Editorial: Six Seasons and an Anniversary

Today marks a decade since the tumultuous television sitcom Community aired its pilot episode. It centred around a former lawyer – who’s been temporarily suspended pending his lack of degree –  forming a fake study group for a few people in his Spanish class at Greendale Community College, with the sole intention of winning over the attention of an uptight drop-out, whilst repeatedly leaving said group to arrange a method of passing all his classes with minimal effort through a former client who works there. By the end, it’s proven that his attempts were in vain, and while the group he inadvertently created takes him back in after he openly admits that it wasn’t his intention, he’s no closer to winning over the interest of the one he desires. Fast forward six troublesome years of airtime and another four off-air, there’s little denial that the series has made a long-lasting impact on modern-day media and culture, whether it’s through key crewmembers moving on to larger projects – such as creator Dan Harmon’s adult animation juggernaut Rick and Morty and director/producer duo Joe and Anthony Russo and their big-screen efforts for Marvel Studios (the link of which I discussed in my previous editorials) – or its younger stars garnering success away from the series; most notably Alison Brie in critically-acclaimed Netflix show BoJack Horseman and GLOW and Donald Glover’s worldwide takeover of the entertainment industry.

The first season of the show may be seen the series’ best from an industrial standpoint, with a strong viewership rating for its pilot episode and doing well enough to earn an additional three episodes alongside a renewal, but it’s a season that takes its time to discover itself. The first ten episodes constantly pair up the group’s ringleader (Joel McHale’s Jeff Winger) with a single co-star in order to establish their dynamic whilst side plots lack in some depth – for example, ‘Introduction to Film’ is so centred on Jeff, Britta (Gillian Jacobs) and Abed (Danny Pudi) and their linked stories that it leaves Pierce (Chevy Chase) and Troy (Glover) focused on how the latter student sneezes in a high pitch. The sneeze is established early on in a throwaway manner, there’s a scene midway through where Pierce offers to help him, and then by the end there’s another scene where Troy proves he can sneeze in a manly way. It’s a three-part story with little substance and even less focus. The pre-Christmas run of the season sticks to a familiar formula of Jeff facing an issue raised either by someone in the study group or by either one of the teachers or the Dean (Jim Rash), and the others facing a largely-unrelated problem of their own, such as science projects or simple human interactions.

The sole outlier in this comes in ‘Debate 109’, which has Jeff bribed into joining the school’s debate team alongside Annie (Brie) whilst the others discover that Abed has become so adverse in how his friends act that he can predict what’s going to happen (which he realises through an online series based on his group) and Britta entrusts Pierce in helping her quit smoking via hypnotherapy. While the debate sequences are the A-plot, it’s the B-plot that ties everything together: Abed’s series inadvertently cements his Shaman-esque abilities by foreseeing Pierce injuring his leg, and his attempt to circumvent his prophecies by having Annie and Jeff kiss whilst Shirley (ordinarily played by Yvette Nicole Brown) is chased down by a werewolf leads to Shirley jokingly informing the pair about it; the prediction leads to Annie making out with Jeff during the final debate (and in turn sowing the seeds for a third romantic prospect for Jeff) and winning. Out of the pre-Christmas selection, it’s the best of the episodes and the first sign of the series beginning to get an understanding of itself.

The first of the post-Christmas episodes, ‘Investigative Journalism’, quickly establishes that the rest of the season is going to play out differently, with Jeff admitting to being a jerk during the first term and largely moving away from the Britta-adoration, and in turn Britta’s political side is downplayed in favour of making her more of a comedic personality – a path which would lead her into becoming the butt of all the group’s jokes. Likewise, the Annie/Troy dynamic is scrapped, with Annie admitting to Britta in ‘Romantic Expressionism’ that “he’ll never see me like that” and the occasional pairing of Troy and Britta to be proving to be successful in ‘Interpretative Dance’ and ‘Basic Genealogy’ (although less so than Annie/Jeff and Troy/Abed). The comedy itself starts to spiral into more bizarre areas as it continues to grow, with the two homage episodes – ‘Contemporary American Poultry’ and ‘Modern Warfare’ – proving how far the series can go. The latter especially cemented Community’s prowess, as it successfully aped the action genre and created a believably wild environment within the otherwise-restrictive landscape of the community college, while still provided to the overarching storyline of Jeff and Britta’s relationship; providing an end to the unresolved sexual tension that had been built up following Jeff starting, and later breaking up, with Professor Slater (Lauren Stamile) whilst setting up the season finale where each of Jeff’s long-standing relationships come to a head.

‘Pascal’s Triangle Revisited’ allows reflection on the changed dynamics and characterisations of the group, with Pierce remarking early on how he and Troy were initially on the same wavelength (a duo that was dissolved in favour of Troy and Abed’s pairing, although the difficult relationship between Chase and Glover that’s come to light in the years since might have also played a part in that) and Annie showing how much less restrictive she’s become – so much so that she’s willing to leave everything behind and follow her hippy boyfriend (Eric Christian Olsen) to Delaware. It’s with this that also solidifies why she and Jeff are ultimately the better pairing: she’s the middle ground between accepting him for who he is but still has the power to change him for the better. The first hints of which are spread across the season, as Jeff gets Annie outside her narrow-minded focus in episodes such as ‘Football, Feminism and You’, ‘Debate 109’ and ‘Investigative Journalism’, and in turn Annie starts directing Jeff into a kinder person in ‘Basic Genealogy’. By ‘Romantic Expressionism’, Jeff has become protective of the youngest member of the group but refuses to believe it’s for a reason other than it just being because it’s Britta’s ex-boyfriend, which comes to a head by the end of the episode when the entire study group come to realise that any of them have the potential to become an item.

With season one taking its time in discovering what it wants to become, season two quickly opts to find a fine balance between the ordinary and the extraordinary, and in turn creates a season that ups the ante significantly; with close to half of the output being as perfect as an episode of Community can be. It also puts aside the notion of Jeff being the main character, as he begins to inhabit B-plots and allow for the other six members of the study group (later rebranded as the “Greendale Seven”) to have more of a spotlight, and supporting characters Ben Chang (Ken Jeong, transitioning from Spanish teacher to fellow student) and Dean Pelton (Jim Rash) in turn are given larger roles. The opening episode, ‘Anthropology 101’ does suffer somewhat in resolving the events of the season one finale with an added benefit of Betty White, but by the time the homages rear their head in ‘Basic Rocket Science’ and ‘Epidemiology’ it’s more apparent that this season will be more like the second half of season one than the first – the latter episode of which highlighting just how far the series can go by bringing a zombie outbreak Halloween episode that not only remains canon, with the first signs of a pregnancy storyline between Shirley, Chang and Shirley’s ex-husband Andre (Malcolm-Jamal Warner), but how ridiculous they can take the format and comedy. Few sitcoms could do an in-universe zombie outbreak, let alone one set to the music of ABBA.

It’s easy to suggest that the homage episodes are the better of the general output, and in such classic cases as ‘Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas’ and the paintball two-parter that is very much the case, but the more “ordinary” stories also strive regularly. ‘Cooperative Calligraphy’ is often lauded for how strong an episode is from a comedic and character-driven standpoint that its lampshading of the bottle episode’s nature only makes the absurdity of the study group going mad over a missing pen, whilst ‘Mixology Certification’ takes the group outside the familiar setting of the study room and shatters Troy’s belief that Jeff and Britta have an understanding of the adult world when he sees how little they truly know, alongside seeing how alcohol can affect his friends – he evidently grows up when he takes over the role of leader of the group in the third act and maturely helps Annie with her sudden lack of self-worth. ‘Critical Film Studies’ is a strong blend between the homage and the “ordinary” as Abed and Jeff have a “genuine” conversation that just so happens to be Abed doing a real-life interpretation of My Dinner with Andre whilst the remainder of the group basks in a Pulp Fiction aesthetic. Abed does this because he feels that he and Jeff have grown distant over their sophomore year, and the repercussions of which lead to the two growing a little closer, even if it’s at the behest of Jeff in fear he may reveal his secrets (a fear which does realise in ‘Paradigms of Human Memory’ when Abed figures out that Jeff and Britta have been sleeping with each other in private). Likewise, the fan-favourite ‘Advanced Dungeons and Dragons’ blends the two and crafts a hilarious adventure based almost entirely within the study room but conveys the dark basis that this fun is coming from a desire to save an individual – one who had a single appearance and a namecheck beforehand – from committing suicide.

But of course, the gimmick episodes shine through and help give the series a sense of identity to the outside viewer, as Community experiments more with its format and capability. The aforementioned Christmas instalment is entirely based within the stop-motion animation format and apes the firm American festive favourites by Rankin/Bass to create a more magical world and stretch an unfortunate moment of mental instability into a genuine tale about the magic of Christmas for those who don’t fit the standard criteria most commonly presented in Hollywood holiday fare, complete with wonderful musical numbers, and in turn can be likened to a modern Christmas classic. The show also deviates its style in ‘Intermediate Documentary Filmmaking’ when it switches to the hand-held camera format commonly seen in documentaries and such comedies as The Office and Parks and Recreation. As Abed says in the episode, “[i]t's easier to tell a complex story when you can just cut to people explaining things to the camera” – it brings an entirely new side to the characters and their thought processes, while also showing Abed’s own perception of his friends within the context of the story. Even the two-part finale ‘A Fistful of Paintballs/For a Few Paintballs More’ pays tribute to two different genres whilst keeping its overarching story consistent – how many shows can successfully blend a full-blown Western motif with a Star Wars homage?

Season two starts to throw story arcs into the mix now that the characters’ personalities and relationships have been solidified, with Shirley facing a dilemma of an unplanned pregnancy with possibly someone who’s often considered to be insane instead of the man she finally got back, whilst Pierce transitions from a clumsy but open part of the group to a villainous entity who strives on seeing how far he can push the group (most notably in ‘Intermediate Documentary Filmmaking’ when he uses his bed-ridden state into playing mind games with everyone). The Shirley arc is arguably the lesser of the two, but it also creates a pattern for Chang’s part in the show post-firing: in this season he’s presented as the scary alternative to a perfect life Shirley’s finally starting to get back – he’s often presented as being a deranged and disgusting character, but does show genuine care for his potential child and willing to change for the chance to father the kid – but the following season gives him a less grounded story in which he transitions from student/Jeff’s unwanted lodger to homeless security guard/wannabe dictator. Season four attempts to avoid giving the character a lasting consequence for his actions by having him fake “Changnesia” and lie his way back into the group, but with that it means future seasons underutilise Jeong, even if they tone down the insanity and, by the sixth season, finally make him a full-fledged part of the group. Pierce, in the meantime, might come across from the outset as a bizarre move, but it makes sense to have the outdated character be the cause of such conflict, and it isn’t unwarranted as the group does so often treat him as the butt of the group. He’s not presented as an entirely heartless person, as he’s willing to stay with Abed during his Christmas psychosis until the very end and even finds potential love from an outsider in ‘Competitive Wine Tasting’, but it does become clear by the end of the season – once everyone has given up on him – that he was testing their patience because he never had friends for long, and even when given the option to join them once again he opts against it. It makes for both an amusing arc for the character to see how far he can push these people, but also shows the sadness within.

Season three came with a desire from the network for things to tone down – address with a public outcry by the producers at the beginning of ‘Biology 101’ where they essentially present a giant middle finger to such requests – and a desire from Dan Harmon to make a more cohesive and connected show, which leads to a stronger focus on character storylines that bring new issues or expand on previously referenced elements. The most long-lasting of these arcs come from Troy and his unexpected prowess with maintenance work, which was first hinted in season one in ‘English as a Second Language’ but kicks into gear in the first episode of this season when we’re introduced to the Air Conditioning Repair School annex and Vice Dean Laybourne (John Goodman), who brings a stranglehold over the main school and Dean Pelton and – upon receiving word of Troy’s talents in ‘Advanced Gay’ – persists in trying to get Troy to join the Air Conditioning Repair school; the efforts range from forcing Pelton into personally enrolling him into the school in ‘Origins of Vampire Mythology’ to provoking the already-growing divide between Troy and Abed in ‘Digital Exploration of Interior Design’. The arc ultimately melds with Chang’s rise to dictatorship when Troy sacrifices his freedom for everyone else’s and leads to Abed’s final acceptance of the dark side of his mind, and while its conclusion is somewhat rushed within a solitary episode, it leads to the repair school being absorbed into the main conglomeration and allow Troy to continue to see his friends whilst remaining a student of air conditioning repair.

While the plan to make the series more cohesive did work well over the season – in particular in the second half of the season when things kick into gear – the plan to ground events more didn’t translate to the final product, with the most critically applauded episode of the entire series based on different timelines (“Wait, there are other timelines?!”) and how each member of the Greendale Seven affects the others when they’re absent, and the ‘Darkest Timeline’ portion gaining enough traction to become a key part of the remainder of season three and part of season four alongside being used by the fanbase when the series was placed on hiatus. Likewise, character explorations such as ‘Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps!’ and ‘Virtual Systems Analysis’ stray away from the methods season one would have taken, and forays into documentary filmmaking return with both the Dean’s fall to madness in ‘Documentary Filmmaking: Redux’ (which follows the same aesthetic as the previous documentary episode) and the collapsed friendship of Troy and Abed in ‘Pillows and Blankets’ (which opts for a Ken Burns-like approach in an attempt keep costs low). Grounded episodes such as ‘Competitive Ecology’ and ‘Origins of Vampire Mythology’ do still entertain, but they lack the same punch as ‘Basic Lupine Urology’ and ‘Digital Estate Planning’.

If the season does have a fatal flaw, it’s the fact that Community has grown more accustomed towards repeating past concepts. While the previous season did revive paintball for its grand finale, this season revived both the above-mentioned documentary format twice alongside repeating the “clip show” format in ‘Curriculum Unavailable’. While the reuse of these formulas remains highly amusing and rank highly amongst all the episodes, it leads to the assumption that the series thrives best when they return to familiar waters rather than the experimentation that made such episodes triumph in the first place. It becomes more apparent in subsequent seasons when they retread the likes of the confession bottle episode and Dungeons & Dragons, but season three plants the seeds for the constant sequelisation.

The season is probably the first to highlight the lack of love it receives from its network, as with the opening musical number in ‘Biology 101’ there’s repeat evidence of episodes being released out of order and how bizarre the world of Greendale is. Following the elongated hiatus and fan backlash, the season finale strives to tie up all the remaining loose ends – while still opening up possibilities for future storylines – in ‘Introduction to Finality’, which cements the journey towards redemption Jeff has been through across his three years at Greendale and suggests that Abed may finally be accepting of becoming grounded in reality. The final montage, set to the theme tune of the series, makes for a good conclusion to a show that didn’t know if it would garner another renewal. In turn, on-set drama began to leak to the public as the conflict between Chevy Chase and Dan Harmon began to make Community look even less desirable, and in time Harmon was booted from his own series and season four was given a shorter run of 13 episodes. 

Alas, the series’ bad luck behind the scenes led to a fourth season that lacked the same creative energy as the previous three, with numerous crewmembers exiting alongside the exiled Harmon. Add Chevy Chase’s continued disarray on the set, made obvious when he starts to disappear in the latter half of the season – the final episode of the shortened season has so little of him that his decision to graduate before Jeff does comes out of nowhere – and just from the outset it looked destined to be a disaster. To be fair to the replacement showrunners, they tried their best to emulate the series’ formula, but it’s trying so hard to appease to discouraged fans with the endless references that it leads to characters being inconsistent and lazier comedy. It’s made obvious just from the first set of episodes: the opening episode throws in a near groan-worthy “crisis alert” callback and throws in already-dated references to the hipster style and The Hunger Games; the ‘Inspector Spacetime’ convention expands upon a fan-favourite element from season three and brings with it only a couple decent representations of the Doctor Who fanbase (“Toby, did you see...” “The Christmas special? Horrible.” “But when you consider what it set up...” “Brilliant.”) and a cute moment between Annie and Jeff at the very end; ‘Alternative History of the German Invasion’ opts to bring back the irritating German students from the previous season – made more irritating with their increased screen time – and tries to paint the study group in a negative light akin to Homer Simpson in the classic Simpsons episode ‘Homer’s Enemy’, except they throw it in during the final five minutes and quickly brush it under the rug – almost as though they just liked the idea of having flashbacks to past episodes from an outsider’s perspective.

The season isn’t without its moments though. The first few episodes leads to Jeff finally reuniting his father and coming to terms with their poor relationship (dogged down by an awful Adam DeVine and a bizarre prison break homage); the Jim Rash-scripted ‘Basic Human Anatomy’ is a genuinely enjoyable episode which brings an end to the Britta-Troy relationship the season has so poorly implemented alongside a hilarious Dean-as-Jeff performance by Rash, and the introduction of a pre-Oscar Brie Larson as a potential partner was a welcome addition, even if she only appeared in just one episode that year. But with the continuity-shattering episode ‘Heroic Origins’, the tragedy that is the Muppet musical ‘Intro to Felt Surrogacy’, and the outright disaster that is ‘Advanced Introduction to Finality’ – an episode that’s largely a dream sequence that tries its absolute best to ruin both paintball and the Darkest Timeline (arguably the two largest fan-favourite elements from the Harmon era) – it practically killed the show, with Abed and the fanbase referred to it as the “gas leak year”. Luckily, NBC gave the show another chance with the rehiring of Dan Harmon in an effort to regain appeal, but it was too late. The end was in sight…

Season five mad a conscious effort to reset the status quo. The first episode was essentially a remake of the show’s pilot episode, detailing the troubled times the characters were living before the episode – although this time more based around their post-graduation rather than just before starting at Greendale – and once more giving them a reason to be together whilst giving Jeff a new purpose within the school as a reluctant teacher of law, with the following episode defining the difference between teacher life and student life whilst cementing the new goal for the former study group: teaming together to make Greendale a better place. Unfortunately, once they rebrand the show, they have to address Chevy Chase’s exit whilst also paving the path for Donald Glover’s departure. The decision to kill off Pierce is an understandable one, considering how massive the fallout between Chase and the others was, but it’s thrown into the conclusion to an otherwise unrelated episode which succeeds in keeping the mystery element alive but at the cost at a truly hard-hitting reveal. Luckily, the memorial episode manages to both replicate the success of the immensely popular season two bottle episode ‘Cooperative Calligraphy’ whilst opening up a reason for Troy to leave both Greendale and Abed behind, and in turn his farewell episode is brilliantly crafted through both Abed and Britta’s perspectives.

Many – including Harmon – have remarked that Donald Glover’s departure is what ultimately killed the series. Whilst Pierce’s role as the eldest member was replaced by the curmudgeon Buzz Hickey (Jonathan Banks) – an addition who has his moments but understandably only sticks for a sole season – Troy was irreplaceable in the hearts of both the show and its fans, with the relationship between him and Abed originally being a huge reason why to watch the show in the first place. The absence is felt across the remainder of the season and the show, and as much as the writers tried to find a new dynamic both within the established group with roommate Annie or outside the group with the return of Brie Larson, they could never replicate the same success. But Troy’s departure also marked the end to the wackier side of the series, as the remainder of the season would throw in only a couple of ‘gimmick’ episodes with ‘App Development and Condiments’ and ‘G.I. Jeff’ (the latter of which attempting to repeat the success of season two’s ‘Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas’ while implementing a darker side with the angle of the whole thing taking place within Jeff’s comatose state) and instead revert the show back to the more grounded roots of the first season. There’s still a somewhat silly side to the school with the likes of an underground bunker containing a machine that can detect love and Chang’s confused state over the possible existence of ghosts, but stories revolve less around conspiracy theories and paintball matches and instead on mundane elements like a replacement bulletin board or finding a batch of unopened textbooks.

There’s even a slight return to the Jeff/Britta/Annie love triangle, with the first half of the season regularly teaming Jeff and Annie together whilst somewhat addressing the long-burdening interest in one another and the second half reviving Jeff’s interest in Britta when she’s given public attention (much to the chagrin of John Oliver, who returns after a two-year absence and further cements the idea of the show going back to basics) and proposing to her in the finale when their worlds come crashing down amidst the Subway buy-out. Season four did hint towards a continued romantic interest in one another despite being more so enamoured by Troy and Annie, but season five puts more focus on it and signals a definitive answer for whom Jeff has a genuine interest in – even if the series ultimately does little to further develop it the following season.

When NBC pulled the plug once more on Community after the fifth season, for the longest time it seemed to be the final death knell and an early demise for the show that thrived on its #SixSeasonsAndAMovie mantra. And yet, at the eleventh hour, Yahoo of all things came to rescue to revive the show, giving fans what they desired with reaching the six-season mark while also giving Yahoo an internet-popular IP to help their streaming service garner larger support amidst its turn to producing original series, similarly to how Netflix first launched its original content with a new season of Arrested Development in 2013 – a series that had been off-air for seven years but had retained some audience support. The move from broadcast television to online streaming wasn’t a clean one, with Banks exiting alongside long-standing cast members Yvette Nicole Brown and John Oliver and the Russo brothers departing once more (although they were initially set to direct the season’s opener), and unlike the mainstream streaming services the content from Yahoo was largely restricted to just American regions, but Yahoo allowing an additional five-to-ten minutes of runtime per episode and a lack of restriction ensured the sixth season could stretch its leg more than NBC allowed for the previous few years.

If season five started to tone down the cartoon-esque elements of the earlier seasons, season six doubles down on it; practically chucking out the homages and grounded the characters more. It also plays into the relationships the characters have with one another and their school, to a mixed degree. Early on in the season, Jeff comes the realisation that he may be trapped at Greendale and his low-paying job, and across the season it becomes increasingly clear that he has a genuine problem with alcoholism (enough that he keeps ice in a drawer in his classroom) and a strong fear of becoming the last of his friends at the school. He confides in Abed in ‘Intro to Recycled Cinema’ regarding these fears after the most unlikely escapee, Chang, suddenly becomes a movie star, and in the series finale he imagines a reality where he’s the last of his friends in the ‘Save Greendale’ committee and their replacements (a selection of random recurring characters plus Seth Green) openly vocalise his fears. Because of these fears, he’s in turn somewhat secluded from his oldest friends for the majority of the season; sticking largely to storylines with the Dean and newcomer Frankie (Paget Brewster, a fun but unfortunately flat addition to the group who’s lack of distinction is lampshaded in her introduction) and centred around the school than any personal drama. Even the grand return of paintball is focused less on any character drama and instead an underground battle between Greendale and rival school City College. Even the Jeff/Annie dynamic is reduced to just a couple small moments before addressing it in the final moments of ‘Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television’.

Season six may be the series reduced back into becoming a more generic comedy than it had been in years, but by the final three episodes it begins to remember where its heart is: in the characters that Jeff had pronounced “a community” in the pilot. ‘Modern Espionage’ revived the paintball formula after the season four travesty and put a new spin on it by turning into a spy motif; ‘Wedding Videography’ does an alternative to the ‘German Invasion’ episode in showing how self-centred the group – including the new members – can be and how they impact both one another and the people around them, whilst implementing the fan-favourite documentary format that has so often led to the best of the series; ‘Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television’ brings a possible close to the show as it brings a final delve into the perceptions of its characters akin to ‘Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps!’ whilst presenting just a few potential concepts for a seventh season of the show in its current state. It’s the most perfect a goodbye could be for these characters whilst never outrightly stating that this is goodbye – after all, they’ve reached six seasons; a movie is still the dream – and brings a strong farewell for the core group. Jeff and Annie’s moment alone suggests that they may have missed their chance together amidst her incoming move into a life at the FBI, but comes to the conclusion more that the two need more time to grow before they might finally pull the trigger on a relationship; Abed provides an emotional speech about TV and relates it to a friend; even Britta gets a moment where she isn’t the worst, as Frankie presents a representation of the show even worse than hers. The final moments at the airport with Jeff’s hug(s) to Abed say more than words can say about how thankful he is for Abed making the group in the first place and promise a healthier future for the exiting characters whilst making it clear that the remaining characters will still be fine.

At the time of writing, the future of the show is unclear. The past few months have seen a larger limelight on the show than it has received since its NBC days, and the growth in stardom for a number of its stars and crew has highlighted that, should they all reunite, there may be some chance of a movie capping the entire series off, but unfortunately it’s often remarked that the only way a movie would come to light would be if they can get the whole group together again. Donald Glover has evolved from an incredibly funny entity to a toned-down comedian who brings more depth and humanity than one could have ever imagined from his Community days, and it may be difficult for him to return to that same headspace after so much time away from the role. Other parties may find it difficult also, with Chevy Chase practically unemployed by both the show and Hollywood, Dan Harmon being absorbed by Rick and Morty and the high expectations its fans have for each subsequent season, and even the unfortunate passing of prominent school mainstay Richard Erdman earlier this year shows that even if it did come back it would be a fraction of it once was. A movie would be the dream, but the odds are high against even now. An announcement for on its anniversary would be a wish come true, but it’s largely unlikely and will continue to be as the years progress.

Community may be an often forgotten series by both the network that initially commissioned it or by the mainstream public outside of the occasional Donald Glover gif, but its survival through multiple cancellations, showrunner replacement and cast departures is no mean feat, and continues to survive through its thriving fanbase and the continued success of its alumni following their departures. Its trademark meta humour paved the way for this past decade’s more referential humour which expanded across all media, and its original cast offered possibly the most diverse cast of characters that American television was offering. The road may have been rocky, and the post-Harmon firing era rarely reached the same heights as the ‘Golden Age’, but Community remains a vital piece of television viewing, and one I personally always enjoy revisiting.

For those curious, the best three episodes per season (in order of airing) are:

Season One

• 'Debate 109'
• 'Physical Education'
• 'Modern Warfare'

Season Two

• 'Cooperative Calligraphy'
• 'Advanced Dungeons and Dragons'
• 'Intermediate Documentary Filmmaking'

Season Three

• 'Remedial Chaos Theory'
• 'Pillows and Blankets'
• 'Basic Lupine Urology'

Season Four

• 'Herstory of Dance'*
• 'Intro to Knots'*
• 'Basic Human Anatomy'

Season Five

• 'Basic Intergluetal Numismatics'
• 'Cooperative Polygraphy'
• 'Geothermal Escapism'

Season Six

• 'Modern Espionage'
• 'Wedding Videography'
• 'Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television'

*These episodes are below average but are stronger than the remainder of this season's output

Editorial: Part Two of One

This is a continuation of a prior editorial. If you haven't read it, I highly suggest reading it here.

For those unaware, Community was a sitcom set in a community college that centred on a cast of diverse and distinct characters that would in time play upon known genre traits and homages to create highly amusing entertainment, and despite its smaller viewing figures managing to build a massive cult following that allowed it to reach its coveted six seasons goal (the movie portion is yet to materialise). The Russo brothers were a key part of the show’s first three seasons, with executive producer roles and regularly taking turns in directing some of the series’ most beloved episodes; the most notable in this case being the season two finale ‘A Fistful of Paintballs/For a Few Paintballs More’. A sequel to the prior season’s infamous ‘Modern Warfare’ (directed by Fast and Furious director Justin Lin of all people), this finale had to not only be a worthy successor to the first season’s big hit but also make for a satisfying conclusion for the series arc regarding Pierce Hawthorne’s (Chevy Chase) decline in tolerability within his study group.

The solution? Tell two different stories within the confines of an overarching narrative, and in turn play with genre conventions to distinguish the two apart more so. ‘A Fistful of Bullets’ relies heavily on the Western aesthetic and focuses on a splintered collection of characters manipulated into going against each other, largely unaware of the competing force that’s pulling the strings (now that I’ve typed that out, it sounds awfully similar to Captain America: Civil War, another Russo project); in contrast ‘For a Few Paintballs More’ goes for a Star Wars spin as a band of misfits team up to take on the large conglomerate force (complete with white plastic armoured soldiers with no distinction from one another) and ultimately win. The whole thing is tied together by the whole paintball angle and Pierce’s involvement – at first blissfully unaware of his friends’ disdain for him but willing to himself manipulate them for the sake of aggravating the group’s de facto leader Jeff (Joel McHale), and later (upon being informed that he had lost his friends’ support) is willing to humiliate and sell out Jeff to the enemy in favour for his continued survival and pots of pudding. It’s only when Dean Spreck (Jordan Black) wonders why it took so long for him to be kicked out of the group that Pierce realise that he’s not how he perceives himself to be and becomes the bigger man; completing the Star Wars homage by disguising himself as one of City College’s men, taking out the last of the enemy and donating the prize money to Greendale. He understands he’s a difficult person to be with, and refuses the opportunity to still be a part of his group in favour of his own self-reflection and their happiness, thus concluding the season arc.

Infinity War and Endgame similarly separates the overarching story into two distinct sections. Infinity War brings up early on just what Thanos wants and how the various Infinity Stones play a part in that, with the film focusing on various characters either trying to stop him and his minions from achieving his goal or working finding a method of doing so; Endgame is the aftermath of their failure, and likewise establishes early on that it isn’t as simple as getting the stones back from Thanos and bringing everyone back immediately. It initially revels in the dour environment the world has become in the aftermath of the decimation complete with a darker colour palette and mournful moments of despair and, in Paul Rudd’s case, reunion. The remainder of the film covers the remaining heroes banding together once more (for the first time since Captain America: Civil War) to obtain the materials needed to bring everyone back, and then take on the opposing force once and for all. There’s a lot more freedom at play here, and Marvel relishes it by throwing in countless callbacks to its decade-long history. The general story is still the same – a mad being wants to half the universe’s population, Avengers plan to stop/reverse it – but they use the separation to their advantage to cover different ground.

What really helps the recent Avengers entries is that they aren’t married to their source material as much as the likes of Harry Potter and Twilight are. Yes, it’s telling the story first realised in the comics, but thanks to the nature of the prior movies in the Marvel Cinematic Universe it can branch out and present what’s overall a different story. The examples I mentioned previously, with the exception of Fantastic Beasts, all have to find a moment that they have to stop on more for the sake of the runtime than if it’s a good moment to stop. Case and point, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey: it ends following a fight with some prevalent orcs (of which they will repeatedly face over the next two films, and this fight isn’t even their first encounter), a character’s near-death, and the main character’s not even arriving where they need to be. The second entry, The Desolation of Smaug, has a better cliffhanger with the titular dragon’s flight towards the local town with the plan to eradicate it, but the final film quickly pushes aside the dragon within the first 30 minutes, thus making the year-long wait a letdown. Even Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows had a similar issue, with Part One ending on the death of a character who – while a fan favourite – hadn’t been seen in the films for close to a decade and Voldemort getting his hands on the Elder Wand. It’s an important moment, but considering we were only introduced to what the Deathly Hallows are not long beforehand it doesn’t have quite the same impact as it expects.

Ultimately, it’s a matter of how much time we’ve spent with these beloved characters that plays its hand in how much time we want to spend with their goodbyes. As mentioned in the first half, we watched the cast of Harry Potter grow up right before our eyes and wanted to see their decade-long journey would come to an end. Likewise, the last Avengers entries marked the conclusion to a decade-long story arc while also saying goodbyes to the likes of Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans and (in-universe) Scarlett Johansson – all actors who made their start in the early years of the series and have been regular stars of these movies (unless he makes a cameo in Black Widow, next year will be the first year without a Chris Evans appearance in an MCU movie). It did also have the benefit of bringing in all the new heroes that were introduced across phases two and three – most notably the Guardians of the Galaxy, who had been separated from the Earth-bound events save for a Collector appearance in Thor: The Dark World – but it was a goodbye nonetheless, and a heartfelt one at that. All the other franchises were mere trilogies, quadrilogies and quintologies that came out on a yearly basis and lacked that attachment that most mainstream audiences had for the big two series. Sure, they had their fanbases, but fanbases alone don’t lead to big lasting success, and in turn loyalty to those fanbases and properties are vital in keeping interest alive. After all, had J.K. Rowling not gone on retconning tirades with bizarre notions like wizards defecating themselves or opted not to stand by the controversial casting of Johnny Depp, would the last Fantastic Beasts entry have been more successful instead of souring the goodwill that had kept her brand alive these past two decades

It’s very possible we aren’t going to get an event quite like Avengers: Infinity War/Endgame again. Say what you will about the quality of either entry, there’s no denying just how much of the media landscape was centred around speculation and reaction for them both, and how they’ve reaped the rewards for an earned finale (even if it isn’t really a true finale for the franchise). Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was the closest thing to that level of event cinema in its day, and while such levels of hype was usurped over time with the likes of the first Avengers outing and the return of Star Wars in 2015, there’s no denying that film didn’t leave a strong mark on Hollywood. It’s just a mark that was polished and made bigger by the Avengers and two men who knew what they were doing thanks to experience doing a little show on NBC. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s “streets ahead”.

Editorial: Part One of One

At the time of writing, Avengers: Endgame has begun its worldwide rollout onto home media, with the US already having digital copies available and in turn allowing us to bask once more in the bombastic and exciting moments that helped cement its place as the highest-grossing film of all time. But with conversation being primarily focused on Captain America wielding Mjolnir and Iron Man’s sacrifice, there’s been a distinct lack of discussion on Marvel Studios’ decision to split their saga finale into two films – something that, for a time, was much reviled by a percentage of audiences across this decade. The concept in itself is hardly new, with the Kill Bill duology being perhaps the most notable of the pre-2010 examples, but as soon as one boy wizard proved that studios could milk their blockbuster franchises more than ever before.

It’s common knowledge that the Harry Potter franchise celebrated its climax by splitting the Deathly Hallows into two parts, but it’s easy to forget just how much of a cultural impact the franchise had made on society. At the time of the first cinematic adaptation, the book series was already four entries in and had taken the literary world by storm – so much so that every studio in Hollywood was vying for the rights to turn them into films. The films only proved how popular they were, and on a near-yearly basis we were treated to the next thrilling instalment. Just look at its global box office: only one entry made less than $800m, and that one (Prisoner of Azkaban, which is now seen as the series’ best) was a mere $4m off. Naturally, Warner Brothers would want to capitalise on its worldwide success and cultural significance and announced that they would split the final book into two films in order to do the source material justice. The box office receipts only proved that, financially, it was the right move to do, with Part Two being the first in the series to pass a billion dollars at the global box office (back then a much rarer occurrence). But other studios saw the financial gain and decided to copy Harry Potter to much less success.

This tactic was most commonly used for adaptations of young adult book series, with Twilight opting to do the same thing with Breaking Dawn before Deathly Hallows hit cinemas. Twilight made some sense – for all the online disdain for the series it was a constant aspect of popular culture – but Part One was received more negatively than any previous entry, and outside of inspiring the equally despised Fifty Shades of Grey series have become largely forgotten. At least with Harry Potter it had a decade’s worth of movies whose longevity have allowed for continuous fan support (not least mentioning the Fantastic Beasts prequel series, but more on that later); Twilight doesn’t have that same fan-creator comradery. Breaking Dawn’s financial success cemented the idea that splitting films into multiple parts lead to bigger profits, but perhaps it also proved that some films shouldn’t do such a thing.

There would be two more YA franchises biting the bullet on the gimmick, but both had less success than both Harry Potter and Twilight. The Hunger Games was the more surprising failure, with Catching Fire Part Two grossing less than any other entry of the series (including Part One) and, despite the massive star power of Jennifer Lawrence and the massive success the first entries proved to be, the series may have jumped the gun in exploiting said success. That’s not to say the films were box office bombs – in actuality they were highly profitable – but the near $100m drop between instalments was alarming, and just like Twilight before it has become largely forgotten despite only concluding less than four years ago. But Divergent was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The splitting of its final book was announced shortly after the release of the first film, but that film was only a mild success; making good money for a small budget but not even cracking $300m worldwide. The increased budgets for subsequent films against diminishing box office returns proved to be a poor corporate strategy, and the failure of Allegiant led to the final half being cancelled. For a time, there was discussion of giving fans closure and converting it into a TV production, but as of last year talks have dwindled due to a lack of interest. It’s almost as though the studio got greedy and cared less for the fans than they did for their wallets.

But it was Warner Bros. that may have made the biggest mistake, as it was announced a mere six months before the release of its first instalment that The Hobbit adaptation would be expanded from two films to three; a move so poor that it led to production issues and practically destroyed director Peter Jackson. With each instalment sitting at runtimes longer than two hours for a book that was shorter than any one Lord of the Rings instalment, the goodwill the original trilogy gave to fans was tarnished as it suffered from pacing issues and uncharacteristic moments of poor visual effects and sequences. The first instalment, An Unexpected Journey, may have passed the prestigious billion dollar mark, but was highly criticised for its long stretches of empty storytelling – the journey itself doesn’t start until an hour into the near-three hour movie – and over time each entry (despite having increasing budgets) never reached the same financial high, and likewise is often forgotten despite the supposed impact a prequel trilogy to the highly-regarded Lord of the Rings series.

Warner Bros. hasn’t learned its lesson though, as two years after the Harry Potter series ended they announced a prequel-esque series of five films set within the Wizarding World. At the time fans were excited – after all, Harry Potter was still engrained into the public zeitgeist – but six years on and, like The Hobbit before it, the series lost that audience goodwill. Box office has dropped between both Fantastic Beasts entries despite being early in its franchise run, despite the increased focus on nostalgic elements such as Dumbledore, Nagini and Hogwarts, and there’s since been murmurings that the studio will be cutting their losses and concluding the series in the third and next instalment rather than in its fifth. It likely hasn’t helped that Potter creator and Fantastic Beasts screenwriter J.K. Rowling has made questionable public statements surrounding both the franchise and modern day politics, nor does having Johnny Depp in a major recurring role shortly after accusations of abuse against former wife Amber Heard.

The thing is, all these movies have failed to truly grasp why the initial decision made by the Harry Potter team made sense – at that point, they had six films under their belt that had spanned eight years and where we had seen this cast of child actors grow up right before our eyes. It also had the darkest tone of the series which had to cover a much larger ensemble cast of returning characters, with some major players being killed off. That’s not to say the Deathly Hallows perfected the formula right out of the gate, as due to it being more heavily married to its source material than prior entries it lends to a largely slow first part that has interesting character moments against a purely bombastic second part which (bar the relationship between Ron and Hermione) was predominantly focused on the conclusion of Harry’s arc. With a bit more creative freedom, Ron’s departure from the group would have worked stronger if he left later in the first half and didn’t return until the second half; allowing for a bigger fan response whilst perhaps feeling more earnt than just returning less than an hour later. But it still succeeded in meeting fan expectations while making a final entry that concludes the wider story alongside the central conflict of the Deathly Hallows.

Right before the bust of the multi-part movie, both DC Entertainment and Marvel Studios announced that their future superhero team-up movies would be split into two parts, with Justice League promising to finally bring DC’s titans together on the big screen after years of anticipation whilst Avengers: Infinity War would be concluding a decade of movies alongside finally showing us why Thanos – a character that had repeatedly been hinted at as early as Thor – was someone we should be anticipating. Justice League ultimately would be reduced to a single film following the poor reception of Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (and even then the film went through several difficult periods, becoming a joke amongst the fan community), but Avengers: Infinity War proved to be the first to replicate the Harry Potter effect. But where Infinity War and Endgame surpasses Potter and maybe even perfected the formula was through its execution and desire to still be seen as two distinct movies despite carrying the same overarching narrative and serving the purpose of ending the arcs of multiple long-lasting characters. But it shouldn’t really be a surprise that directing duo Joe and Anthony Russo were capable of doing such a thing, as the very piece of media that led them to being a part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe did that exact thing close to a decade prior: Community.

To Be Continued...

Editorial: Long Live the King

There must have been a point this past decade when we reached the peak of the unnecessary remake wave. Whether with Disney’s first modern foray into the field with 2010’s $1bn dud Alice in Wonderland¸ the onslaught of remakes of cult action hits like RoboCop or Death Wish, or maybe even when they produced a third iteration of Ben-Hur – only this time lacking the awards calibre of the 1959 classic and presenting a lifeless religious product with an increasingly tired Morgan Freeman. Regardless of what could be considered the peak, one cannot deny that the Disney mantra of reproducing their animated classics line into the live-action format proved to be the most divisive of Hollywood’s efforts. The aforementioned Alice reinterpretation certainly played a lot looser with its 1950s counterpart in favour for a darker, grittier version – complete with Tim Burton’s trademark visual flourish – and in turn the benefit of being one of the first post-Avatar 3D releases allowed for more audience interest than would otherwise be garnered, but the film is hardly remembered nearly a decade on despite being one of the first big billion-dollar movies; its later sequel would prove the lack of longevity by grossing approximately a quarter of its predecessor’s numbers. The most its legacy brings is the idea that remaking the classics can lead to massive box office success, and if there’s one thing Disney loves, it’s profits.

As the first remake after Alice in Wonderland, Maleficent followed a similar template by striving to be its own darker interpretation whilst keeping the acquainted iconography. After all, Maleficent is arguably Disney’s finest antagonist – it would be too risky to stray far away from the familiar. But with it playing on similar tropes portrayed much more successfully in the most recent animated fare Frozen whilst also going for a typical Wicked angle – with a sprinkling of rape allegory which really does not fit into the world of Disney – and Maleficent proved to be more so a commercial success than a critical one (though the jury’s still out on how its sequel, due this October, will be received). Around the time of its release though, Disney was beginning to reveal that it was bringing life to film a lot younger than their current output, with Beauty and the Beast set for a 2017 release: the first sign of things going too far.

Before Beast’s release still came two releases: Cinderella in 2015, followed by The Jungle Book a year later. Cinderella did the least yet to differentiate itself from its classic counterpart, at most limiting the usage of the mice slapstick to adhere to the more realistic approach that audiences seemed to be eating up. The Jungle Book, on the other hand, seemed to have a lot more going for it. It’s almost completely CGI landscape and cast benefitted more by merely taking certain aspects of the 60s original and the key songs (‘Bear Necessities’ and ‘I Wan’na Be Like You’) and instead giving versions of these characters who are more distinct. The state-of-the-art animation elevated it further and felt like the first of these remakes which actually made sense. But its success was a curse, as a few months later director Jon Favreau was hired to enhance his work further with a remake of everyone’s favourite: The Lion King.

The remakes of three of Disney’s biggest classics – so beloved that they’re considered a part of Disney’s Renaissance period – have in turn been the most divisive of all the remakes. Beauty and the Beast turned from a film that was so illustrious and spectacular that it broke barriers and became the first animated film to be nominated for Best Picture into a lifeless rehash that put more effort into explaining its corresponding item’s plotholes than it did breathe new life into old material; Aladdin had the difficult task of trying to replicate the magic that came from Robin William’s portrayal of the Genie whilst also having to adhere to modern society’s required cry for a cast of actual Middle Eastern/Indian descent (something that reportedly lead to production being pushed back and presented a film that, while fine in its own regard, can’t hold a lamp over the 1992 classic; then along came The Lion King, which released this past week after a long period of online scepticism.

The Lion King may very well be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, as it brings us what can easily be regarded as the laziest recreation of them all. The marketing campaign focused solely on two aspects: its visuals effects, which do indeed look gorgeous and may be the only real reason to see it on the big screen, and its all-star voice cast. Outside of that? Practically nothing of note. The realism of the animals hinders the performances, individuality and choreography that are key for an animated musical of this magnitude and it reeks of corporate greed rather than artistic integrity. The lack of creativity can even be spotted across even the smallest elements of its production, with Hans Zimmer being brought back to just remaster his original score and even soundbites from ‘Circle of Life’ being carried over to its new edition (seriously, is there anything different in the new version?);  they did a similar thing in Aladdin in ‘Prince Ali’ where they reused the vocals of the people of Agrabah. There are small highlights and additions – Billy Eichner as Timon is an amusing iteration with a surprisingly good singing voice and there are a few little bits of ad-libbing that make for some good laughs, but ultimately it feels a lot lesser than it has any right to be. It’s the ultimate argument against these remakes: the monetary value of these properties against the artistic integrity that’s lost in translation.

Squeezed in between the releases of Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin came two live-action adaptations of older properties: Dumbo and Christopher Robin (a pseudo-sequel to The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh). Both attempted to follow in the footsteps of The Jungle Book by implementing largely different areas for the beloved characters to go down, but both faltered financially. Dumbo is easily the worse of the two (indeed, arguably of the entire plethora of output), as it sprinkles its callbacks half-heartedly and turns into an entirely different movie midway through that, bizarrely, seems to condone the very company that brought it to life; not even forgetting that it turns the titular character into a supporting aspect to two random children and (mostly) cuts out Timothy Q. Mouse in favour of realism. Christopher Robin is far from a perfect film, but at least it creates something new out of its source material – an adult perspective on a children’s’ favourite that keeps the heart of its beloved characters intact, right down to keeping Jim Cummings in the roles of Pooh and Tigger. It has tonal problems and will likely bore its child demographic, but it’s the film that embraces these characters the most whilst bringing a story that’s more unique than the rest. 

Unfortunately, the continuous success of these remakes has led to regular reports of more and more break-ins to the Disney Vault to re-imagine old favourites. Some are experimenting more with their material, with next year’s Mulan looking like a completely different film due to it being more reliant to the actual story of Mulan and actively trying not to offend its Chinese audience and The Little Mermaid straying away from the iconic white red-head mermaid with the casting of Halle Bailey as Ariel, but that ultimately means little when it comes to the message it’s sending studios – audiences don’t want originality. Hell, with almost all of their non-20^th Century Fox films earning a billion dollars this year (Dumbo is the sole outlier, whilst Toy Story 4 and The Lion King will both likely reach it soon) we’re telegraphing that all we want are Disney films – an unhealthy sign for a corporation now infamous for purchasing the competition and ensuring a monopoly of sorts over modern cinema. And of course, Disney aren’t the only ones making unnecessary remakes, but as the big kings of cinema right now they have every right to experiment and tackle original ideas.

Avengers: Endgame (2019) Film Review

WARNING: Due to the very nature of this film, this review is full of spoilers for every film that's a part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. If (somehow) you haven't already seen the film, it is recommended that you watch it before reading this review.

When Iron Man came out in the summer of 2008, few could have expected that it would be the beginning of a franchise that would take over the planet. Spanning over 22 movies and several individual sub-franchises, the Marvel Cinematic Universe has held a strong grip on the cinematic landscape that was (and somehow still is) unprepared to face it, and the prize for such longevity came last year with the Earth-shattering Avengers: Infinity War, which took in over $2bn and left everyone in a state of intrigue as to how the surviving superheroes will resolve the decimation of half the universal population. Which is where Avengers: Endgame rolls in – the true conclusion to not only Phase 3 of the MCU (Spider-Man: Far from Home being the actual conclusion according to producers) but to the 11-year long Infinity Saga – which has remained elusive in its marketing and revealed little more than the coming justice for the Mad Titan, Thanos (Josh Brolin). Throw in a 3-hour runtime and a fan mantra that demands spoilers be sparse (although a major leak shortly before the release didn’t help things), the answer to whether or not a decade-long arc with regular character appearances can work has at last found its definitive answer: Yes, when done this well.

This entry is very much a celebration of its actual existence, as it repeatedly makes callbacks to the biggest and smallest moment from the past films that can either hinder or elevate a viewer’s enjoyment depending on its usage – for example, T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) calls out to Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner) during the Gauntlet tussle. An insignificant moment for most, yet in actuality a small reference to T’Challa’s disinterest in knowing his name in Captain America: Civil War, and a sign of a character’s maturity in the years since the events at the airport. The biggest nostalgia trip, of course, stems from the second act’s journey through some of the best bits of the previous movies (and Thor: The Dark World) as the remaining Avengers seek the Infinity Stones during the events of Marvel’s Avengers Assemble and Guardians of the Galaxy. It’s fun to see the simpler beginnings of both major teams in the universe alongside allowing for some fun character interactions with younger versions of Loki (Tom Hiddleston), Thor (Chris Hemsworth) et al (not to mention an amusing interlude showing what Chris Pratt’s infamous lip-sync sequence during Guardians’ opening credits looked like from the outside), and an interaction between two Chris Evanses presents a fun moment of admittance at both the core stance Steve Rogers takes but also how he looked during the first group venture. With guest appearances from Tilda Swinton showing how the Sanctum Santorum was involved with vanquishing the Chitauri invasion, various members of Hydra (Robert Redford!) and a loving return from Renee Russo as Thor’s mother Frigga, the second act is a marvellous (sorry) celebration ahead of the bloodshed that’s soon to follow.

But Endgame thrives more as a conclusion for the story arcs of each original member of the Avengers team. While some characters upon initial viewing may seem short-changed or given unfair justice in their appearances here – namely Scarlett Johannsson, Mark Ruffalo and Hemsworth – in actuality it perfectly fits their respective characters. Black Widow, burdened by the horrors of her past that she must always carry, admits in Avengers Assemble that not only does she have “red in my ledger” that she wants to wipe but that she owes Barton a debt for saving her from her past occupation, and with that her regular position as a member of the team – regardless of government approval – is her making up for her history. When it’s revealed SHIELD was in part aligned with Hydra, she tells Steve that the concept leaves her unsure as to what she is anymore; switching one criminal organisation with another. Even in Endgame, she remains dedicated to her cause even when everyone else has gone their separate ways and keeps a close eye on Hawkeye, despite Rhodey’s warnings. This is the man who saved her. And when the opportunity arises to finally repay her debt not only to society but to the closest friend she has, naturally she would take the plunge on Vormir and sacrifice herself for the Soul Stone. While it breaks your heart that she can’t be a part of the massive climatic battle – and especially her lack of presence during the ‘girl power’ moment’ – it’s her sacrifice that brings everyone together again; especially reviving Clint’s very being following his harsh fall into crazed vigilantism under the pseudonym ‘Ronin’. It’s established early on how distraught his loss was, and the sight of his home sends him rushing after his family when he tests the time travel technology, and his willingness to sacrifice himself for the sake of his family alongside his misdeeds makes the conflict on Vormir even more heart-wrenching.

With Thor, his fall from grace is by no means unprecedented. Infinity War reminds viewers repeatedly that the Asgardian has lost everything at this point: brother dead by the hand of Thanos; father willingly lets go (in turn releasing Hela, who also perishes); mother killed by a Dark Elf, and what remains of his people decimated by the Titan at the worst possible moment. When he finally has the chance to exact vengeance on the villain, he fails, and in turn carries the burden of being responsible for Thanos’ victory. Naturally, his guilt eats away at him as he falls in to a depressive state of avoiding outside interaction or even mention of the event; surrounding himself only with alcohol and Korg (Taika Waititi) who appears to be just as comfortable hiding away from further conflict. Even when he mentions Jane Foster, he briefly lapses into an emotional state. It’s only when he gets the chance to talk to his mother, who immediately gets a grasp of the idea that he’s from the future, that he finally relinquishes his inner turmoil; the call for Mjolnir instilling confidence in himself for the first time in five years. Likewise, it’s that extensive period of being a hermit that reminds Thor that the throne is not what he truly desires, and in turn relinquishes his birth right in favour for Tessa Thompson’s status promotion.

When we first lay eyes on Bruce Banner, it’s as much of a shock to us as it is to Paul Rudd’s Scott Lang, as it’s revealed that Banner and Hulk have become one in the conclusion to his long-standing battle with his alter ego. When he first appeared in The Incredible Hulk, we were presented with the dynamic in the tried and tested way, with Banner being resilient in not only refusing to give the power to the US military but also from letting it hurt the people he cares for (leading to his eventual control of the power in Avengers Assemble). Just when he was getting used to the control, Age of Ultron throws a spanner in the works with Elizabeth Olsen’s mind-meddling and the grasp at control lost. When Hulk awakens from his trance and sees humanity afraid of him once more, he’s reminded of the monster the public perceives him to be, and when given the chance to following the vanquishing of Ultron he escapes in a Quinjet. Hence why in Thor: Ragnarok he’s adamant to leave his new lifestyle and public adoration, and in turn refuses to turn back into Bruce who would try and repress him once more (and vice versa with Bruce refusing to Hulk out again until it was necessary). After failing in a one-to-one brawl with Thanos at the start of Infinity War, the Hulk refuses to come out again in the face of danger as a rebellious move against his supposed purpose to Bruce – he’s done being a wrecking ball thrown into the action because he needs to be. Hence his new appearance here as the combined “Professor Hulk” – the brains of Banner with the strength of the Hulk. A bizarre concoction, but a necessary one for the duo as they finally make peace with one another.

Even some of the smaller characters have strong amounts of depth handed to them, with Nebula (Karen Gillan) literally facing her menacing past head-on and having Thanos’ impact as a demented father figure presented to us. The Nebula we see in 2014 is a daughter trying so desperately to appease her father against fellow adopted daughter Gamora (Zoe Saldana) that she would do whatever she could to get even the slightest bit of praise from him, evident in the first Guardians when she tries to take the challenge of capturing the Power Stone from Xandar. Even the older Thanos admits that “perhaps […] I treated you too harshly”, which the 2014 version of Thanos must realise when he discovers the future version of his daughter conspiring against him – using her resentment for him now as a way to get the younger version of her to do his bidding now. When the two Nebulas face one another alongside Gamora and Clint, the 2023 version tries to get her 2014 self to understand, but she can’t. She’s too disillusioned by Thanos’ power to go against him and wants desperately to be his favourite daughter. And that’s why 2023 Nebula kills her – killing the past version of herself to show that’s she’s evolved past that.

Rocket, in the meantime, has finally come to terms that his fellow Guardians are his true family, following his behaviour in Vol. 2 which almost got them all killed. Now he’s come to terms that he was akin to Yondu with how he treated those around him, he finally began to take his actions to heart and apologise for them, and while in Infinity War he still largely jokes around with the rest of the team he also does act like “the captain” when dealing with Thor’s personal trauma. When Groot begins to fade away around him, his harsh outer shell disintegrates with it as he cries out to him, and when he reunites with Nebula in Endgame they share a moment of grievance, as they lost everyone they ever cared for. Rocket even finally admits to the Guardians being his family to Thor when the Asgardian tries to get out of retrieving the Aether – he would do anything to bring his family back, and a depressed God isn’t going to get in the way of that. Against all that surrounds him, one would assume that Paul Rudd would be lost in the shuffle, despite being a key part in the plan to retrieve the stones; but while he doesn’t get the same depth everyone else does, he instead plays the part of the surrogate: he’s the audience experiencing the madness of a time period where loved ones have disappeared (his reunion with his daughter being especially prevalent of this factor) and the one responding to the quips and the speeches. His journey from stealer to superhero has yet to reach its conclusion, but this entry does still present him doing heroic acts.

Of course, the big two have the biggest endings of them all with their respective retirements. Steve Rogers had never truly settled into the modern day following his freezing in Captain America: The First Avenger. His arrival into the 21^st century brought with it the skeletons of the past with SHIELD’s desire to harness the power of the Tesseract, then the combination of Hydra’s survival as well as his best friend Bucky’s (Sebastian Stan). For a while, Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) was still there for him, albeit in a distressing state, but he put his focus entirely on sticking to his ideals and the Avengers concept. Scarlet Witch’s vision of Steve seeing Peggy again at a dance reminded him that the life he once lived is truly gone. He admits to Stark that the Avengers is his home at the end of Age of Ultron, but the combination of that home possibly being taken away from him for ideological reasons he doesn’t agree with, the death of Peggy and the re-emergence of Bucky sends Steve’s world spiralling out of control in Civil War, leading him into the dark path we find him on in Infinity War. He still thinks well of his fellow Avengers but can’t stand to go against his beliefs when the sake of the world is more important than what elected officials have to say.

In Endgame, we see early on that Steve, even so many years on, misses Peggy and resents the fact that he can’t ever live that life; and when he sees a framed photo of his former self on her desk in the 1970s, he truly realises that she too wishes that he was still alive. While his heroic actions were finally proven to be worthwhile when he triumphantly managed to call Mjolnir into his possession, it’s when he’s given the chance to go home that he takes it: he never fit into this new world despite his best efforts, and with the knowledge that his one true love never stopped loving him, he jumped at the chance to be with her and live a normal life. Steve Rogers told Tony Stark that “family, stability… the guy who wanted all that went in the ice 75 years ago” – he lost his chance. He got it again and took it, making his final goodbye worthwhile, and his belief in Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie) taking on the mantle of Captain America – a man who came out of retirement for the sake of his country and stood by Steve’s same ideals – a worthy decision.

And then there’s Tony Stark. The man who started it all “in a cave… with a box of scraps!” A man who initially became the man he is solely for his own survival, before exacting revenge on the people who captured him using his weapons by unleashing his upgraded armour on them when they attacked a small village. A man whose biggest foes had been fellow businessmen, a Russian with a personal vendetta for the Stark lineage and his failing technology. But when Loki and the Chitauri arrived, that all changed. The wider universe that surrounded him finally collapsed on top of him and risked his own life in their ultimate destruction – the implications of which he suffers from when things become small-scale once again in Iron Man 3. He grows more afraid of a larger threat and stays up all night building new suits and becomes more isolated from the people around him. The Mandarin attack hitting him close to home was both a blessing and a curse; the wake-up call that should have brought about the end of Iron Man.

And yet, here he is in Age of Ultron still doing his thing. Scarlet Witch only pushes his fears more as he imagines the Avengers all dead and Steve asking why he didn’t do more to stop it. This of course leads to Ultron, and more weight on his heavy heart. Civil War sees him agree with the government over the need to “be put in check” as the one-two punch of separating from Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow) and the news of an innocent boy being killed by his actions hits him hard. The conflict that soon follows just makes things worse as both sides – each with good reasoning – are unable to truly get along. Just when things do seem to finally be going right as he and Rogers put their differences aside for a larger cause, a tape plays: December 16^th, 1991. Bucky Barnes killing Tony’s parents. Steve – a man who was created and idolised by Tony’s father – aware that his best friend, the man he continually sticks up for, never told him this fact. It shatters their friendship, and the ensuing battle shows their destroyed friendship.

By Spider-Man: Homecoming and Avengers: Infinity War, he appears to be on the right track. With Tom Holland’s Peter Parker acting as something of a distant surrogate son of his (only really acting out when the boy went too far against his parenting) and his relationship healing with Pepper Potts, there’s a chance that thinks are finally looking up. But in comes Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Bruce Banner revealing that the Big Bad is coming. Thanos, the being that Tony has been preparing for all this time, is finally here. Tony immediately steps into action, and despite forgotten friendships is at least willing to reunite the Avengers to thwart him, before being stopped in his tracks by the arrival of the Black Order. He refuses to turn away from Titan because he wants to stop the Mad Titan before he can reach Earth, putting aside the fact that they not only harbour the Time Stone but also a teenage boy in their spaceship, and in turn pay the price when Thanos ultimately wins despite Tony’s continued efforts to upgrade his technology. And when Peter vanishes before his eyes, he’s also lost the closest thing to a son he had ever had.

Throw in a long period of isolation and starvation about the Benatar (the Guardians’ spaceship), and Tony is naturally rattled when he returns home. He lashes out against Steve for not heeding his warning about “a suit of armour around the world” and how they only lost because they were apart, and with that he goes away. He lives the life on a barn akin to how he prophesised in Age of Ultron and starts a family, officially retiring from the role of Iron Man. And yet, when the past comes crawling back with an opportunity to reverse the actions, he takes it – only because he knows that he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t. Throw in an interaction with his long-dead father at a time before his birth – a moment where the two Starks finally bond and get along, albeit in a bizarre sense where John Slattery’s character doesn’t even know this is his son he’s talking to – and his might to face his biggest foe once more alongside Thor and Steve, alongside a heartfelt reunion with Peter Parker on the battlefield, and his past actions have finally had a proper conclusion. All that’s left is for him to take the ultimate sacrifice and destroy his enemy once and for all at the cost of his own life. He snaps his Stoned-fingers, and the enemy turns to dust around him, but dies as a result. He clearly tries to fight it, with what little power he still has, but when Pepper finally tells him he can rest because he won, he finally lets go. Steve Rogers told him in Avengers Assemble that Stark wasn’t the kind of guy who would put his own life on the line. Initially that was true, but when his world became larger and the people around it grew more important than his own, he took every chance he had, regardless of stakes, to make things right. The first arc reactor may have been proof that Tony Stark physically had a heart, but his final actions around the ashes of the Avengers headquarters proved that he had a caring heart too.

If a character does feel short-changed in this final outing, it is Thanos himself. While Infinity War presented a strong and powerful antagonist who you could agree with and was a true menace to all who opposed him, this Thanos plays out a little more stereotypically; a villain who wishes to wipe out all life as punishment to those who went against his belief. It isn’t an unexpected move – especially for a character nicknamed “the Mad Titan” – but it loses some of the impact that came with the initial process of gaining the stones. Likewise, newcomer Brie Larson is here more out of obligation than as purposeful in her role as Captain Marvel, as outside her saving Stark and Nebula from the depths of outer space and a couple of interactions with Thanos she doesn’t interact with the main story – although her excuse of having to protect more planets than just Earth is justifiable enough. Don Cheadle gets a decent amount to do, and his pairing with Nebula – a fellow artificially-augmented individual – makes for a unique rapport that unexpectedly works in action, but outside conversation about his paralysis has little insight, while surviving side characters Danai Gurira and Benedict Wong have minimal roles despite their powersets, but that’s more nit-picking than anything.

Despite an especially dark third act lighting-wise making 3D a slight struggle to fully comprehend, the visual effects seem to be a step up from Infinity War’s (which faltered at points involving the Hulkbuster and the Iron Man suits on top of the actors) and the combination of old footage and new blends seamlessly during the time travel section of the film. Alan Silvestri’s score harkens back more to the themes of old alongside his first Avengers score yet proves to be perhaps Marvel’s best score yet next to Ludwig Göransson’s Oscar-winning Black Panther score as it perfectly encapsulates the tone certain scenes aspire for (‘Portals’ may be an MCU best). And while the Russos have proven once more that they expanded far beyond their comedic roots, it’s the screenwriting team of Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely who are the true gauntlet-bearers of this piece, and who are finally getting the credit due for their hard work and dedication. The screenplay may not be perfect (with some comedic moments not landing quite as hard as prior Marvel movies) but, as examined above, presents a pitch-perfect finale for many of these characters.

If the Marvel Cinematic Universe was ever to end, Avengers: Endgame would be that textbook ending. Closing the book on countless character’s ongoing story arcs alongside this entire saga of movies, it’s difficult to imagine a Marvel universe without the presence of Iron Man, Captain America (a character who hasn’t taken a year away from the silver screen since his introduction in 2011), Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye or the Incredible Hulk, but if this franchise is to carry on, it’s good to know that it’s surviving under the blueprints handed down to them from these behemoths. But they aren’t going down without a celebration and a fight, and with a three-hour runtime that never feels like it, it’s a grand finale that actually feels grand in both scale and execution. 10/10.