy, part frat-house demolition derby driver—yet even her stunt-queen energy can’t offset the film’s identity crisis. (Side note: Pugh insisted on jumping off Kuala Lumpur’s Merdeka 18 herself, peppering Kevin Feige’s inbox until he caved—way to remind us that actual mortals still make these movies.) She nails the gravity-defying leaps, but the slow-motion melodrama around her feels like watching a high-wire act in molasses.
Sebastian Stan limps through in the mold of a brooding bruiser, trying to mine depth from a script that seems allergic to character development. Every time he gets close, the dialog yanks him back down into the kiddie pool—conversations that read like Marvel hired a troupe of improv clowns with questionable Wi-Fi. I swear the lines “We can’t run from our pasts” and “Teamwork makes the dream work” turned up so often I nearly filed a restraining order.
And then there’s Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who appears as the corporate mastermind pulling synonyms for “evil genius” out of a hat. She’s a delight, chewing scenery like a sous-vide siren, but you realize she’s here to remind you what happens when you actually bother to write a strong supporting role. Every scene she’s in practically glows—not because of any special effects, but because she’s, you know, interesting.
What I Liked
Valentina Allegra de Fontaine steals every frame she’s in. She’s the Houdini of agenda-setting: you think you know her angle, then poof!—plot twist. She’s the surprise standout in an otherwise “mediocre film,” delivering Machiavellian monologues with a raised eyebrow that could launch a thousand spin-off comics.
The opening fight scenes pack a decent punch. A flurry of fists, fancy footwork, and scraped knuckles that make you nod, mutter “not bad,” and then cringe as the action tapers off into endless exposition.
What I Disliked
Who is the main character? This movie tries to juggle six plotlines at once, and the result is less “team movie” and more “team meeting that never ends.” It’s like herding cats—if the cats had identity issues.
Supporting characters all trying hard to be leading characters and failing. They flail for your sympathy, then duck behind someone else’s oversized ego.
The dialog is really bad, like it was all “improved.” If “ad-lib” is shorthand for “we didn’t have time to finish the script,” then sure, it’s authentic. But please, let’s not pretend it reads well.
The pacing is too slow and there’s not enough action for a Marvel movie. We crave spectacle: more lasers, more explosions, less small-talk about “facing demons within.” I paid for a roller coaster, not a teacup ride that stalls halfway.
On a geekier note, director Jake Schreier leaned into the urban myth of “blast shadows” for the Void’s powers, which is both delightfully creepy and kind of throwaway: imagine someone at the concept meeting saying, “Yeah, let’s scorch silhouettes into walls—that’ll freak ’em out.” It’s the sort of cool idea that deserves its own standalone scene, not a two-second cutaway buried under 17 minutes of people talking about “redemption arcs.”
And yes, this is the final film of Phase 5, so it bears the burden of tying up loose ends and setting up Phase 6. Instead, it feels like a shrug. You almost half-expect a text crawl at the end saying, “To be continued... maybe.”
Despite all this, there’s something weirdly affectionate about Thunderbolts. It’s like that friend who shows up drunk at your birthday party, makes a mess, but then passes out face-first in the cake. You scold them, but deep down you can’t stay mad—there’s a certain charm in the chaos. And I will forever salute Valentina for her Machiavellian panache, Pugh for her literal leaps of faith, and Louis-Dreyfus for reminding us what nuance looks like.
Final Ranking
I give Thunderbolts* a 5.7/10
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