Guardians of the galaxy vol. 3

When Martin Scorsese made his infamous “not cinema” remarks in regards to the MCU, the backlash amongst comic book fanboys took on a predictably feral, defensive, and largely cringe-inducing fervor. But one comment - made by Joss Whedon (perhaps his last moment of grace, before slinking off in disrepute), in regards to Scorsese’s claim that Marvel movies aren’t “the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being” - has lingered tellingly in the years since… “I first think of James Gunn, and how his heart & guts are packed into Guardians of the Galaxy.”

It’s a sentiment that remains more applicable than ever to this third and final chapter of Gunn’s signature trilogy. Much of the cultural chatter surrounding the film has fixated on reports of the MCU’s creative demise being greatly exaggerated… but it would probably be simpler just to give Gunn his due and acknowledge that he’s evolved into a filmmaker who’s singularly gifted at putting his own personally askew stamp on big-budget studio crowd-pleasers. It wasn’t a path many likely envisioned for the Troma-trained misfit auteur in his pre-Marvel days. But the first Guardians of the Galaxy crested a wave of addictive mixtape tunes and irreverent humor to transcend standard comic book formula; it had Gunn’s own brew of tart-yet-sweet artisanal soda pop coursing through its veins. The second was a typical sequel of diminishing returns - still fun and fresh, just not *as* fun and fresh. But a fruitful detour to DC followed… first with Gunn’s robustly entertaining take on the Suicide Squad - probably the closest he’ll ever come to spattering his Troma influences and sensibilities all over a 185-million canvas - and then with his even better Peacemaker spin-off series on HBO Max, which might just be the best thing he’s ever done (it’s actually rather devastating that Gunn’s duties as co-head of DC seem to have pushed the second season deep into some far-flung future).  

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 shifts its focus onto the knavish yet endearing Rocket (Bradley Cooper) and his tormented backstory (be warned - those with a weak stomach for animal cruelty may have a rough time of it). When the cosmic meta-being Adam Warlock (Will Poulter) is dispatched to Knowhere to collect Rocket by order of his sadistic creator, the High Evolutionary (Peacemaker’s Chukwudi Iwuji - one of the better villains in recent memory), the mission fails… but Rocket is left perilously close to death, forcing Quill (Chris Pratt) to pull himself out of his drunken, self-pitying stupor and rally the Guardians - including Drax (Dave Bautista), Nebula (Karen Gillan), Mantis (Pom Klementieff), and Groot (Vin Diesel) - in order to save him. Like many Marvel movies, GOTG3 feels overstuffed yet understuffed at the same time… its story teetering on the edge between high-stakes and low-stakes (part of the issue is that Rocket’s plight is still just the springboard to a MacGuffin pursuit… the Guardians need to find the tech that will allow them to circumvent his kill switch, which propels them from one massive set piece to the next)… but the cast chemistry is so symphonic, the team dynamics so jigsaw-tight, and Gunn’s grasp of the characters so instinctive and heartfelt at this point, that it hardly even matters.​

The entire ensemble (including Zoe Saldana’s “rebooted” Gamora, who we discover has thrown in with the Ravagers since the events of Endgame) cooks at consistently high heat (Pratt’s “Han Solo by way of Andy Dwyer” take on Star-Lord remains an MCU standout, no matter how much social media likes to give his stardom grief)… but special mention must be made of Karen Gillan, whose Nebula has achieved a steady evolution from secondary villain to arguably the franchise’s prickly soul. All of the characters, however, feel like some facet of Gunn’s psyche; it’s the reason Guardians of the Galaxy has always had a deeper, more perceptible creative synergy than other Marvel properties. At one point Gunn stages an intricately choreographed, single-take corridor brawl - all of the Guardians working in concert together as No Sleep Till Brooklyn blasts on the soundtrack - and it feels like a much-needed reminder of why comic book movies became so popular in the first place. The original Guardians of the Galaxy, with its scrappy underdog misfit energy, probably remains the most purely enjoyable… but this third entry is the darker, riskier, more emotionally satisfying film (and not just because it features the MCU’s first F-bomb). By the time Bruce Springsteen’s Badlands is playing over the closing credits, the end result feels like a genuine send-off… both in terms of the characters and and in terms of Gunn himself, as he makes the permanent transition to DC. It’s really too bad. Superman is Superman, but what one wouldn’t give for Gunn to take a crack at directing a Howard the Duck spin-off instead.