Thunderbolts* (2025)
There is a long list of things I’d watch Florence Pugh in, but a Marvel film is pretty near the bottom. The lovely, lovely bottom. Every time I think I’m Marvelled out I end up quite enjoying one of their same-y films. Thundercuntsbolts* having Pugh and David Harbour in it helped, but it was more my girlfriend who wanted to see it than me.
My girlfriend who, if reading, may still annoyed at the Florence Pugh bottom comment.
Films are often only as good as how you’re feeling when you watch them and the mood for Marvel is certainly not a cerebral one. This one is, even by its own name, the Avengers’ B-Team. Peripheral but slightly off the wall characters battle another interchangeable villain, challenging CGI and your attention.
Superhero films are to actors what Turki Al-Sheikh is to boxers, a fucking payday. Sometimes the money is well worth what it is overpaying for, but they’re queuing up like heroin addicts at Lewisham Boots for their methadone. Funny story, I once saw a queue of people waiting impatiently in Boots for their prescriptions go a bit mad when someone queue jumped for their methadone.
OK it’s not funny-funny, but sometimes an agitated addict with the shakes trumps your fungal cream. Certainly from the Pharmacist’s perspective.
Bedsit it?
We made it though, and it certainly isn’t as bad as it could have been/I feared, but Thunderbolts* is another example of a Marvel film where I want to write “Dear Marvel, please stop for a bit, at least until you have something good. Sure, you can recast Florence Pugh.” 5/10
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