The logical self and the emotional self—these are the two elements pitted against each other in Marvel Studios’ newest installment Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. And by that, I mean "installed," a perfunctory act complete with an instruction manual. As with so many things in this life, the rational mind—with its shrewdness and well-defined goals—curtails the heart’s ambitions. GOTG2 roots around in this idea instilling it in every place from character design to conflict, but it also inadvertently (or very purposefully) articulates the going concern with all films of this ilk: can the heartlight ever outshine the strictures handed down by the cinematic universe superbrain?
Through this lens, I can say I unequivocally enjoyed the first Guardians more. Where I found it incrementally less enjoyable with each ensuing watch, I still think the first installment deserves a ton of credit for being a buoyant, ephemeral moviegoing experience. The soundtrack was better, the film felt scrappier, and the little Marvel franchise literally no one cared about was spun into pure gold. But what was once an ascendant property is now burdened with Atlas-like stature. You can feel more hands in the pie, and you can see the weight of expectations hung around the film’s neck like a millstone.
With much fan servicing to be done, many characters to prop up, and fleets of franchises to launch, there is barely room enough to squeeze an actual movie between the opening and closing credits. Did I cut and paste that exact criticism from an older Marvel Studios review? I dunno, but let me know when it stops being true. Oh! And do stay till the end of the credits if you want to get a sense of how many turds Marvel thinks you’ll gleefully choke down. I’m talking Ozymandias levels of, “Look on my works ye mighty and fuck you.” We are beyond tail wagging the dog. That implies some lesser appendage run amok. Guardians 2 feels more inline with Marvel handing out a model 'Summer Tentpole' kit, and shouting at James Gunn as he walks out the door, “but hey, when you’re done, paint it any color you like.”
And all of this is a damn shame because GOTG2 is a solid, occasionally superb film. When the checklist of demands moves out of the forefront, the movie bursts with joyous cinema custom tailored for the big screen. Gunn and company understand the unique advantages offered them with the mixtape trope, and to that end, Guardians 2 offers some exquisite music and cinema moments. The picture can be visually delicious and impassioned and just downright likeable, but it cannot escape the template. Not to read into things too aggressively, but when a problem is posed by an eternal brain—the ultimate symbol of rationale over feeling—inextricably bound to its self-imposed purpose regardless of consequence, I can’t help but see it as a kind of mea culpa and meta-self-satire deftly snuck past the bosses.
Perhaps I’m giving James Gunn too much credit, but he’s a very gifted filmmaker. The core talent is as endearing as ever, and Kurt Russell and Pom Klementieff make fine additions to the roster. Yondu, Rocket, and Nebula are awarded some heavier lifting. The Star-Lord, Gamora will-they-won’t-they is taken to some sweet spots, pacing appropriate to a sequel. And Dave Bautista’s Drax, where one note, man that cat can blow.
Though, as with any ever expanding universe, the more sentient beings you introduce, the more relationships there are to satisfy. After a hasty count, I think there are at least eight inter-character dynamicsGuardians 2 tries to sift through in 138 minutes. Combined with the laundry list of other franchise prerequisites, subtle examination must have been left on the cutting room floor, or maybe nuance just didn’t focus group well. Make a mental note of the times all aural chaos falls away and one character delivers an incisive, punchy line to another. By my math, you should arrive at the exact number of complex interactions satiated with a cursory, “that should do.”
This kind of hurried, hollow sentiment is what frustrated me most this go round. It’s one thing to openly acknowledge none of this is about characters or story—these are blockbusters, not drawing room dramas—but for relationships to be serviced in such a cheap way is cynical. Manicured and oversimplified, the wildness of feeling something deeply is exchanged for an emotional reaction similar to a gag reflex. It’s procedural. When our core emotional connection feels so broadly manufactured, the whole exercise is rendered inessential.
If my opposing poles of praise and haranguing seem incongruent to the point of contradictory, know it is indicative of the gulf between the head and the heart. Overtly signaled by the characters of Ego and Mantis—one who is all frigid logic, the other an empath capable of feeling and altering others emotions—the concept expands in concentric circles beyond the characters, beyond narrative function, beyond the margins of the film, until it embodies an existential crisis. In its brain, the film knows it is merely a ribbon being woven around the Marvel maypole from which it would never dare sever or distinguish itself. But in those handful of moments where Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 flirts with the sublime, when genuine movie thrill cascades from the screen, you can feel it comes from the heart.
—By Monte Monreal
Through this lens, I can say I unequivocally enjoyed the first Guardians more. Where I found it incrementally less enjoyable with each ensuing watch, I still think the first installment deserves a ton of credit for being a buoyant, ephemeral moviegoing experience. The soundtrack was better, the film felt scrappier, and the little Marvel franchise literally no one cared about was spun into pure gold. But what was once an ascendant property is now burdened with Atlas-like stature. You can feel more hands in the pie, and you can see the weight of expectations hung around the film’s neck like a millstone.
With much fan servicing to be done, many characters to prop up, and fleets of franchises to launch, there is barely room enough to squeeze an actual movie between the opening and closing credits. Did I cut and paste that exact criticism from an older Marvel Studios review? I dunno, but let me know when it stops being true. Oh! And do stay till the end of the credits if you want to get a sense of how many turds Marvel thinks you’ll gleefully choke down. I’m talking Ozymandias levels of, “Look on my works ye mighty and fuck you.” We are beyond tail wagging the dog. That implies some lesser appendage run amok. Guardians 2 feels more inline with Marvel handing out a model 'Summer Tentpole' kit, and shouting at James Gunn as he walks out the door, “but hey, when you’re done, paint it any color you like.”
And all of this is a damn shame because GOTG2 is a solid, occasionally superb film. When the checklist of demands moves out of the forefront, the movie bursts with joyous cinema custom tailored for the big screen. Gunn and company understand the unique advantages offered them with the mixtape trope, and to that end, Guardians 2 offers some exquisite music and cinema moments. The picture can be visually delicious and impassioned and just downright likeable, but it cannot escape the template. Not to read into things too aggressively, but when a problem is posed by an eternal brain—the ultimate symbol of rationale over feeling—inextricably bound to its self-imposed purpose regardless of consequence, I can’t help but see it as a kind of mea culpa and meta-self-satire deftly snuck past the bosses.
Perhaps I’m giving James Gunn too much credit, but he’s a very gifted filmmaker. The core talent is as endearing as ever, and Kurt Russell and Pom Klementieff make fine additions to the roster. Yondu, Rocket, and Nebula are awarded some heavier lifting. The Star-Lord, Gamora will-they-won’t-they is taken to some sweet spots, pacing appropriate to a sequel. And Dave Bautista’s Drax, where one note, man that cat can blow.
Though, as with any ever expanding universe, the more sentient beings you introduce, the more relationships there are to satisfy. After a hasty count, I think there are at least eight inter-character dynamicsGuardians 2 tries to sift through in 138 minutes. Combined with the laundry list of other franchise prerequisites, subtle examination must have been left on the cutting room floor, or maybe nuance just didn’t focus group well. Make a mental note of the times all aural chaos falls away and one character delivers an incisive, punchy line to another. By my math, you should arrive at the exact number of complex interactions satiated with a cursory, “that should do.”
This kind of hurried, hollow sentiment is what frustrated me most this go round. It’s one thing to openly acknowledge none of this is about characters or story—these are blockbusters, not drawing room dramas—but for relationships to be serviced in such a cheap way is cynical. Manicured and oversimplified, the wildness of feeling something deeply is exchanged for an emotional reaction similar to a gag reflex. It’s procedural. When our core emotional connection feels so broadly manufactured, the whole exercise is rendered inessential.
If my opposing poles of praise and haranguing seem incongruent to the point of contradictory, know it is indicative of the gulf between the head and the heart. Overtly signaled by the characters of Ego and Mantis—one who is all frigid logic, the other an empath capable of feeling and altering others emotions—the concept expands in concentric circles beyond the characters, beyond narrative function, beyond the margins of the film, until it embodies an existential crisis. In its brain, the film knows it is merely a ribbon being woven around the Marvel maypole from which it would never dare sever or distinguish itself. But in those handful of moments where Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 flirts with the sublime, when genuine movie thrill cascades from the screen, you can feel it comes from the heart.
—By Monte Monreal
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