Apart from the Inception-esque psychedelia of Doctor Strange, whose visual creations have to be my favorite of any blockbuster from the past ten years, the Marvel universe never attracted me the same way that it did millions of American moviegoers. I’m not a comic book fan firstly, and interstellar voyages in general are less of a passion than, say, British fantasy. (I cried when Robb Stark and Snape died, not Luke.) But after a decade of successful formula-honing, of remarkably consistent storytelling and heartwarming—if not revolutionary—character development, I’m finding that I’ve actually seen most of these movies. I often saw them with my dad if we needed a way to bond, though sitting silent in a dark theater doesn’t necessarily prompt closeness. He dozed off often, but watching Marvel, it was easy to feel like we were in our own movie, set in the eighties, perhaps, because we’d go to theaters in the small towns bordering ours, which had old-fashioned main streets and burger joints, where we’d eat after or before, the deadness of a Sunday evening closing in, the sampling of suburbias tolerable because we were escaping them for a couple of hours.
Together we saw all of the Captain America films, the second two Iron Man films, the first two Avengers films. From 3000 miles away, I texted him in shock about Friday’s box office numbers, which revealed a record-decimating $156 million take for Avengers: Endgame, the last film of Marvel phase three. Of course, Disney has long since killed off its superhero competition, and won’t stop now. Their ability to turn lower-tier players into leaders, through cameos in ensemble pictures and subsequent solo outings, has paid off to ravishing effect. But the Avengers as we know them won’t assemble again after Endgame, and that’s not giving anything away. Robert Downey, Jr. and Chris Evans both disclosed in interviews that they would not sign onto future installments.
In any case, the experience of watching those hours of invested screen time culminate in a three-hour epic, no matter the level of emotional attachment I’ve maintained since Tony Stark first revealed his true identity, caused a strange and foreign effect in my body that I don’t think I’ll feel again for a long time. It occurred in one scene which I wish I could describe, but which I will respectfully leave unspoiled. This scene wasn’t a twist so much as a fulfillment of hope, of belief in personas that can project boundless universality and specific humanity at the same time, united in the face of ever-overwhelming evil (which need not always be rendered in gray). I was somewhat angry when I read, in A.O. Scott’s New York Times review, that the film was a “monument to adequacy, a fitting capstone to an enterprise that figured out how to be good enough for enough people enough of the time.” Though Endgame might have sunk to mere narrative efficiency once or twice—and there was a lot of necessary buildup in the first third—most of the film was much more than good enough, because of people I cared about and people I wanted to see fight and succeed, because these people impressed upon me an appreciation for solidarity, for ultimate togetherness. That’s what the films have always aimed to accomplish, but corporate cynicism would have us doubt the authenticity behind Marvel’s advertising campaigns, their promotional tie-ins and product placement. (I see you, Audi!)
Endgame is capping off the first film franchise that my generation has experienced in its entirety, as it happened. We were too young for the early Potter films, and Star Wars was never going to belong to us, but the Avengers do. And obviously we will get more Black Panther and Spider-Man and Captain Marvel, and probably more Iron Man and Captain America and Thor. It’s never really over, but finality, however impermanent, is a potent force of catharsis, one that’s nice to be consumed by, and to wallow in with others. It is satisfying to know we have watched something colossal through to its finish, something we’ll be able to reminisce on, explain to our children and grandchildren. I think the 2000’s babies are just starting to understand what it means to get old.
Fergus Campbell is a freshman at Columbia College.