Thunderbolts*
★★★ 1/2
The MCU gets a little messy, a little moody—and a whole lot more interesting.
Who knew that Thunderbolts*, Marvel’s latest entry, would double as a group therapy session with capes and superpowers?
As someone who’s not glued to every Marvel release (I dabble—some movies, a few shows, missed Eternals entirely), I walked into Thunderbolts* expecting another shiny, snarky team-up flick. What I got instead was a surprisingly layered and emotionally complex story about broken people trying—reluctantly—to work together. Think Guardians of the Galaxy meets The Breakfast Club, if everyone in detention had PTSD and a government handler.
Let’s start with the cast. Florence Pugh continues to prove she can carry anything, even a team of morally questionable super-somethings. Her performance brings both bite and vulnerability to the center of the film. Wyatt Russell shines as a Grade-A jerk you love to hate, while David Harbour brings his now-signature lovable grump energy with perfect comic timing. Julia Louis-Dreyfus leans hard into her Veep roots with delicious political shade, and Sebastian Stan gets his hero moments, though he feels more like a moody poster boy here than the film’s emotional anchor.
The one weak link? Ava Starr (Ghost), played by Hannah John-Kamen. She feels more like a plot device than a person, and without a strong emotional tether to the rest of the group, her arc never fully takes off. (Granted, I never saw the Ant-Man and the Wasp.)
The pacing starts slow, and early action sequences feel like they could’ve been pulled from any Marvel flick in the past decade. But stick with it—about halfway through, Thunderbolts kicks into a higher emotional gear. That’s where the film finds its identity. It’s not just explosions and banter (though there’s plenty of both); it’s about trauma, redemption and learning how to live with the ghosts you can’t punch.
There’s a quiet brilliance in how the movie uses the team name, too. No spoilers, but the reveal of why they’re called the Thunderbolts is subtle, clever and perfectly earned.
Also, quick shoutout to “Bob.” No context necessary. Just… Bob. Trust me.
By the end, Thunderbolts* carves out a space in the Marvel Universe that feels refreshingly grounded—well, as grounded as you can get in a franchise with vibranium arms and mind control. It may not reach the heights of some of the other MCU films, but it does something arguably more important for Marvel right now: it gets us to care again.
Here’s hoping Marvel keeps embracing the messy, the moody and the mildly dysfunctional. I, for one, am ready for the next group session.
