When Marvel Studios, dominator of all things pop culture, announced their lineup of titles airing directly on Disney+, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier felt the least exciting. Marvel regularly attempts to pair different genres (westerns, political thrillers, space operas) with their tried-and-true superhero formula to keep things fresh, with mixed success. This particular series would feature Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, the titular Falcon and Winter Soldier. Both characters have been given decent but surface-level attention in the Marvel films up to this point, and this series would likely drop them into generic buddy-cop action territory. The one conceptual nugget of newness to set it apart was teased at the end of 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. An aged Steve Rogers, formally Captain America, literally and symbolically hands Sam Wilson the stars-and-stripes shield (in a film full of loud, crowd-pleasing moments, this scene is quiet and brief, but packs a satisfying and emotional punch to rival any other in the movie). Sam Wilson is not the first or only person to take on the mantle of Captain America in the comic source material, but his is the most compelling. A Black man assuming the role of Captain America is an exciting, timely, and weighty concept—but is only somewhat successful in execution. This series is full of great ideas, but perhaps three ideas too many, unable even with it’s extended episode format to truly give them a proper runway to breathe and develop.
But let’s start with what the show does well. The cinematography is refreshingly unique to the company style of most Marvel properties. Show creator and head writer Malcolm Spellman and series director Kari Skogland add atmosphere and richness to both larger-than-life, bombastic sequences and smaller, personal scenes that might have coasted on bland shot, reverse shot. Skogland may get carried away at times with the unconventional framing of scenes, but her visual flair is a welcome antidote to a common Marvel criticism of flat cinematography.
Skogland’s eye and Spellman’s voice are felt throughout the series. While the show can be thematically unfocused, Spellman successfully tackles it’s most interesting and important theme: Sam Wilson’s identity as a Black Captain America. The story delves much further into social issues of racial injustice than I thought this packaged corporate product ever would. Some viewers will feel alienated, and others will wish it pushed harder, but it doesn’t wobble or backtrack. At the risk of dividing the audience, It takes a position and commits to it. In an attempt to please everyone, some stories muddle their own thematic message, pleasing no one and leaving behind an inoffensive but empty statement. It’s impressive for a show meant to serve as global, populist entertainment not to lose its nerve at the last second.
All this said, the narrative thread wouldn’t have resonated as strongly without Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson. The triumph of this series, and the strength of both Marvel’s Disney+ exercises to date, is taking supporting characters, typically 10th-billed, and giving them the spotlight. This is probably a forgivingly low bar, but if I finished these six episodes caring more about Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes as characters—and not padding to a 20+ ensemble—then the show accomplished its primary directive. Mackie is charming and likable as Sam Wilson and given some dramatic meat to chew. He has to be a lot of things in this series; vulnerable and unsure one moment, confident and unapologetic in another, but never feeling contradictory or inconsistent. Every turn the character makes feels honest and understandable, thanks to Mackie’s intense relatability. Ultimately, his arc as Sam Wilson feels the most earned of any character in the series. Mackie’s co-lead, Sebastian Stan, the face behind Bucky Barnes for the better part of the last decade, also turns in his best performance as the man-out-of-time. Bucky’s backstory risks being too high-concept and ridiculous—a World War II vet previously brainwashed by Nazis and kept in suspended animation to occasionally act as international assassin for 70 years—but Stan acts the hell out of it. He displays genuine gravitas and effectively explores the horrifying traumatic effect that backstory would mean for a living human being. It doesn’t matter how convoluted the character is when Stan plays him with such likable humanity.
Marvel has also found something special with Mackie and Stan’s specific chemistry together. While some of the writing doesn’t always deliver the best comedic material, Marvel was smart to capitalize on how well Mackie and Stan bounce off each other, working from the characters’ cinematic shared history to mine some rich comedic beats, and interactions with real depth and feeling behind them. Some of the best dramatic moments offered by the series are when Mackie and Stan stop talking around their feelings and directly address their fears and frustrations with each other. In those moments, you understand why this series exists in the first place.
They are the most important characters to get right. Unfortunately, the rest of the supporting cast is underserved. The series introduces Wyatt Russell’s John Walker, a military veteran the U.S. government installs as the new Captain America over Wilson. We also have Daniel Brühl returning as Helmut Zemo, last seen in 2016’s Captain America: Civil War. Both characters are intended to be morally gray antiheroes, but uneven plotting, rushed arcs, and inconsistent characterizations leave both Walker and Zemo far beneath the dramatic potential teased for both characters. Emily VanCamp also returns as former S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Sharon Carter. This was an opportunity to give screen time and depth to a little-seen character. Instead, her characterization is convoluted and VanCamp is relegated to clunky exposition or generic action aphorisms (although she does take part in a great action sequence). The villain of the piece, Erin Kellyman’s Karli Morgenthau, is also underutilized with a jarring character arc; some episodes portray her as sympathetic and misunderstood, others as unforgivably villainous. It also doesn’t help that her goals, and the goals of her organization, are detrimentally unclear. There are kernels of interesting arcs for Walker, Zemo, Carter, and Morgenthau, but none are given the time to organically develop.
And that is the biggest issue with the series. It’s clear the architects of the show have a lot to say, but thematically and narratively, the show is juggling too much and never properly threads the needle between its different storylines and ideas. This also causes the show to suffer from severe pacing issues. Some sections have the movement of a unhurried, contemplative indie, and others feel rushed, packing an episode’s worth of story beats into a few minutes. Perhaps this might have worked better as a feature film; a two-hour limitation would have forced the writers to tell a more focused story, instead of multiple storylines half-heartedly.
Like many Marvel properties, the show gives viewers a taste of transcendent material, but inevitably must derail those smaller, weirder character moments for generic, plotty sequences. The first episode opens with Bucky in court-ordered counseling, recounting how he’s been making amends for his brainwashed past actions. It was funny, endearing, sometimes deeply sad. Where’s our six-episode series just about Bucky’s therapy sessions? (You already have our money, Marvel! We’d watch that show!) Those intimate moments are the true success of Marvel, investing us in these characters enough to wade through any generic fluff and keep the entire enterprise from collapsing under its own weight. The final episode sees our hero delivering an overwritten, unsubtle speech to onlookers that evokes more grimaces than goosebumps. Moments later, however, that same hero shares a short and powerful conversation with a personification of America’s flawed past. The latter scene more clearly and effectively drives home the show’s themes and Sam Wilson’s personal journey from self-doubt to acceptance and empowerment. The Falcon and Winter Soldier is the embodiment of this larger Marvel dichotomy: sometimes noisily trying too hard, and other times simple, honest, and effective. The show is weighed down by serious narrative and thematic stumbles, but the timely themes and magnetism of Mackie and Stan manage to keep it afloat.
The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is available to stream on Disney+. Its miniseries consists of six episodes and is rated TV-14.
