Score: 2 / 5
When you have to introduce a film as the fourth in its series, the fifth in its phase, the thirty-fifth in its franchise, the continuation of a miniseries, and how even with all that you need additional info (on casting, primarily) to properly understand the newest installment, it's time to rethink your material.
As an avowed fan of the MCU, I confess that in the last two years I've fumbled several titles, mostly those airing exclusively on streaming services I'm not presently paying for. At some point, maybe this summer, I'll get caught up on all this stuff. It's just too much right now. But to say you can walk into Brave New World, the latest Captain America-led sci-fi action thriller, without significant prior knowledge is false. Even a longtime fan who actually remembers Liv Tyler and Tim Blake Nelson in The Incredible Hulk in cinemas won't be satisfied by their resurfacing here because, crucially, this film is not for such viewers. The producers are so consciously intent on looping everything together that familiar faces popping in and out feel like fan service for their "multiverse" shtick going on, when in reality, those faces aren't attached to characters who mean anything anymore.
Instead, this film is trying to establish its protagonist as a leader of his own story, and while the magnificent Anthony Mackie is still doing us right by his Sam Wilson, I suddenly have doubts about the writing committee (five fucking writers on this crap, y'all, is crazy) and their (in)ability to tap into the strongest ethos of his character. Though he was cap-tapped -- which I'm trademarking -- by Steve Rogers at the end of Endgame, Wilson victoriously endured his own trials in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, the second and personal favorite of the MCU miniseries. So he's already effectively "Captain America" before the start of this film, but he's plagued with uncertainty. After all, he doesn't have any superhuman powers. Just his brain, his heart, and a fancy suit. Really not much different than some other heroes we know.
So when President Thaddeus Ross sends Wilson to stop mercenary Sidewinder (Giancarlo Esposito) and his gang of Serpents from selling classified items in Mexico, Wilson dutifully accepts but remains concerned about his new sidekick Falcon, sweet and mostly untested Joaquin Torres. After their return, they begin training with Isaiah Bradley, an older Black man who had been injected with the super soldier serum and imprisoned and experimented upon by the US government. I was so ready for all of this in a film, so let's break it down. First, that Ross becomes president isn't something I remember from any comics, so that's noteworthy: in our current era of politicians who have not served in war trying to start wars, it's kind of cool to see a fictional president who is a self-proclaimed war hawk trying to stop international war. It helps that, due to William Hurt's passing, Harrison Ford steps in to play the role; he's really a highlight here. Second, making a parallel between Ross and Bradley as mentors for Wilson is a smart move, one that emphasizes a dual approach -- a double consciousness, if you will -- that Wilson must undertake to understand his own positionality in this problematic position of vulnerable errand boy for a dangerous president and a country shredded by racialized trauma.
But Brave New World isn't brave enough to actually account for much of that inherent intrigue. Rather, it constantly suggests that it's going to do something meaningful or insightful regarding historical government experiments on Black men, or even about current racial injustices being perpetrated by real-life government agents. It just never gets there. Why would an accomplished, heroic Black man even want to protect, defend, and represent a country that has so rarely treated people who look like him with dignity, let alone adequate support or defense? Is representation a good enough solution for short-term political change? With two players like Ford and Carl Lumbly playing Ross and Bradley, respectively, the film should have leaned farther into an exploration of racialized masculinity at odds with jingoism and patriotic brainwashing.
Unfortunately, the film is mostly just interested in the brainwashing itself. Eschewing political intrigue or historical reckoning, Brave New World pivots to a forced, artificial confrontation between national powers (the US and Japan, among others) rushing to a naval standoff in the Indian Ocean around the petrified corpse (?) of the Celestial that emerged there in Eternals. In a clear signal of where the MCU is next headed (and by "next," I mean yet to come in several more years, of course), much dialogue is bandied about a new supermetal discovered on this "Celestial Island" that will become the world's most valuable product: adamantium. Note that there is no reference to the actual next film, Thunderbolts, with its name theoretically taken from Ross himself, which would have been a reasonable franchise-related concession. After that bombshell lands with a thunk, the film pivots again and relies heavily on a plot stolen from The Manchurian Candidate to tell a bizarre story about sleeper agents, hypnotic brainwashing, and a loose cannon of a man in the Oval Office.
I say all this, focusing merely on its premise and presentation, because that's essentially what the MCU has become: each new installment is less interested in artistic integrity or even having a unique purpose or message to share, as comics usually do, and seems more interested in simply building itself up on references and imagery to perpetuate its own worth. The more "cool" items or looks or places it can feature, the more tickets and merch and future projects it will sell. The MCU has become a soap opera -- albeit a rare, fun one -- that doesn't know how to keep moving forward. Instead of making urgent, timely commentary on our current reality (remember Winter Soldier and how riveting and terrifying it was politically?) or even trying to say something about the human condition in general (Doctor Strange, for instance), films in this franchise are becoming watered down, afraid to make any kind of serious address in an increasingly polarized culture and toxic online fandoms. When a miniseries can talk about the Tuskegee experiments and our prison industrial complex but the film following it prefers a giant Red Hulk smashing cherry blossoms in Washington after "Mr. Blue" plays on the soundtrack, we've taken a few big steps backward.
Some might argue that the film is subtly advocating for peace, recognizing evil "on both sides" of a given conflict, as our current president once stated in a very different context. Perhaps the way forward is to let things settle into a holding pattern, to play nice with powers that are rather than challenging anyone or anything to improve. I disagree, and we can take a look at our 46th presidential administration for relevant proof (though that team was responsible for uniting Europe against Russia's invasion of Ukraine and stopping WWIII, so maybe the "do nothing" Democrats were actually on to something in international relations). Worse, after Bradley is imprisoned anew, Wilson doesn't doubt the regime and its scapegoating but works overtime to help Ross, whose only reason for pursuing peace is his own aging. Ross hopes that doing something honorable, like suing for global peace, will bring back his estranged daughter Betty. Of course, the real villain of this film isn't about to let that happen, though frankly Samuel Sterns is as much an effective villain as a mildewed rag you forgot about in the cupboard under your kitchen sink.
This might be the first time I've been brave enough to not enjoy an MCU film, and that's not a pleasant thing for me to say. It's easy to enjoy something in a familiar IP of which you've been a longtime fan. It's easy to enjoy the flood of CGI, the sleek production design, the star-studded cast, some rousing action, a few witty quips, and the feel-good victory of good over evil. It's harder to criticize a film you so desperately want to love, one that builds on some of your favorite entries in the franchise; one that features a Black man who has already earned his place in our hearts; one that puts Harrison Ford (now 82 years old) in a complex, dynamic role. It's as if the film is wholly out of time, out of touch with the politicized reality into which it dropped; hinting at a post-racial dream even as it primps itself by obscuring and eliding the dark and twisted factors that undermine our understanding of that dream.
And that's not even the whole thing. I've barely mentioned Sterns, Sidewinder, and the Serpents, and haven't even mentioned Ruth Bat-Seraph, an Israeli former Black Widow, who serves as Ross's chief of security, played by Shira Haas, a confusing and complex character who needed more time to breathe in this onslaught of material. I've not mentioned the cinematography, which features moments of almost-inspired beauty (the shadow play and sound design of the opening sequence in Oaxaca is all really lovely and neo-noir) followed by lengthy sequences of garish lighting, frenetic editing, and seriously silly fight choreography. Even the climax, bursting with obvious symbolism in a demolished White House and the danger of policing the world, feels like a desperate last-ditch attempt to feel important despite it doing nothing to earn that distinction.
The only thing that might have saved this film as it is would be a post-credits scene of Mackie as Wilson dressing up in Captain America drag and soft-shoeing his way onstage with a cadre of Rockettes. When Rogers did that so many years ago, it felt like a shot at propaganda and the dangers of getting into bed with the government. So why is Wilson doing it "conscientiously" now? It just makes no sense, and the filmmakers are no better than the fictional government they've created, having their Magical Negro hero behave himself, choose the side of warmongering feds, and basically perform a minstrel show for the American populace.
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