Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3: Marvel’s space saga suffers galactic fatigue
Harry Khachatrian
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Somewhere, buried deep beneath the mounds of churlish humor and forced MCU awkwardness of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 is a heartfelt swansong, bookending the space adventure saga. But to wrest these fleeting gems, one must sit through 2 1/2 hours of nauseating dialogue, encapsulating the worst of what the Disney Marvel universe has to offer.
Upon its inception in 2014, James Gunn’s Guardians franchise had the advantage of subverting expectations. It was premised on an unlikely group of dubious superheroes — including an animated raccoon and a talking tree, characters culled from the deepest cuts of Marvel’s extensive roster. The series was presented as a lighthearted adventure comedy, suffused with a plethora of jukebox hits, a refreshing contrast to the more serious-toned superhero films of the time. Captain America, for instance, was thwarting nuclear war in a Soviet spy thriller that same year in Winter Soldier.
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However, nearly a decade later, Guardians Vol. 3 vies to give its characters a more serious send-off in its trilogy coda while maintaining its slapstick sheen. This balancing act comes across as disorganized and haphazard, marring what could have been a fitting conclusion to the series.
The film largely revolves around Rocket (voiced by Bradley Cooper), offering glimpses into his harrowing origins. Rocket is revealed to be an early prototype of a cruel lab experiment led by a maniacal scientist known as the High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji). Bearing a grandiose God complex, the High Evolutionary seeks to spawn his own society, purged of any impurities. In pursuit of his delusions, he subjects countless animals to torment, transforming them into anthropomorphic beings.
Despite Iwuji’s convincing portrayal of the animal-torturing sociopath scientist, his sinister character arc feels starkly at odds with the rest of the film. In one disturbing scene, he incinerates a live deer, dissatisfied with the results of his experiment. In another, he annihilates an entire planet populated by his creations, eradicating a species he feels has evolved beyond his control.
Meanwhile, the Guardians are reading off a script written in finger paint by fourth graders. It is a constant stream of insipid lines, including such gems as, “Even my butt can make metaphors.” This is further exacerbated by grating arguments between Mantis (Pom Klementieff) and Nebula (Karen Gillan), in which their exchanges devolve into little more than shrieking at each other, with lines such as, “Are we pretending to be angry again? Mantis, you ***hole!”
Yet, even more vexing than the dialogue is James Gunn’s overreliance on his iconic ’80s soundtrack. Peter Quill (Chris Pratt)’s Zune, a mainstay of the Guardians franchise, has now become a burdensome crutch. Gunn’s deployment of hits such as Heart’s “Crazy on You” feels less strategic and more manipulative, serving as an emotional shortcut to elicit responses that the narrative hasn’t earned.
Rather than deepening character development or narrative tension, familiar tunes are overused to dictate audience emotions. Martin Scorsese notoriously used The Rolling Stones’s hits in many of his films, but there they served to enhance his mood, not supplant it. Among Guardians’s impressive feats is actually making one yearn for stricter copyright laws to compel a less formulaic approach to emotional engagement.
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Critics nearly unanimously claim that Guardians Vol. 3 is the best Marvel movie since Endgame, but that’s a low bar. The mass marketization of superhero films has led to an oversaturation of formulaic scripts, rehashing the same trite plot lines with occasional variations in the superhero spandex suits. Despite its charming cast and striking visuals, Guardians Vol. 3 succumbs to franchise fatigue. The incongruous blend of serious themes with slapstick humor, coupled with an overplayed formula, results in a film that’s both repetitive and tonally confused. Going by venerable ’80s classics, none are as fitting as Iggy Pop’s “I’m Bored.”
Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto, pursuing his MBA.