Seventeen years ago, Tony Stark built a suit in a cave with a box of scraps—and accidentally laid the foundation for the biggest cinematic experiment of the 21st century. That was Iron Man in 2008. And whether you were a lifelong comic nerd or just a guy looking for a popcorn flick, you knew something had shifted. One post-credits scene with Nick Fury turned a movie into a mission statement. “You’ve become part of a bigger universe,” he said. And damn if that didn’t light a fire.
For a while, the Marvel Cinematic Universe could do no wrong. It was the perfect blend of serialized storytelling and spectacle, built on the radical idea that movies could be connected on purpose. It rewarded fans who paid attention, who watched everything, who caught the Easter eggs and pieced together the larger puzzle. The MCU wasn’t just popular—it was cultural infrastructure. It changed how studios greenlit projects. It rewired audience expectations. It trained an entire generation to believe that movies could build toward something greater than themselves.
But now, with Thunderbolts just hitting theaters and a more stripped-down MCU reportedly on the horizon, we’re hearing the same phrase again and again: “back to basics.” Kevin Feige and company want to make things simpler, more standalone. Fewer overlapping arcs, fewer entry requirements. And while I don’t disagree with the idea of better storytelling, I think the diagnosis is off. People don’t mind doing the homework—they just want to feel like it counts for something.
Look at what’s happened over the last few years. Marvel introduced characters like Ms. Marvel in 2022, then moved her into The Marvels in 2024. And… nothing. That movie flopped hard, and now Kamala Khan is floating in IP limbo with no clear future. Same story with Riri Williams, a.k.a. Ironheart. Introduced in Wakanda Forever, she’s getting a Disney+ spin-off sometime this year, but the character has never really clicked with fans on the comics side or in her brief screen time. It all feels like reverse-engineering—trying to make someone matter just because the studio wants them to.
Contrast that with Deadpool & Wolverine, which came out last year and made over $1.4 billion. That movie mattered. It was anticipated, earned, and executed with precision. It wasn’t selling homework—it was giving fans the reward they’d been craving. It also didn’t feel like homework because it had heart, humor, and history on its side. And it reminded people why they fell in love with these characters in the first place.
The same goes for Daredevil: Born Again, which just brought Matt Murdock back into the fold after years on the sidelines. Now that the old schism between Marvel Studios and Marvel Television is gone, there’s finally momentum to bring back the rest of the Netflix crew—Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Iron Fist. These were characters that earned their place with grounded, compelling stories, and a loyal fanbase that’s been asking for their return ever since. That’s the model. That’s what earned trust looks like. They weren’t forced in—they belonged. Marvel should be using this playbook moving forward: introduce characters in focused, character-driven stories on Disney+, and then bring them into the wider MCU when the time is right. The audience will show up—just give them a reason.
Marvel’s problem hasn’t been quantity—it’s been coherence. For all the shows and specials released since Endgame, there hasn’t been a clear sense of build. No momentum. No map. Just scattered drops in a bucket that don’t feel like they’re adding up to anything. The post-credit scenes used to be electricity. Now they’re often more like shrug emojis.
If Feige wants to restructure the MCU going forward, here’s a crazy thought: treat Disney+ like the minor leagues. Let characters develop there—let them win us over in their own corners of the universe—and then call them up to the big screen when they’re ready. Don’t force them into team-ups before they’ve earned the audience’s trust. People are more than willing to do the legwork if they believe that there’s a payoff. Right now, it just feels like we’re being asked to memorize flashcards with no exam.
That’s what made the MCU different back in the day. It didn’t just tell individual stories—it told a story. It was building somewhere, and that sense of progression made the audience feel like participants instead of just spectators. That’s not something to walk away from. That’s something to fix.
There’s still time. The X-Men are coming. Blade’s still waiting in the wings. And if Kevin Feige really is tightening his grip and focusing up again, maybe we’ll finally get the kind of clean, confident world-building that made those first three phases so damn compelling.
But if Marvel really wants to honor the spirit of that first Iron Man, they can’t be afraid of ambition. Don’t make it simpler—make it smarter. Don’t downsize the vision—sharpen it. And whatever you do, don’t stop believing that audiences are willing to follow the thread, as long as it leads somewhere worth going.
Hollywood After Dark 