The discourse around the Marvel Cinematic Universe has grown distressingly cynical lately, with critics whining about "superhero fatigue" and "incomprehensible multiverse plots." But after watching the newly public trailer for Avengers: Doomsday, I am relieved to report that these indie-darling complainers are entirely wrong. By boldly abandoning the outdated concept of narrative and simply rendering every single actor on Earth onto a shared digital battlefield, the studio has elevated the blockbuster to its truest state. Kevin Feige has finally realized that we do not need character arcs when we have sheer, unadulterated payroll.
I happened to be at a private polo mixer in Malibu with several top-tier publicists when the footage was first shown to CinemaCon attendees back in April. The energy in the VIP tent was electric. We were watching history. When the X-Men finally squared off against the Avengers on a digitally rendered grey wasteland, I didn't see heroes fighting over the fate of the cosmos. I saw the breathtaking, triumphant culmination of Disney’s $71 billion acquisition of 21st Century Fox. To see corporate synergy manifested so beautifully on screen—watching a legacy Fox asset punch a Disney consumer product in the face—brought a genuine tear to my eye.
The sheer logistical majesty of this film cannot be overstated. We are talking about the culmination of seven years and three Phases of multiverse-crossing storytelling, which is industry shorthand for "we never let anyone out of their contracts." I was recently speaking with a source close to the production at a tasting menu in Silver Lake, who confirmed that the daily call sheet for this movie is physically heavier than the script. For too long, Hollywood has suffered under the delusion that movies need themes or emotional stakes. Doomsday bravely asks the question: what if a film was just a $400 million accounting spreadsheet exploding in IMAX?
Our goal wasn't just to save the universe, but to ensure that no working actor in SAG-AFTRA could ever appear in an independent film again.
Take the introduction of Doctor Doom. The reps I spoke to over chopped salads at Cecconi’s last week were buzzing about the sheer leverage this character gives the studio. By putting their new central antagonist in a metal mask that completely obscures his face, Marvel has brilliantly insulated themselves against future talent negotiations. If the actor ever asks for a backend box office cut, the studio can simply digitally paste the mask onto a non-union stand-in and have an AI read the lines. It is exactly this kind of visionary, anti-labor storytelling that keeps the theatrical experience alive.
And then, of course, there is the return of Captain America. Pundits have argued that dragging legacy characters back from the dead undercuts the emotional weight of their previous franchise exits. To this, I say: grow up. Emotional weight does not drive Q4 subscriber growth. Why would a studio let a beloved icon enjoy a dignified, permanent ending when they can back up a Brinks truck and force them into a multiversal time-heist to boost toy sales? Watching a visibly exhausted A-lister grimace through a green-screen monologue because his wealth manager advised him to take the check is the very essence of movie magic.
We constantly hear struggling auteurs whining to the trades about how these superhero monoliths are choking out mid-budget cinema and hogging all the premium screens. To them, I ask a simple question: have you tried securing the licensing rights to Wolverine? No? Then stop complaining that your little coming-of-age indie isn't getting a wide release. If Martin Scorsese wanted people to watch Killers of the Flower Moon, he should have included a post-credits scene where Leonardo DiCaprio is recruited by the Fantastic Four. It is called show business, not show-feelings.
We realized that character development takes up valuable screen time that could be used to show a recognizable logo.
Naturally, the usual suspects are complaining that the trailer is confusing for casual viewers. They whine that understanding why a secondary mutant is crying in the background requires having watched 47 hours of Disney+ television, including the animated spin-offs and the holiday special. I find this complaint incredibly lazy. If you haven't done the mandatory homework of paying $13.99 a month to monitor the studio’s streaming content since 2021, you simply do not deserve to enjoy the theatrical payoff. The burden of comprehension should be on the consumer, not the screenwriter.
I am already clearing my schedule for the red carpet rollout, which will presumably require renting out a medium-sized European nation just to accommodate the cast’s security details. The publicists are already sweating over the seating chart, desperately trying to figure out how to arrange 85 highly paid action figures in a corporate sandbox without triggering a walkout. I, for one, cannot wait to stand behind the velvet rope and ask them which tennis ball on a stick was their favorite to act opposite.
It is incredibly moving to see so many disparate intellectual properties finally come together to form a single, impenetrable wall of revenue.
As awards season approaches, I expect the usual snobbery from the Academy, which stubbornly continues to favor films with human emotions. But the tracking numbers don't lie. The box office projections for Doomsday are astronomical, proving once again that audiences don't want to be challenged; they want to be aggressively reminded of things they already own. True cinema isn't found in a quiet character study. True cinema is sitting in a darkened theater, surrounded by weeping adults, cheering wildly because a man who signed a non-disclosure agreement in 2004 just walked through a glowing orange portal.