Thor: Ragnarok begins with an imprisoned Thor dangling from a chain in the bowels of some reeking hellscape, taunting a world-destroying demon. Then âImmigrant Songâ shudders and shakes the theaterâs speakers, and Thorâwielding his trusty hammer Mjolnir, and really feeling the musicâlays righteous waste to a skittering army of the undead. Then thereâs some hyperspace travel. And a lot of dragon blood? And a Shake Weight!
Ragnarok gets weirder, funnier, and better from there. I watched the whole thing with a big stupid grin on my big stupid face.
Granted, Iâve always liked Thorâbut even I can admit his previous movies might not be Marvelâs best. Thor, inexplicably directed by Kenneth Branagh, dug into the family drama between Thor (Chris Hemsworth), his no-good brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston), and his scowly dad Odin (Anthony Hopkins). Thor: The Dark World, clunkily assembled by Game of Thronesâ Alan Taylor, introduced space elves (space elves!) and... okay, I was one of the three people who liked The Dark World, and even I canât remember what it was about, aside from space elves (space elves!).
But Thor: Ragnarok is, finally, a legitimately great Thor movieâone that proves goofy comedy, goofier mythology, 1980s-tinged sci-fi and fantasy, and Led Zeppelin arenât mutually exclusive. In fact, all that stuff goes together like... whatever Norse gods eat instead of delicious sundaes! And the cherry on top is the Incredible Hulk! And a giant wolf! And Jeff Goldblum! Jeff Goldblum in space! Wow. This sundae analogy fell apart fast.
Iâm not great at sundae analogies, and to be fair, Ragnarok isnât great at... ah... narrative cohesion. It lurches from scene to sceneâjumping from garbage planet Sakaar, where Thor and Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) fight like space Spartacuses, to Asgard, where Thorâs evil sister Hela (Cate Blanchett, as perfect and creepy as ever) is being all evil. There are gladiator fights and spaceship chases and dizzying, candy-colored visuals inspired by the art of comics greats Jack Kirby and Walter Simonson; Mark Mothersbaughâs proggy score blurps and woobles; Loki (still no good!) and drunk warrior Valkyrie (Tessa Thompson, WONDERFUL) show up whenever the plot needs them to. Some might quibble that Ragnarok is disjointed; Iâd counter that its toneâexciting and quippy and sweetâis always dead on.
For that, and for Ragnarokâs constant hilarity, we can thank Taika Waititi, the New Zealand director who, until now, has made slightly more low-key fare: Flight of the Conchords, What We Do in the Shadows, Hunt for the Wilderpeople. Like those projects, Ragnarok is as good-hearted as it is clever; as much as its characters might smash each other across garbage planets, and as godlike and monstrous as they might be, Waititi treats them like real people. Besides imbuing an earnest, handmade charm into a film that could have been just another ration of Marvel Productâ˘, Waititi also appears as Korg, a towering rock monster with a chipper Kiwi accent. Like Thompsonâs Valkyrie, he steals every scene heâs in.
Which is saying a lot, because everyone in this thing is good: The slyly deadpan Hemsworth nails Thorâs charming, inept arrogance; Ruffalo has a contagious, delighted-to-be-here enthusiasm; Blanchett, glaring through smoky eye shadow and rocking headgear I can only describe as âscary space antlers,â slinks through Asgard, making intergalactic warmongering look like something I would immediately sign up to assist her with. Even Benedict Cumberbatch magicks himself into the chaos, and has more fun in five minutes of Ragnarok than in the entirety of Doctor Strange.
If it sounds messy, it isâRagnarok can feel like a few movies smooshed together, their scenes jostling against each other. But hereâs the thing: All those scenes are great. When it comes to giddy laughs and gleeful adventure, Ragnarok is the best Marvel has to offer. I guess itâs technically possible youâll see another movie this year thatâll be this much fun, but I doubt it. And even if you do, it wonât have Space Goldblum.