Issue 9, Semester 1, 2019
I should say at the outset here, that I am not a hipster. I don’t wear a turtleneck, I don’t drink at The Brunny, and I don’t know where my coffee beans are sourced from. I like to think, too, that I don’t hate on things just for being popular. You do you, boo. However, my normal dude credentials took a hit this month, with the release of Avengers: Endgame.
We tell ourselves the comforting lie that we live in a free country, but when you’re in your 20s, seeing Endgame is not a choice. My mate came to my door, tickets in hand, insisting we see it. “I cried the first time,” he confided.
I went to the cinema with an open mind, but I mean, seriously. Am I the only one that saw that movie for the flaming pile of Wakandan rhino dung that it was? I know that sounds a little harsh, but I’m frustrated. Marvel did what Marvel does: throw obscene amounts of money at a script until it’s aesthetically pleasing enough to impersonate art.
Endgame has a confused story, superficial character development, and perhaps most egregiously, a lack of internal consistency. Even leaving aside the whole time-paradox thing, Thanos’ strength has been shown to shatter metal, yet time and again, his punches are shaken off like they’re ‘drink responsibly’ reminders at Law Ball.
And on top of it all, I felt bad for Thanos. He seems like a stand-up guy, doing what’s necessary. The REAL enemy isn’t murderous aliens, it’s entropy. Get woke.
My friend cried again. I suppose I’d best resign myself to being out of touch.
J Grimaldus is a First Year JD Student.