At cinemas Nationwide now

Marvel’s main Avengers-based thread was threatening to get bogged down in its own bloated dramatis personnae and increasing tendency to safe executive placating.  As assured as Captain America: Civil War was, it followed an increasingly generic template; one punctuated by warp-speed puffs of ethereal CGI masquerading as engaging action.

Thankfully, Doctor Strange takes its cues from the comic giant’s more eccentric titles like the meta-narrative profanity of Deadpool or the enchanting oddness of Guardians of the Galaxy and ploughs its own furrow.  Sinister helmer Scott Derrickson has imbued the film with the kaleidoscopic psychedelia of counter-culture cults like The Trip filtered through the mind-bending, city-twisting feats of Inception. 

Battling manfully through the stifled yawns greeting yet another origin tale, Benedict Cumberbatch convinces as Stephen Strange, a genius neurosurgeon of mercurial arrogance who has his hands mangled in a car accident.  A convoluted series of events leads him to Kathmandu, and an esoteric academy under the tutelage of The Ancient One (Tilda Swinton); a location that’s channelling a Zhang Yimou film via way of Hogwarts.

Well-documented accusations of cultural appropriation that have dogged the production need to be set aside. Objections to Swinton being cast as The Ancient One are understandable from those seeking verisimilitude with the comics, but overlook that fact that the entire character of Doctor Strange is one of a privileged white man becoming the master of an ancient Eastern art.  It’s in-keeping with its 60’s origins, but on slightly shaky ground fifty years on.

Besides, Swinton knocks it out of the park.  She simply looks like some androgynous alien being of ineffable knowledge and indeterminate age, and her combative relationship with Strange is perhaps the highlight of the film, along with his sandpaper friction with the gloriously taciturn librarian Wong (Benedict Wong).

Less well-served however, is Rachel McAdams as colleague and former lover Christine Palmer. Despite being a thoroughly skilled doctor in her own right, she’s still sidelined as set dressing for the most part.  Also, when Strange meets the principal villain, Mads Mikkelsen’s Kaecilius, the CGI dominates at the expense of characterisation.  As impressive as the visuals are, it’s borderline criminal not to do more with two of the most charismatic screen presences of the moment.

Where Doctor Strange does triumph is a third act that doesn’t implode into a generic, smash-edited  mess of high stakes, but no heft.  Derrickson uses the technology at his disposal to craft something that looks different to what has come before – a frenzied Escher painting come to life – and that has real dramatic weight and a sense of danger.  The action is clear, concise and stunning to look at.

It’s probably mid-level Marvel, but does more enough to show just how far behind the DC franchise is in comparison.  With the character now established, it’ll be interesting to see just how far Marvel are willing to go with the character and his brand of wit and mysticism.  Hopefully, Derrickson will be left at the tiller.  He’s more than earned it.