For the sake of transparency, I’m not going to write this
review under any pretense of objectivity. As I’ve made abundantly (and probably
obnoxiously) evident on this blog, I have major issues with Marvel and
superhero movies in general, and I had a lot of expectations riding on Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the
second feature film centered on the star-spangled super-soldier. In a
far-fetched way, I was in a similar position to the resurrected Steve Rogers:
disillusioned and clinging to some delicate shred of hope that the future just might be brighter than the present gives
us reason to believe. This movie would either restore my faith in Hollywood
blockbusters or completely ruin my desire to ever pay for another superhero
blockbuster.
At
first, it didn’t look promising. I could actually feel my heart sinking as Captain America and his fellow
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, including the enigmatic ex-Soviet spy Black Widow, boarded
a ship to rescue hostages from Algerian pirates for an extended action sequence
with no immediate purpose in terms of the overarching narrative. It turned out
that the scene wasn’t superfluous, but its function only became apparent much
later in the movie; as an opening set-piece, it was less than enthralling,
plunging viewers into a situation without allowing them to get thoroughly
(re)acquainted with the characters beforehand or informing them of the stakes
involved, of why they should care. Not helping was the awkward humor, which
lacked the sardonic zip we’ve come to expect from even the more subpar entries
in the Avengers mega-franchise.
Just as
I started to resign myself to yet another should’ve-been-better Marvel
offering, something suddenly clicked. I can’t pinpoint the precise moment my
mood shifted from disappointed to thrilled, but it must have been sometime
around when Robert Redford entered the picture, sporting a stark gray suit and
old-fashioned spectacles as menacing S.H.I.E.L.D. official Alexander Pierce.
It’s widely agreed that villains are something of a weak point for Marvel, yet
even as an outspoken critic of the studio, I think that shortcoming might be
overstated. After all, Tom Hiddleston’s Loki is by far the closest any other superhero
antagonist has come to matching the intoxicating, compulsively watchable allure
of Heath Ledger’s Joker, and even lesser baddies such as Guy Pearce’s Aldrich
Killian have been elevated by forceful performances. Pierce belongs closer to the
latter group. His motives and background are rather hazy, his diabolical
scheme not quite holding up to close scrutiny, yet thanks to Redford, it hardly
matters. With his weathered face and steely gaze, the veteran performer brings
a welcome gravitas to the largely fanciful proceedings, unexpectedly resisting
the impulse to chew scenery in favor of a restrained, almost world-weary
iciness.
From
there, we’re swept up in a white-knuckle conspiracy thriller that fuses the relentless
frenzy of the Bourne franchise with
the bleak paranoia of ‘70s political dramas like Three Days of the Condor. Continuing the emergent trend of
inexperienced (male) filmmakers entrusted with expensive tent-poles, directors
Joe and Anthony Russo were thus far most notable for their work on cult TV
comedies such as Arrested Development
and Community, but they prove themselves
perfectly capable of handling a major studio spectacle, constructing arguably
the most memorable and exciting set-pieces of any Marvel offering. Needless to
say, there’s plenty of CGI destruction, but unlike so many recent superhero
movies, The Winter Soldier keeps its
action relatively contained, whether it’s a car chase, hand-to-hand combat or a
good, old-fashioned shootout; no cities are annihilated, and collapsing
buildings are at a minimum. Take, for instance, one particularly arresting
scene, which unfolds in a small glass elevator: not only does the enclosed
space serve to accentuate the vaguely claustrophobic atmosphere that lurks
throughout the movie, but it also generates a heightened sense of urgency,
thanks in no small part to an electrifying score by Henry Jackman that cleverly
overlaps rapid-fire beats with snatches of Alan Silvestri’s grand, more
traditional Avengers theme. The sharp sound design makes each punch, each
snapped bone and discharged bullet, felt
rather than merely observed or assumed, and the lively choreography effectively
conveys chaos without sacrificing coherence.
More
than any other Avengers movie, the cast here forms a true ensemble, as each
actor fulfills his or her function admirably while declining to hog the
spotlight. Reprising their respective parts as Steve Rogers/Captain America and
Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow, Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson share a
charmingly easy chemistry; it’s especially refreshing to see the latter given
the opportunity to play an actual human being rather than the sex
object/(deliberately) robotic femme fatale roles she was relegated to in
previous outings. Samuel L. Jackson also gets more to work with than ever
before, as he’s finally allowed to participate in the action instead of
dispensing orders from afar. Aside from Redford, the most high-profile newcomer
is Anthony Mackie, who dons mechanical wings to portray war veteran-turned-PTSD
counselor-turned-sidekick Sam Wilson/Falcon, providing yet another reason why
he deserves to headline a movie of his own (spin-off, anyone?). As fantastic as
all of them are, however, the performance that stuck with me most is that of
Sebastian Stan. Despite spending a substantial portion of his screen-time with
his face concealed behind a mask and uttering virtually no dialogue, Stan
infuses the titular Winter Soldier with agonizing humanity, hinting at deep
wells of repressed emotion and inner turmoil simply through his haunted eyes.
Still,
the film is not without its faults. As much as I adored Hayley Atwell in the
original Captain America, her scene
here feels clumsy and out-of-place, not nearly as poignant as it should be.
Also, while the most distinctive and ambitious entry in the Avengers franchise
to date, The Winter Soldier can’t
escape certain hallmarks that have long plagued Marvel’s superhero movies, from
the extended running time to the frustratingly incomplete ending (cue nostalgia
for blockbusters that feel like individual stories instead of prologues to
future installments). Although not as detrimental as in other examples of the
genre, for reasons that will be explained later, the movie’s sprawling scope
winds up working against it, diluting the tension and robbing it of any genuine
surprise; there are a couple of plot twists, but they either have been openly
telegraphed by the marketing campaign or should be apparent to anybody with
even a rudimentary knowledge of how superhero universes work.
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