The entire franchise’s inability to balance substance with pleasure crashes into its inept conclusion. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve hated an ending to a movie more in recent memory than this one. For the purposes of this review, I will not spoil it. But let’s just say this film imagines it’s living in a different country, nay a different world, than the reality many have experienced. It argues for unearned forgiveness while making rushed, last-second nods to the weight of Black excellence, the fight to gain a seat at the table, and the importance of representation. It not only turns its hero into a Magical Negro. In an effort to soothe white America’s anger and hurt, it also asks its hero to grin and figuratively tap dance off screen. Even as Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly anthem “I,” a choice meant to elicit joy, adds a declarative note, you can’t help but feel icky. This is our Black Captain America? This is our piece of the pie?

This movie is anything but brave. It is the most feckless, spineless blockbuster of the last decade, a film in need of burning down the old world before daring to look for the new.