★ ★ ★ ½ ☆

The best moment in Marvel’s latest cinematic universe building block comes when an egotistical white man gets punched. For a series that replicates this beat time and again (see any movie featuring Tony Stark, Scott Lang, Thor, or their respective villains), it’s no mean feat to make the act feel special again.





Doctor Strange, said wallop arrives when Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch, playing a neurosurgeon who loses the use of his hands in a car accident) haughtily discards the very idea of spiritual healing. Tired of Strange’s close-mindedness, The Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) delivers a hefty thwack to his chest, whereupon his astral form is catapulted from its physical body, before being hurtled across the dimensions. It’s a brilliant juncture that rewards threefold: as deftly-executed punchline for the scene, an epiphany for the reluctant hero, and an eye-widening joyride for the audience, demonstrating the psychedelic visuals to come. In the case of, said wallop arrives when Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch, playing a neurosurgeon who loses the use of his hands in a car accident) haughtily discards the very idea of spiritual healing. Tired of Strange’s close-mindedness, The Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) delivers a hefty thwack to his chest, whereupon his astral form is catapulted from its physical body, before being hurtled across the dimensions. It’s a brilliant juncture that rewards threefold: as deftly-executed punchline for the scene, an epiphany for the reluctant hero, and an eye-widening joyride for the audience, demonstrating the psychedelic visuals to come.





By this point in the movie, we’ve briefly dipped our toes into the special effects during a brawl between Swinton’s guru and Mads Mikkelsen as grimacing zealot Kaecilius, but Strange’s first encounter with the mirror dimension is a headfirst dive into kaleidoscopic abandon. Entire solar systems fold in on themselves, human faces contort and replicate infinitely, and when the sequence comes back to Earth with a bump, we’re left gasping for more just as much as the dumbfounded Strange.





The Ancient One informs us that these effects are confined strictly to the mirror dimension, with no effect on our reality. So when this maelstrom of magic returns for later action set pieces, the key question is “Why should we care?” The city-levelling CGI clouds witnessed in at least half a dozen other Marvel films may have become repetitive, but at least we understood there was a human cost. Here, the finale deliberately creates a similar setup – broiling clouds of digital distortion included – but subverts our expectations by immediately making the climax all about the characters – more specifically their brains, not brawn. Plus, it’s the closest a Hollywood production has ever come to resembling a YouTube Poop (parody content where videos are warped, repeated, reversed, or otherwise altered for comedic or entertainment effect), and I make this comparison as a massive compliment to the creative minds at play.





This isn’t to uphold the mind-bending visuals as the only, nor even the largest source of comedy. The script is witty enough that our suspension of disbelief can survive numerous silly names (Dormammu, Mordo, etc) and a whole heap of mystical jargon, while Cumberbatch, Swinton, Chiwetel Ejiofor and co all pick up the Marvel mix of serious and snarky very well. Cumberbatch in particular manages to avoid accusations of overexposure by playing a character that actually gets to emote for once. The cold disinterest of Sherlock or the calculated shyness of Alan Turing are involving facades, but not particularly sympathetic. Strange is a barking, whimpering misanthrope who learns to have a laugh every now and again at himself, rather than others. He also gets ten kinds of stuffing knocked out of him by the Cape of Levitation in his efforts to be worthy, which is endlessly amusing (putting in my early bid for it to win Best Supporting Actor).





Sinister, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, Deliver Us From Evil to name a few) bear little idiosyncrasy, so perhaps this is Marvel taking a chance on a ‘clean slate’ as it were, removed from the pop-culture infusion of the Russo Brothers, or the vintage aesthetic of Joe Johnston. Pitfalls appear every once in a while: Rachel McAdams does very well in a reverse-but-not-really love interest role, until the narrative sees fit to drop her from the final act. It’s also a shade too long (but then, what superhero film couldn’t do with losing a good ten minutes of exposition?), and it uses none of its time to give Scott Derrickson any chance to develop a signature directorial style. His previous horror works (to name a few) bear little idiosyncrasy, so perhaps this is Marvel taking a chance on a ‘clean slate’ as it were, removed from the pop-culture infusion of the Russo Brothers, or the vintage aesthetic of Joe Johnston.



