All the Marvel movies ranked from worst to best

A stultifying hodgepodge of Mythology 101 midterm answers, generically LOTR-ish battle scenes and Anthony Hopkins bellowing in his best Shakespearean baritone, this is a superhero movie that feels like it might have been made by anyone and no one. It’s simply space-filler before the next big team-up.

Robert Downey Jr. achieves full obnoxiousness. His first turn as Tony Stark, a weapons manufacturer with guilt, was the smartest of a series of smart comeback choices. But with this depressingly bland sequel (scripted by snark specialist Justin Theroux), he’s stranded in lightweight arrogance.

Fare thee well, Edward Norton—we hardly knew ye. He only appeared once in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, before stepping out of the big green guy’s shadow (Mark Ruffalo took over). Nothing about this tentative franchise builder suggests there was any love lost; the movie has little on Ang Lee’s inspired 2003 take.

Chloé Zhao’s supergroup fantasy was met with accusations that it was overlong and under-stuffed with story. But there’s much to like in the scale and spectacle of this adventure, which brings in wild, cosmic concepts about evolution and ancient history, and finds time for awkward family dinners amid the super-punches, as well as the MCU’s first sex scenes – albeit a fairly chaste one. Its box office takings far outstrip its place in the hearts of many Marvel fans. Time will tell if those deeper themes see its standing grow, or it lingers on the MCU’s sidelines like its heroes.

The first two Ant-Man movies succeeded modestly by playing to the character’s silly power and keeping the tone brisk and light. This third movie fails by trying to up the scale and stakes too far. The result is that its simple hero gets lost in a mishmash of soulless CGI and over-serious plotting, which gives Paul Rudd little opportunity to be the charming everyman. It’s just not much fun. It gets points for a decent introduction to Kang, the big villain of Phase Five. A multi-dimensional being, he’s played with sinister subtlety by Jonathan Majors. Right villain, wrong movie. 

The first Ant-Man movie succeeded largely because of its less-is-more approach: a livewire heist caper stuffed with Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Avenger-style visual gags. Diminishing returns bite, though, in a sequel that strains hard to be effortlessly fun but lacks the same helter-skelter irreverence.

Dutifully, with a hint of fatigue, Thor accomplishes its essential goal and little else, which is to introduce the mighty warrior to the Marvel onscreen universe, in addition to the hunk who'll be playing him: Australian actor Chris Hemsworth. He definitely looks the part, not so much a slab of beefcake as an entire herd of cattle.

Maybe in another universe there’s a script that can uplift this fun but emotionless sequel. Doctor Strange’s multiversal McGuffin pursuit demands MCU literacy (both TV and film) for its cameos to pay off, yet penalises WandaVision watchers by abruptly corrupting that show’s careful character progression. Though the reanimated corpse – literally – of some Sam Raimi-isms occasionally summons horror-adjacent madness, it more often falls short of satisfying schlock in favour of studio-packaged cheese.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe’s first female-led installment meant a lot symbolically, especially to young girls who resonated with Gal Gadot’s confident portrayal of Wonder Woman. But you can’t help but wish the watershed moment arrived with a more richly imagined central character. While Room's Brie Larson is certainly capable, she’s a bit stranded in the rubber suit, playing a role that gives her scant opportunity to be human.

The MCU’s return to Wakanda nails its toughest assignment – paying fitting tribute to Chadwick Boseman and setting up his Black Panther heir – but the story is a fudge, setting up western imperialism as the big bad, only to veer away, seemingly to avoid unsettling its target audience. And despite the gifted Letitia Wright’s best efforts as the grieving Shuri, there’s still a T’Challa-shaped hole in the middle of it all.

While there’s a definite mid-season feel to this, it’s still a Joss Whedon film, packed with all the snappy action sequences and pomposity-puncturing one-liners we expect (a running gag about Thor’s hammer is almost worth the ticket price alone). But with Marvel’s eyes on Infinity War, viewers got shortchanged.

Given that Captain America may be one of the least tortured Marvel heroes around, the fact that Chris Evans plays him primarily as a walking, talking glass of skim milk doesn't seem out of character. But call upon him to, say, mourn fallen comrades or actually emote, and the movie hits a pothole. His series gets better.

James Gunn and his band of quippy, loveable space rascals bid farewell with a busily-plotted but oddly grumpy trilogy closer. A subplot involving Rocket’s younger years being experimented on by the High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji) doesn’t help Vol. 3 crack a smile; instead, it’s left to Drax (Dave Bautista, fast becoming the MCU’s MVP) and Pom Klementieff’s Mantis to bring the irreverence and fun. Props, too, to Gunn for going where even Sam Raimi came up short and delivering some properly gnarly body horror to the Marvelverse

Just when it seemed like the MCU was getting so big that the whole superhero-movie bubble might burst, along comes an adventure with an action sequence set in a bathtub. Ant-Man is ultimately too flat to leave much of an impression, but it's a much-needed reminder that there are real people underneath all that armor.

While falling some way short of Ragnarok’s laser-focused anarchy, Taika Waititi’s two-hour romp of Norse action is packed with gags and boasts one of the MCU’s strongest villains to date in Christian Bale’s Gorr the God Butcher. But that (relatively) short running length leaves the reintroduction of Jane Foster as the Mighty Thor feeling rushed, contributing to a shapelessly-plotted Phase 4 entry that’s often as frustrating as it is fun.

Homecoming isn’t strictly an origin story: There’s no radioactive spider bite, no wow-I-can-lift-a-car-now moment. This is about a young man figuring out what to do with the power he’s already acquired, while also navigating the pitfalls of everyday teenagerhood. It’s light and breezy and a little throwaway.

After the sugar rush of the first film, recapturing the magic was always going to be an uphill battle. But for all its wit, speed and Kurt Russell playing a swaggering dad with secrets, this second instalment feels like a disappointment. Until well past halfway through, it doesn’t even have a plot, just a bunch of amusing scenes.

Marvel’s 1970s run of kung fu comics were racially stereotyped and often tiresome, but they gave us this fast, fun adaptation so that’s some kind of redemption. An almost entirely Asian cast create an origin story that pays tribute to classic kung fu, wuxia and Hong Kong action but never at the expense of having fun. Simu Liu makes an immensely engaging hero – and it’s about time the MCU went to karaoke.

An overstuffed sausage of summer entertainment, this is the Ocean’s Thirteen of spandexed heroism—if you can imagine a version of that movie with two times as many Brad Pitts and no poker dealers. The result is endless in-fighting for alpha-dog dominance, everyone trying to make what amounts to a cameo stick.

The Iron Man sub-saga undergoes the kind of freshening up it needed after a brief flirtation with Mickey Rourke. Take Stark to an unlikely place (rural Tennessee), have the magical suit totally fail him, have him attract a curious wiseass of a preteen sidekick—all of these things happen in a snappy course correction.

Phase 4 of the MCU will be built on the talents of indie stalwarts like Chloé Zhao, Destin Daniel Cretton and Somersault's Cate Shortland – and on the evidence of this slick fusion of big action and needlepoint-precise character beats, it's a good move. Scarlett Johansson manages to locate new depths to Natasha Romanoff in a Bourne-like actioner that pairs her with Florence Pugh to excellent effect. David Harbour's beefy and hugely enjoyable Russian super-buffoon Red Guardian compensates for the generic villainy on offer.

At long last, the Marvel Comics Universe comes together in the common purpose of defeating evil alien snake monsters. In humanspeak, that means you’ve got a bunch of superheroes in a single movie. The cape-wearing savior here is director Joss Whedon, who remembers to keep things fun, flip and broadly entertaining.

After much hype, anticipation and subterfuge, Marvel’s multiverse finally arrived and, boy, was it fun. A clutter (if that’s the collective noun) of Spider-men assembles to battle a line-up of timeless Spidey villains in the MCU’s answer to the NBA all-star game. Right in the midst of it all is the note-perfect, charismatic-yet-vulnerable Tom Holland, proving again that was born to sling webs. 

A war over tactics and goals is waged between Chris Evans’s squarely patriotic Captain and Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man, but the unexpected emotional heft left pretenders like Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice in the dust. This is a film about the violent end of a friendship and the moral questions that come with free will.

The Marvel-verse has never shied away from a bit of groovy psychedelia, from the prog-rock cityscapes of Thor to Ant-Man’s voyage into cosmic inner space. But they’ve never gone full down-the-rabbit-hole acid freak-out—until now. There are sequences here that could burn the top layer off your eyeballs.

This installment delivers a heavy and welcome dose of political paranoia (courtesy of Robert Redford, playing against lefty type as an ominous high-ranking government official). Chris Evans’s superhero remains an enjoyable square peg in the round hole of the sleek Marvel universe.

Some may find the film’s comic self-satisfaction a little grating (these lesser-known heroes date all the way back to 1969) and there are moments when the sheer brain-melting relentlessness becomes wearying. But overall, this is giddy, ridiculous fun: a wonderfully generous gift of a film.

Paced swiftly by Swingers star-turned-director Jon Favreau, the film that started it all is blessed by motormouthed Robert Downey Jr. as billionaire tech genius Tony Stark, an apolitical man with stripper poles on his private plane. Much was made of this “risky” casting, but it pays off beautifully.

If the irreverent Ragnarok is the funniest Marvel movie to date—topping even Guardians of the Galaxy—it’s not without frustrations. The standard third act CGI-fest feels leaden and there’s one too many superpowered MacGuffins (we’d have quickly misplaced the Flame of Thingamajig). But in a world of portentous blockbusters, it’s a joy to see one throwing on the disco lights.

Arriving with the momentum that only 21 previous global blockbusters can provide, here's the multiplex-rattling and curiously emotional culmination of the MCU—at least until the next chapter. Endgame often pays tribute to itself, which makes it as fascinating as it is self-serious. It taps into a live wire of doomy tragedy and phoenix-like rebirth that comics do so well.

Handsomely mounted by Creed’s Ryan Coogler and starring an enviable slate of black actors that makes cameoing comics godhead Stan Lee almost seem lost, Marvel’s best movie, pound for pound, is provocative and satisfying in ways that are long overdue—like its ornate, culturally dense production design and the deeper subtexts of honor, compassion and destiny.