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Phase I of the Marvel Cinematic Universe was, in retrospect, a densely plotted affair, with several story threads all tying together – and paying off to glorious effect – in The Avengers; everything from the Tesseract to Loki himself was properly introduced and fully integrated with the rest of the films’ burgeoning continuity, allowing the first phase’s climax to only worry about telling its particular story instead of pulling the narrative dead weight of exposition.
Phase II (which consists of last year’s Iron Man 3 and Thor: The Dark World and this year’s Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Guardians of the Galaxy), in contrast, has largely eschewed world-building in favor of smaller, more character-driven tales – Tony Stark’s post-traumatic stress disorder, say, or Thor’s world-weariness and simple desire for love over the needs of either his family or an interstellar monarchy. Even The Winter Soldier’s SHIELD upheaval was mostly played out in the context of Steve Rogers’s disillusionment with the modern world (where was Hawkeye through all of the Hydra fallout? The film’s answer: “Who cares? He’s not part of Cap’s story”).
This may give, on first blush, the impression that there is a lack of cohesion in this go-around of Marvel’s ever-expanding filmic empire, but the truth is that whatever the studio may have decided to step back on in terms of plot, it’s more than made up for in other narrative domains.
Indeed, there is a strangely aligned unity in terms of character development – from Iron Man’s giving up his arc reactor to Thor’s giving up his throne to Captain America’s giving up his daily existence, there has been a consistent trend of our established protagonists foregoing the path that is expected of them in favor of more meaningful (and more personal) quests – but the true star of Phase II’s overarching mythology has been in the realm of theme.And what has been these movies’ overriding thematic motif?
Love – or, more specifically, what the various characters are willing to sacrifice for love, whether it be of the familial, fraternal, or, most especially, romantic variety.![]()
The end of the recently-released Guardians of the Galaxy is the clincher in this regard and, therefore, should be considered first. The motley crew of criminals and would-be despots that forms over the course of the picture learns to set aside their greed or particular vendetta in defense of a planet that is filled with innocents but which nonetheless holds no personal interest for any of them. Each is willing to lay down his own life in this pursuit, and one – the walking, (loosely) talking tree known as Groot – even does so. That his literal act of self-sacrifice is simultaneously a symbolic gesture, rendering all of his newfound allies into a sort of extended existential family, makes it all the more emotionally and thematically resonant (though it is somewhat undercut by Groot’s essentially being reborn as a sapling just a few short scenes later). It’s the perfect endcap to Marvel’s handling of the theme.
Before that, however, there is The Winter Soldier. Cap’s self-sacrificial nature was already well established in the series’ first installment, but it is continued here in many shapes and forms: the lack of a romantic relationship is a runner throughout most of the film, starting with Black Widow’s ribbing, continuing with Peggy Carter’s somber deathbed scene, and ending with the (possible) foreshadowing of her daughter, Sharon, but it is Steve Rogers’s refusal to quiet his conscience any further in regards to SHIELD’s duplicitous, morally ambivalent ways that forms the crux of the story.
By this time, it is his affection for Bucky Barnes, born in friendship but deepened by combat, that comes front and center, forcing him to leave his beginnings at a new life behind to figuratively save a literally fallen brother-in-arms – just as Sam “Falcon” Wilson’s adoration of Captain America (a form of love in its own right) causes him to join his mentor on the op with no questions asked.![]()
(Here, too, we also see the main character’s willingness to sacrifice his own life in the movie’s climax, as the usually-indestructible Cap refuses to fight back against the Winter Soldier, the only man capable of besting him; Rogers’s desire to not hurt his only friend is the first manifestation of his love, but the ultimate one comes in the possibility of his death reawakening Bucky’s former self. A life for a life may be one of the oldest stories told in the Western tradition, but it’s still one of the most potent.)
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The Dark World, meanwhile, holds as its center the exploration of the various loves in Thor’s life, and the extent to which he is willing to go for each of them. His rejection (or, simply, his unawareness) of Lady Sif’s advances, his forced-but-nonetheless-yearned-for reconnection with Loki, his refusal of his father’s wishes, and the ultimate reunion with Jane Foster – all form a type of emotional endurance test for the once and future ruler of the Nine Realms. That his mother is killed and his brother is also believed to be dead are just icing on the sacrificial cake (as is also, one could make the argument, the loss of his sword hand, even though that particular loss ends up being illusory).
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And more so than arguably any other Phase II entry, the film’s other characters have their own fair share of variations on the theme, as well. Loki, whose almost pathological need for love from his adopted family has caused him to sacrifice his very soul in Phase I, definitely replaces and very possibly kills Odin, placing the sacrificial focus on others instead of himself. And Jane has shunned her love life (with the singular exception being her date with Richard in The Dark World’s opening moments), likely to the detriment of her own emotional well-being, making her something of a victim of Thor’s inability to be self-determinant.
Interestingly enough, it is actually Iron Man 3, the opening salvo of Phase II’s barrage, that is perhaps the most intrinsically intertwined with the concepts of love and sacrifice. Far from being the callow (and callous) man who subsists off of one-night affairs at the beginning of the first Iron Man, the Tony Stark who opens IM3 is so obsessed with protecting the one truly precious item in his life – the undeniably lovely Pepper Potts – he nearly ceases to function on a day-to-day basis, even, ironically enough, in the context of his relationship with her. His decision to first destroy his arsenal of Iron Man suits and then, more fundamentally, to remove the source of their power from within his own heart (it’s hard to get more blatant than this, Marvel) is, to date, the single biggest act of self-sacrifice that has yet to be depicted in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And just as Thor has Jane, Captain America has Falcon, and the Guardians of the Galaxy have one another (yes, even Groot), Iron Man is rewarded with a renewed, more meaningful relationship with Pepper.
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All of which, of course, begs the question: just what does this thematic modus operandi tell us about next summer’s The Avengers: Age of Ultron, and just what it might have in store for Marvel’s unfurling narrative? The answer is, obviously, wholly unknown at the present time, although certain educated guesses can certainly be made, using both the previous four installments and what press information has been revealed about Ultron’s story.
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That the titular team of superheroes will be risking their lives to save the planet is a given. What is surprising, however, is the origin of the movie’s new villain: exhausted by the responsibility of being the world’s only protectors in the wake of SHIELD’s sudden absence – and, perhaps, exasperated at his continued existence as Iron Man – Tony Stark builds a sentient android to take the Avengers’ place.
And while it may be a matter of plot necessity that Ultron quickly turns on its creator(s), it is also, consciously or not, a validation of Phase II’s theme, as the refutation of self-sacrifice results, unsurprisingly, in the exact opposite of the previous films’ resolutions; taking the easy way out, Marvel seems to be saying, necessarily results in defeat, both literally and figuratively, externally and internally, physically and emotionally.Rather than self-sacrifice, one is left with self-destruction – and while both may result in loss to one degree or another, only one of them ends with nothingness.
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