Every Marvel Cinematic Universe movie ranked from worst to best

A stultifying hodgepodge of Mythology 101 midterm answers, generically LOTR-ish battle scenes and Anthony Hopkins bellowing in his best Shakespearean baritone, this is a superhero movie that feels like it might have been made by anyone and no one. It’s simply space-filler before the next big team-up.

Robert Downey Jr. achieves full obnoxiousness. His first turn as Tony Stark, a weapons manufacturer with guilt, was the smartest of a series of smart comeback choices. But with this depressingly bland sequel (scripted by snark specialist Justin Theroux), he’s stranded in lightweight arrogance.

Fare thee well, Edward Norton — we hardly knew ye. He only appeared once in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, before stepping out of the big green guy’s shadow (Mark Ruffalo took over). Nothing about this tentative franchise builder suggests there was any love lost; the movie has little on Ang Lee’s inspired 2003 take.

Coming shortly after the massive commercial peak of Avengers: Endgame, Marvel’s next attempt at a big ensemble picture was almost destined to disappoint, and well, that it did. You can’t fault director Chloé Zhao’s ambition in attempting to bring emotional intimacy and broad concepts about the universe and history – not to mention sex scenes – to the MCU. But the result, while visually awe-inspiring in spots, was overlong and plodding, and not even the otherworldly presence of Angelina Jolie could lift it above ‘mid’ status. 

The first two Ant-Man movies succeeded modestly by playing to the character’s silly power and keeping the tone brisk and light. This third movie fails by trying to up the scale and stakes too far. The result is that its simple hero gets lost in a mishmash of soulless CGI and over-serious plotting, which gives Paul Rudd little opportunity to be the charming everyman. It’s just not much fun. It gets points for a decent introduction to Kang, the big villain of Phase Five. A multi-dimensional being, he’s played with sinister subtlety by Jonathan Majors. Right villain, wrong movie. 

The first Ant-Man movie succeeded largely because of its less-is-more approach: a livewire heist caper stuffed with Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Avenger-style visual gags. Diminishing returns bite, though, in a sequel that strains hard to be effortlessly fun but lacks the same helter-skelter irreverence.

There’s a really promising idea at the centre of Nia DaCosta’s Marvel mash-up. Captain Marvel, Ms Marvel and Monica Rambeau keep switching places any time they use their powers, suggesting we’re in for something like a superhero body-swap. Sadly, it’s confusingly set up and doesn’t come to much. There are weird, fun moments here, but it’s never fully allowed to take flight, repeatedly getting dragged back to setting up the next Marvel movie or TV show. At this point, the sprawling Marvel narrative is feeling like a burden, not a benefit.

The deeper into the MCU we go – and Brave New World is, after all, entry number 35 – the more explaining needs doing. God help anyone who hasn’t seen at least four other Marvel movies during an unforgiving opening stretch that’ll leave you not so much needing another burst of exposition as a life raft. The shared universe device, once so elegantly stitched together by Kevin Feige and his team, is now so cumbersome that even the charismatic Anthony Mackie’s soul-searching but straight-arrow Cap can’t find a way through it. Harrison Ford is solid as a POTUS with a dark secret, but it’s all deeply forgettable.

Dutifully, with a hint of fatigue, Thor accomplishes its essential goal and little else, which is to introduce the mighty warrior to the Marvel onscreen universe, in addition to the hunk who'll be playing him: Australian actor Chris Hemsworth. He definitely looks the part, not so much a slab of beefcake as an entire herd of cattle.

Maybe in another universe there’s a script that can uplift this fun but emotionless sequel. Doctor Strange’s multiversal McGuffin pursuit demands MCU literacy (both TV and film) for its cameos to pay off, yet penalises WandaVision watchers by abruptly corrupting that show’s careful character progression. Though the reanimated corpse – literally – of some Sam Raimi-isms occasionally summons horror-adjacent madness, it more often falls short of satisfying schlock in favour of studio-packaged cheese.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe’s first female-led installment meant a lot symbolically, especially to young girls who resonated with Gal Gadot’s confident portrayal of Wonder Woman. But you can’t help but wish the watershed moment arrived with a more richly imagined central character. While Room's Brie Larson is certainly capable, she’s a bit stranded in the rubber suit, playing a role that gives her scant opportunity to be human.

The MCU’s return to Wakanda nails its toughest assignment – paying fitting tribute to Chadwick Boseman and setting up his Black Panther heir – but the story is a fudge, setting up western imperialism as the big bad, only to veer away, seemingly to avoid unsettling its target audience. And despite the gifted Letitia Wright’s best efforts as the grieving Shuri, there’s still a T’Challa-shaped hole in the middle of it all.

The equivalent of inviting a feral raccoon into a kids’ birthday party, Deadpool’s official arrival into the MCU was always going to end up with someone’s eyes scratched out. In turth, though, this multiversal outing feels smirky rather than subversive, with Ryan Reynolds’ Merc with a Mouth too much of a key brick in the MCU’s Phase 5 edifice to play the snarky outsider with any credibility. Still, he’s a fun character to ride along with, especially with his old frenemy Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) to trade barbs (and claws) with. The plot, needless to say, is largely franchise-feeding nonsense, but the zingers come thick and fast. The Nicepool character has taken on new meaning in the light of Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni’s feud. 

While there’s a definite mid-season feel to this, it’s still a Joss Whedon film, packed with all the snappy action sequences and pomposity-puncturing one-liners we expect (a running gag about Thor’s hammer is almost worth the ticket price alone). But with Marvel’s eyes on Infinity War, viewers got shortchanged.

Given that Captain America may be one of the least tortured Marvel heroes around, the fact that Chris Evans plays him primarily as a walking, talking glass of skim milk doesn't seem out of character. But call upon him to, say, mourn fallen comrades or actually emote, and the movie hits a pothole. His series gets better.

James Gunn and his band of quippy, loveable space rascals bid farewell with a busily-plotted but oddly grumpy trilogy closer. A subplot involving Rocket’s younger years being experimented on by the High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji) doesn’t help Vol. 3 crack a smile; instead, it’s left to Drax (Dave Bautista, fast becoming the MCU’s MVP) and Pom Klementieff’s Mantis to bring the irreverence and fun. Props, too, to Gunn for going where even Sam Raimi came up short and delivering some properly gnarly body horror to the Marvelverse

Just when it seemed like the MCU was getting so big that the whole superhero-movie bubble might burst, along comes an adventure with an action sequence set in a bathtub. Ant-Man is ultimately too flat to leave much of an impression, but it's a much-needed reminder that there are real people underneath all that armor.

While falling some way short of Ragnarok’s laser-focused anarchy, Taika Waititi’s two-hour romp of Norse action is packed with gags and boasts one of the MCU’s strongest villains to date in Christian Bale’s Gorr the God Butcher. But that (relatively) short running length leaves the reintroduction of Jane Foster as the Mighty Thor feeling rushed, contributing to a shapelessly-plotted Phase 4 entry that’s often as frustrating as it is fun.

Homecoming isn’t strictly an origin story: There’s no radioactive spider bite, no wow-I-can-lift-a-car-now moment. This is about a young man figuring out what to do with the power he’s already acquired, while also navigating the pitfalls of everyday teenagerhood. It’s light and breezy and a little throwaway.

After the sugar rush of the first film, recapturing the magic was always going to be an uphill battle. But for all its wit, speed and Kurt Russell playing a swaggering dad with secrets, this second instalment feels like a disappointment. Until well past halfway through, it doesn’t even have a plot, just a bunch of amusing scenes.

Marvel’s 1970s run of kung fu comics were racially stereotyped and often tiresome, but they gave us this fast, fun adaptation so that’s some kind of redemption. An almost entirely Asian cast create an origin story that pays tribute to classic kung fu, wuxia and Hong Kong action but never at the expense of having fun. Simu Liu makes an immensely engaging hero – and it’s about time the MCU went to karaoke.

Phase 4 of the MCU will be built on the talents of indie stalwarts like Chloé Zhao, Destin Daniel Cretton and Somersault's Cate Shortland – and on the evidence of this slick fusion of big action and needlepoint-precise character beats, it's a good move. Scarlett Johansson manages to locate new depths to Natasha Romanoff in a Bourne-like actioner that pairs her with Florence Pugh to excellent effect. David Harbour's beefy and hugely enjoyable Russian super-buffoon Red Guardian compensates for the generic villainy on offer.

The Iron Man sub-saga undergoes the kind of freshening up it needed after a brief flirtation with Mickey Rourke. Take Stark to an unlikely place (rural Tennessee), have the magical suit totally fail him, have him attract a curious wiseass of a preteen sidekick—all of these things happen in a snappy course correction.

It’s hard to remember now, but back in 2012, the idea of Iron Man, Captain America, the Incredible Hulk etc all sharing the same screen was a mind-blowing concept several years and many origin stories in the making. If it had tanked, all your Endgames and adventures in the Spider-Verse may never have happened. Thankfully, Joss Whedon more than met the high expectations of the Marvel faithful, delivering the MCU’s first true ‘event’ movie that’s at once big and loud, funny and fun, frivolous but not at all dumb. 

What’s better than one Spider-Man? How about three? Ripping open the door to the multiverse for the first time, Marvel delivered fan service on the most giddy level possible – see the YouTube clips of packed theaters exploding with wild applause with each surprise appearance. Also, props to whoever put together the soundtrack for getting De La Soul, Liquid Liquid and Talking Heads’ ‘I Zimbra’ into the MCU.

Farewell, then, Phase 5 of the Marvelverse, with your inconsequential plotlines and D-list villains (Dar-Benn and M.O.D.O.K. anyone?). 

This run of movies and TV shows post-Endgame has felt like an extended middle-age for a once all-conquering franchise groping to rediscover its mojo. The joints have stiffened on the action, the temples have started to grey on the storytelling. And how do you avoid a sense of grating overfamiliarity after 35 movies? 

The answer, to a point, is Thunderbolts*. It’s a team-up superhero movie that’s ballsy enough to set aside the usual labyrinthine weave of subplots and dig into mental health, childhood trauma and domestic abuse – and do it with feeling.

Sure, you’re probably arguing that all of Marvel’s superheroes are the products of trauma – even Captain America, the wholesome heart, got a brutalising serum-ing – but not quite like here. The misfit nature of its scrappy antiheroes stems from relatable psychological damage that cuts a bit deeper. An Inception-like battle inside a character’s unconscious is an especially bold touch – like director Jake Schreier (Robot & Frank) has just handed the keys to Carl Yung.

And the plot? Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s scheming CIA wonk Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is facing impeachment hearings after the events of a previous movie (don’t ask, not sure). With Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan) now a senator and on her case, she’s trying to bury the evidence. 

It’s like director Jake Schreier has handed the keys to Carl Yung

On her kill list are her former superhero operatives: depressed former child assassin Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh); broken-down family man and ‘dime store’ Captain America, John Walker (Wyatt Russell); glitchy shapeshifter Ava Starr (Hannah John-Kamen); and masked mercenary Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko). They’re all lured to a mountain base for an overlong ambush sequence that introduces the mysterious Bob (Lewis Pullman, also Bob in Top Gun: Maverick) and sees them form a reluctant team hastily named after Yelena’s childhood soccer team. 

As so often the case, this Marvel effort is best when its talented cast is flinging around snarky banter and self-aware asides. David Harbour is exuberant as limo-driving one-time Soviet superhero Red Guardian, Yelena’s adopted dad – ‘The light inside you is dim, even by Eastern European standards,’ he tells her – while Stan gets some cool Winter Soldier stuff to do, and the excellent Pugh moors things as a troubled but compassionate superhero trying to hold it all together.

By now, you’ll know if you’re still on board for MCU Phase 6 and the runway to Avengers: Doomsday, in which case you don’t need me to tell you to stay until the end of the credits. Thunderbolts*’s Marvel callbacks aren’t as baffling as those in Captain America: Brave New World, but some prior knowledge of Black Widow and dreary Disney+ spinoff The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is helpful.

Happily, though, it’s a cut above any of those. Maybe Marvel has a few new cards to play.

In UK and Australian cinemas Thu May 1. In US theaters Fri May 2.

A war over tactics and goals is waged between Chris Evans’s squarely patriotic Captain and Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man, but the unexpected emotional heft left pretenders like Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice in the dust. This is a film about the violent end of a friendship and the moral questions that come with free will.

The Marvel-verse has never shied away from a bit of groovy psychedelia, from the prog-rock cityscapes of Thor to Ant-Man’s voyage into cosmic inner space. But they’ve never gone full down-the-rabbit-hole acid freak-out—until now. There are sequences here that could burn the top layer off your eyeballs.

This installment delivers a heavy and welcome dose of political paranoia (courtesy of Robert Redford, playing against lefty type as an ominous high-ranking government official). Chris Evans’s superhero remains an enjoyable square peg in the round hole of the sleek Marvel universe.

Goofy banter had been part of the MCU ever since Joss Whedon got to write a script for it, but the inaugural voyage of Star-Lord and friends is a whole other ball of quips. Legitimately funny and fast-paced, featuring a lesser-known group of heroes, it felt genuinely subversive, and made its cast of misfits into true franchise-carrying stars.

Paced swiftly by Swingers star-turned-director Jon Favreau, the film that started it all is blessed by motormouthed Robert Downey Jr. as billionaire tech genius Tony Stark, an apolitical man with stripper poles on his private plane. Much was made of this “risky” casting, but it pays off beautifully.

An overstuffed sausage of summer entertainment, this is the Ocean’s Thirteen of spandexed heroism—if you can imagine a version of that movie with two times as many Brad Pitts and no poker dealers. The result is endless in-fighting for alpha-dog dominance, everyone trying to make what amounts to a cameo stick.

If the irreverent Ragnarok is the funniest Marvel movie to date—topping even Guardians of the Galaxy—it’s not without frustrations. The standard third act CGI-fest feels leaden and there’s one too many superpowered MacGuffins (we’d have quickly misplaced the Flame of Thingamajig). But in a world of portentous blockbusters, it’s a joy to see one throwing on the disco lights.

Arriving with the momentum that only 21 previous global blockbusters can provide, here's the multiplex-rattling and curiously emotional culmination of the MCU—at least until the next chapter. Endgame often pays tribute to itself, which makes it as fascinating as it is self-serious. It taps into a live wire of doomy tragedy and phoenix-like rebirth that comics do so well.

Handsomely mounted by Creed’s Ryan Coogler and starring an enviable slate of black actors that makes cameoing comics godhead Stan Lee almost seem lost, Marvel’s best movie, pound for pound, is provocative and satisfying in ways that are long overdue—like its ornate, culturally dense production design and the deeper subtexts of honor, compassion and destiny.