Avengers: Endgame

One of most celebrated comic runs of my lifetime was a legendary sequence of X-Men issues from the mid-'70s to early '80s, written by Chris Claremont and drawn by John Byrne. Known as the "Dark Phoenix" saga, it follows one psychic mutant named Jean Grey, who imbued with near-god-like powers and slowly becomes corrupted by them. She eventually forces her mutant teammates -- including her lover, Scott Summers, aka Cyclops -- to have to tragically contend with her (a second attempt at filming this saga is due out this summer).

Comprised of roughly 17 off-and-on issues, spread out over the course of four years, what was most amazing in this run was its calculated pace: In a genre of literature perennially built on quick, 22-page expositions (with everything turning out more or less OK at the end), Claremont and Byrne instead opted for the long game, slowly building out the Dark Phoenix arc over the spines of other narratives, interlocking them like a Dickens novel, and allowing for, by comics standards at the time, an almost unheard of subtlety. When Jean Gray finally became all-consumed by her power, culminating brilliantly in Byrne's shocking and game-changing last page in issue No. 134, it was nothing short of breathtaking.

The Marvel Comics Universe, I'm happy to report, has followed along this type of painstaking arc, slowly building in momentum, and adding connecting tissue over the course of now 22 films over 12 years to bring us to this climactic point. For many Marvel fans, Thanos' now-iconic "Snappening" at the end of Avengers: Infinity War, where with a mere hand gesture he wiped out half of the universe, including many well-established Marvel characters (though, notably, none of the original Avengers squad), was the equivalent of the moment Byrne conjured up almost 40 years ago, the singular point where everything we thought we understood was suddenly thrown into chaos.

Comics being comics -- Stan Lee, the late majestic spiritual leader of Marvel, once famously said readers didn't actually like change, only the idea that things have changed -- we knew going in there was no way they were actually going to wipe out that many characters at once (especially considering Spider-Man was already coming out with a planned sequel to his first solo MCU film, Homecoming; and the Black Panther had just starred in a film that grossed $1.35 billion), but it was also clear that whatever solution the heroes came up with to combat Thanos was going to cost them some sort of plenty. And lo, that certainly comes to pass.

After the incredible climax of the last film, and the mountain of hype surrounding this release, filmmakers Anthony and Joe Russo, working from an outstanding script from Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, opt to start on the other end of the spectrum: The film begins still in a kind of mourning, with the devastated remaining heroes, including Captain America (Chris Evans), Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), the Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson), Nebula (Karen Gillan), and the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) all dealing with the pain of their failure. Even the return of Captain Marvel (Brie Larson) can't seem to undo what Thanos has wrought. Confronting him early, while on his garden retirement planet, it becomes clear to them they will never be able to restore the universe and their lost loved ones. Devastatingly, the film then jumps ahead five years, after the shock and disbelief at what happened has now simply become the heroes' new shared miserable reality.

Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner), aka Hawkeye, is coming from a different angle. Already having hung up his bow in order to spend time with his wife (Linda Cardellini) and kids out in the country, he's unaware of what's going on with his former teammates, until the Snap vanishes his family all at once. With nothing else to live for, he goes on a bloody rampage, wiping out entire criminal syndicates and cartels one body bag at a time.

Thor, meanwhile, somewhat hilariously, has become a beer-snorting slacker out in his newly established coastal village of New Asgard. Hanging with his old rock-buddy Korg (Taika Waititi), playing video games and more or less absorbing his failure like any other overgrown frat boy might. Thor drowns his sorrows in nonstop keggers and total irresponsibility.

It isn't until the return from the quantum realm of Ant-Man (Paul Rudd) that the heroes get any glimmer of hope for their fallen comrades and the radical loss of life felt throughout the rest of the cosmos. Cobbling together the surviving team once again, the remaining heroes go all in one last time with their only shot at redemption and the return of their lives as they knew them before Thanos.

The film is indeed three hours long, but as the Russos themselves have described it, the length is exactly what it needs to be. You do feel the run time, but not because it drags or grows tedious. It's weighted by emotional gravity, having you experience so much, so intensely, it leaves you wiped out.

With all the unexpected astonishments and twists, the single most surprising thing is just how emotionally resonant the film is, how deeply it dives into the psyches of characters we've come to know over the last dozen years. Some of this is due to the fine performances of a well-established cast, but a lot of credit has to go to the screenwriters, who've woven together a conclusive and satisfying ending that somehow captures the essence of the films that came before it -- some of which come when the characters literally go back to specific points in time from past movies in order to hatch their plan for saving everyone -- and gets to the heart of what makes the MCU actually work as effectively as it does.

It would seem simple, to create a world in which characters from different films all inhabit the same place at once, and yet, with the many failures of the DC Universe, Universal's seemingly DOA "Dark Universe," and M. Night Shyamalan's shabby attempt at world-building, it's clear that a studio can't arrive at such a place without very careful organization and planning. It helps, of course, that the novel idea of a shared universe was one of Stan Lee's original concepts with his first batch of heroes in the early '60s. No longer forced to live in stand-in cities, a la DC characters (Metropolis, Gotham, Coast City), the Marvel constellation mostly revolved around an identified, and very recognizable New York. By putting them in an actual place, and loading them down with all-too-familiar human frailties -- guilt, egocentrism, anger, insecurity -- Lee created a world that felt just believable enough for his readers to care beyond the genre's penchant for cartoonish delivery and circular melodrama.

The Russo brothers have performed a similar trick, humanizing these heroes -- be they from Earth, the power Cosmic, or distant galaxies -- and allowing us, first to grieve with them, and then to rise up triumphantly when the time comes for sacrifice and purpose, to appreciate the emotional weight of their circumstance. The heroes are prepared to do what's necessary "whatever the cost," and however much we might wish there were some other way around it, we understand why they must. It is the fantastic, grounded in the real.

There are so many small but noteworthy details -- opening the film with Traffic's "Dear Mr. Fantasy"; the name drops, and special shout-outs to comics' fans; the small character beats that allow each protagonist more than just a quip or two; the closing credits, which give singular notice to the stars who have been there from the beginning, and wisely do not use the signature Marvel trick of teasing out the next film, which gives the series, at last, a sense of real closure, if only temporary -- the film feels as if it has been created and calibrated with the utmost care. For a film destined to break the bank no matter how shoddy they might have made it, Marvel has poured enough genuine soul into it to earn its inevitable bounty.

The studio has actually done something quite incredible: With Endgame, they have successfully sewn up their first wave and given it a proper due. There is no hedging here, no holding back so they can keep driving these same main characters through another gauntlet of profitable adventures. This is a proper goodbye, and one you can expect to feel long after the lights come up, proving once again the richly rewarding value there can be in the slow build.

In 1980, Claremont and Byrne showed the world how powerful superhero comics actually could be; now, four decades later, Marvel Studios has gone and proved it once again. For fans of the genre, this is no small feat. In producing a film as affecting and carefully crafted as this, Marvel is bestowing upon their audience the fulfilling sense that their love of these stories isn't just childish, escapist nerdism: By making such an elegant and moving final film, they have proved they haven't wasted our time all these years, perhaps the most gratifying resolution for which comic fans, even the aging ones, could have fervently hoped.

MovieStyle on 04/26/2019