Marvel’s greatest challenge in solidifying one of its mightiest heroes, Thor, was creating a formidable force, and when that aspect didn’t seem to resonate, supplanting the God of Thunder with a humorous chagrin and comical (almost lifelessly so) demeanor. Neither of these templates seemed to radiate in the method they were intended to, a host of writers attempting both comic relief and straight-laced heroism, and never quite delivering the Avenger to the Valhalla he deserved with either method. Before he was nestled under the tutelage of the talented Taika Waititi, Thor waited and wasted tightly as a second-fiddle figure, a failure of godly proportions predisposed to B-team status. There is an incontrovertible reason why Thor: Ragnarok was relished as such a cinematic success, a tale of traditionalist hardship and ancient morals rekindled in thunderous electronic symphonies and forlorn metal impacts, and an ode to Nordic heart and soul if I’ve ever seen one.

Facing an archaic tribunal in frigid snow and disquieting forests, the legend of Thor ultimately is reborn in the midnight sun where hot springs blow. It is embedded in lightning crackle and persistent defeat where the God of Thunder descends to mortal level, and from that low, evolves into the M.C.U.’s most captivating paragon.

Thor: Ragnarok — A People Worth Saving

“I make great mistakes all the time… everything seems to work out.”

If you’ll permit me to be colloquial for a moment, Thor: Ragnarok in its purest form is an exploration in how much a screenwriter can possibly rake a character over the coals. It was direly necessary for Taika and his team to completely overhaul the implementation of Thor, and to thrust him outside his comfort zone and lock the proverbial gates until his character returned worthy. Does that mean that Ragnarok is somehow a character assassination, and a poor representation of Thor? No, of course not. If anything, Thor 1 and its sequel The Dark World did enough of that to last the persona a lifetime, and they’re fortunate that it didn’t destroy the god for good. Thor’s greatest enemy in his first two cinematic incarnations is not hulking monsters and hordes to be battled singing and crying, no, his greatest foe is instead indifferent locales and mindbogglingly boring characterization. This is, of course, mostly conjecture, even if it is widespread for a reason, but it merits mentioning in this instance due to Ragnarok‘s wholly unique approach, practically a trilogy reset in-and-of itself.

I feel that a vital part of justifying Thor’s inconceivably immense turnaround as a character revolves around properly presenting how his supporting ensemble fed so effortlessly into that. Portrayed immaculately by Tessa Thompson, Valkyrie acts as Ragnarok‘s deuteragonist, a secondary perspective of the main ensemble alongside Thor. Her establishment as an LGBT character is particularly gratifying to people such as myself, as Valkyrie avoids many of the pitfalls of bisexual characters in media written laxly or unnaturally. Though flawlessly characterized, Scrapper 142 is an impeccably damaged person, a survivor in a world of gods and monsters who numbs her pain through distinctly human coping mechanisms. She represses the terror of war with excessive drinking, and is reluctant to acknowledge Asgard for fear of being a part of a world without her sisters-in-arms. It’s a genuine pleasure to be able to prop up such a quintessential LGBT heroine for Pride Month, but most primarily in mentioning Valkyrie, it’s vital to acknowledge her purpose in reminding Thor of his own lot in life.

One minor, but to some, heavily explicit, inclusion in Thor: Ragnarok that helps solidify the excess effort being shown throughout the film is Odin’s choice of locale, Norway, the homestead of such viking legends. In fact, in spite of the regrettably hasty green screen effects, this brief instance of Odin conversing with his sons at the twilight of his mental health is an appropriately bittersweet finale. It acts as a reminder of the realistic mortality of all of Marvel’s heroes. Even a monolithic deity such as Odin is not immune to the throngs of deterioration and defeat. Whether it be through Valkyrie’s rejection of the mythological aura of Asgardian royalty, or Odin’s reminder of the highly mortal imperfections of heroism and duty, Taika Waititi effortlessly encompasses the lesson Thor has needed to learn from the start: humility.

Infinity War — A Home Worth Losing

“I’m only alive because fate wants me alive. Thanos is just the latest of a long line of bastards, and he’ll be the latest to feel my vengeance – fate wills it so.“

When I first experienced the hellish and unending roller-coaster ride that was Infinity War, the immediate emotions stoked in my mind were elation that the second part in this Thor trilogy had blossomed spectacularly. Infinity War felt less like a natural continuation of the Avengers story-line by its third act and more akin to an epilogue for Ragnarok, and an expected continuation of the path Thor has been course corrected to. The God of Thunder is faced with a situation that feels eerily reminiscent at its simplest examination of moments that many have confronted, a time of overpowering loss and absolute ruin. The haunting opening moments parading Thanos’ power serve as a reminder that Thor is still conceited, and still enamored by the fantastical drivel of godly power which he has let shepherd him thus far. Expecting fate to grant solace on him simply on the basis of being a hero, on the basis of his otherworldly dominion over thunder, and demanding fairness from a mad titan wrought with the allure of balance.

Thor’s dereliction is that he believes in divine rite, he wholeheartedly rejects his mortality and the universe promptly proves it has more to take from him in his brother, his best friend, and half of his people. Again and again, Thor callously asks what fate has left to rip from his hands, and each time he is belittled and controverted by the equity of “destiny”.

It’s worth noting the deliberate absence of every character from Ragnarok in Thor’s journey throughout Infinity War, a personal quest in the lengths of loss. The renewed strength in Thor’s persona and his elevated significance lie in his journey, in the writers’ efforts to strip Thor of every monumental boon and distinct trait. Valkyrie, Thor’s personal reminder of the foils of Asgardian greed and royal impudence, is absent in his adventure to rediscover ‘worthiness’. Loki is killed before Thor’s eyes in an instance of selflessness and companionship, and Heimdall finds his end unfairly hastily and painfully realistic. Thor’s entire family is dead, his appearance is in shambles, his hammer gone, his homestead obliterated, and the people he felt so desperately he could save, scattered and mauled to splinters.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe — A Hero Worth Idolizing

“Even when you had two eyes… you’d only see half the picture.“

Captain America’s journey in the M.C.U. embodies far more than a lithe Brooklynite becoming a symbol of justice and willpower, a statement that patriotism lies beyond a star-spangled shield. Star-Lord does not exist to simply detail the extravagant adventures of a puckish space outlaw, a declaration of coping with the loss of significant people and learning to let go of the physical things attached to them. Iron Man is more than a billionaire man-child in a suit of armour, a lesson on the pratfalls of extremist guilt and the dangers which prey in good intentions. Steve Rogers represents humanity, Peter Quill represents affection, Tony Stark represents penance and conscience. So that begs the eternal question:

“What is Thor supposed to represent?”

If you inquired this about three or four years ago, the answer I would have mumbled indecisively may have been about as solid as Mjolnir after Hela had abolished it from existence. After all, there wasn’t much concrete philosophy to go on other than his unbridled naivety and untapped force. Now, however, the stories which surround Thor and engulf him in their fierce fidelity don’t ignore these blatant character imperfections, opting to instead utilize them to harness Thor’s humanity and mercy. Thor is endlessly more than a psychopathic slayer of gods, more than a hammer-throwing lunatic with practically no regard for earthly harm or even a speck of genuine emotion at all. Thor is a lecture on the guileless traditionalism of “heroism”, a spitting image of the perfect figure which no one could ever aim to replicate. He is shamelessly the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s Superman, and instead of labeling this as a detriment, the team has absolutely marked Thor’s significance by justifying this as his central motivation, his character arc to be assessed, critiqued, and like any challenge, overcome.

Utmost thanks to Joshua Ezzell for the visual additions to this article.

Thanks to my Patron and good colleague ArdentPrayer for the topic!

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