When the Guardians of the Galaxy first debuted in 2014, they were a band of relatively obscure heroes served up as an amuse-bouche between the snappy spectacles of Iron Man and pals. Writer-director James Gunn had done a few splattery horror movies, an ultra-violent, indie comic book adaptation, and two Scooby Doos. And leading man Chris Pratt was known primarily as the goofball from Parks and Recreation. But here’s the thing about being an outlier: you have nothing and everything to prove, and Guardians of the Galaxy taught every future comic book movie that there was no limit to how funny and dorky but still deeply sincere you could be with your heroes.
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 is a farewell to the franchise (at least from Gunn’s perspective, as he’s since hopped over to DC), that’s really a reminder that they always represented some of the very best Marvel has to offer. What Gunn’s done here isn’t even rocket (raccoon) science – he’s just crafted well-drawn, textured characters in a story told with care and commitment. And it’s a story told in a world that continues to feel distinct and almost entirely self-contained, something safely quarantined away from the wider narrative of the MCU. Vol 3 contains both Marvel’s very first f-bomb (landed with perfect timing) and a heist on a fleshy satellite in which the Guardians bounce around in primary-coloured, 2001: A Space Odyssey-style space suits.
