I’m white. I’m male. I’m heterosexual. I’m Christian. I’m conservative. I’m a Trump supporter. Which means I’m also grateful… Grateful Captain Marvel star Brie Larson only requested that I not review her movie when I know she’d prefer to request my murder.
So, as a compromise, this review is late, a week late, but Captain Marvel still sucked. It doesn’t Ghostbusters-remake suck. Rather, it sucks like Doctor Strange and that second Thor movie. It just kind of lies there in a purple puddle of uninspired but busy CGI; artless and simple.
If Brie’s worried about this white, heterosexual male objectifying her, she needn’t. Her eyes are too close together, she has the jawline of the Lone Ranger, no ass, and fat toes. She is also a charisma-free zone. Sterile. Bland. No pop. No ha-cha-cha. None. Zippo. My loins would stir watching Gal Gadot kill my dog. Watching Brie Larson do anything is like watching your snooty sister gossip on the phone.
The story is duller than dull, duller than Brie, another godawful origin tale, this one about an American fighter pilot who has no idea she’s an American fighter pilot, but instead thinks she’s part of some alien race in an alien war. After about 20 minutes, she crash lands on Earth in the year 1995, but because everything in 1995 looks almost exactly like everything does today, there’s no nostalgia factor. Okay, the Internet’s slower and there are Blockbusters and Radio Shacks. … Oh, yeah, a real back-to-the-future nostalgia trip.
Captain Marvel aka Carol Danvers eventually teams up with Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson CGI’d to look 25 years younger), but they have absolutely no chemistry or warmth, and the frequent attempts to force it are only worth watching because if you look close enough into Sam Jackson’s eyes, you can tell he knows he’s co-starring with the blandest, most generic and personality-challenged white woman since Hayden Christensen played a young Darth Vader.
Captain Marvel’s earthling pal, fellow fighter pilot Maria Rambeau (Lashana Lynch), also has the magnetism of an Ikea shelving unit and is so emotionally insecure and neurotic she freaks out when addressed as “young lady.”
“Call me ‘young lady’ again, and I’m gunna put my foot in a place it’s not supposed to be!”
Did I mention how the dialogue also reminds you of Hayden Christensen playing a young Darth Vader?
Captain Marvel isn’t stridently woke. Actually, Captain Marvel could have used some stride; any sort of attitude would have been an improvement over this teetering tower of blah.
You see, there’s Stalin and then there’s Stone.
Oliver Stone pushes a political agenda with bravura filmmaking, audacity, in-your-face posturing… Stone turns his ideology into magnificent art.
Joseph Stalin pushed a political agenda by bleeding movies white.
Captain Marvel is woke, but in the worst way, in the Stalin way where ideology triumphs art — actually it stomps art to death with a jackboot. You feel nothing. This is a movie made for mindless simpletons waiting for cheap “foot in your ass” applause lines.
You can hear the story meeting…
What if we give her some doubts, some vulnerabilities like Sigourney Weaver in Alien.
Women aren’t weak.
We could flesh her out a bit, reveal another side to her with a love interest, like Gal Gadot in Wonder Woman.
Women don’t need men.
She’s stranded on earth, millions of miles from home. Shouldn’t she feel some emotion, a sense of loss?
Leave the room.
How about a butt double and a low angle camera?
Brie Larson and Marvel are so afraid of the Woke Fascists, or so lost themselves in that mindless cult, we’re forced to spend two hours with a lead protagonist without vulnerabilities, zero sex appeal, and no character arc.
She’s perfect — perfectly dull, the Beckiest Becky in all of Beckydom.