Doctor Strange

I remember sitting in the theater back in 2016, right next to a teenager who was trying—and failing—to eat a giant pretzel without getting salt all over his lap, and thinking that Marvel had finally decided to drop the "grounded" act. Up until that point, the Marvel Cinematic Universe had spent a decade trying to convince us that Thor was just an alien and magic was just science we didn't understand yet. Then Benedict Cumberbatch showed up, fell through a few dozen dimensions, and basically told the audience to stop worrying about the physics and just look at the pretty colors.

Doctor Strange arrived at a fascinating crossroads for blockbuster cinema. We were right in the thick of "franchise fatigue" discourse, yet the box office numbers for these movies were still climbing into the stratosphere. Directed by Scott Derrickson—who usually spends his time scaring the life out of people with films like Sinister (2012)—this was the MCU’s attempt to inject some "high-concept trippiness" into their established formula. It’s an origin story, sure, and it follows the Iron Man (2008) blueprint almost to a fault: arrogant genius loses everything, goes on a spiritual journey, grows a goatee, and saves the world. But man, the scenery along the way is something else.

The film follows Dr. Stephen Strange, a neurosurgeon whose ego is roughly the size of a small moon. After a horrific car accident ruins his hands, he burns through his fortune seeking a cure, eventually landing in Kathmandu at the feet of The Ancient One, played by Tilda Swinton. I found the casting of Swinton to be one of those "2016 moments" that really defined the era’s conversation about representation. While she’s undeniably ethereal and brilliant in the role, the decision to cast a white woman as a character originally depicted as Tibetan sparked a massive and necessary dialogue about whitewashing in Hollywood. It’s a smudge on the film’s legacy that exists right alongside its genuine attempts to broaden the MCU’s cultural horizons.

What really grabbed me, though, wasn't the plot—it was the sheer audacity of the visuals. Ben Davis, the cinematographer who also lensed Guardians of the Galaxy, treats the screen like a Rubik’s Cube. When the sorcerers start folding New York City in on itself during the "Mirror Dimension" chase, it’s not just "good CGI"—it’s imaginative choreography. I love how the action isn't just about who can punch the hardest; it’s about who can manipulate the environment more creatively. The true magic of the film isn't the spells, but how it manages to make a sentient piece of outerwear more charismatic than most of the human supporting cast. Seriously, the Cloak of Levitation deserves its own spin-off.

Speaking of the cast, Benedict Cumberbatch was born for this. He plays "brilliant jerk" better than almost anyone working today, but he also brings a physical fragility to Strange that makes the character’s eventual mastery of the mystic arts feel earned. It’s a shame the film doesn't give Rachel McAdams (as Dr. Christine Palmer) or Mads Mikkelsen (as the villainous Kaecilius) more to do. Mads Mikkelsen is far too talented to be wasted on a villain whose primary personality trait seems to be having a very terminal case of aggressive pinkeye. He’s a formidable screen presence, but like many Marvel villains of this era, he’s mostly there to provide a dark reflection for the hero to overcome.

One of my favorite bits of trivia involves the climax. Instead of the typical "giant blue beam in the sky" finale that plagued 2010s blockbusters, Scott Derrickson and co-writer C. Robert Cargill opted for something much weirder. Strange defeats the cosmic entity Dormammu not through strength, but through a recursive time loop. It turns the entire concept of a boss fight into a philosophical stalemate. Interestingly, Benedict Cumberbatch actually performed the motion capture and provided the voice for Dormammu as well. He essentially spent the finale of his first solo movie arguing with himself in a giant purple void, which is the most "actor" thing I can possibly imagine.

The production was a massive undertaking, with a $180 million budget that actually feels like it’s on the screen. To keep the surgery scenes authentic, the production hired real medical consultants to ensure Strange’s initial life as a surgeon looked legitimate—right down to how he held his tools. It’s that level of detail, paired with Michael Giacchino’s psychedelic, harpsichord-heavy score, that prevents the movie from feeling like just another cog in the machine. While I watched this, I couldn't help but notice how the score felt like a throwback to 1960s prog-rock, which is a perfect nod to the character's comic book roots.

In the grand scheme of the MCU, Doctor Strange serves as the bridge between the terrestrial and the cosmic. It’s a film that leans into the technological advancements of "The Volume" and seamless digital environments while trying to tell a very old-fashioned story about humility. It doesn't quite escape the "Marvel Formula" entirely, but it paints inside the lines with such vibrant, neon-soaked colors that you barely notice the boundaries.

Looking back on it now, Doctor Strange feels like the last time an MCU origin story was allowed to be truly weird before everything got swallowed up by the massive stakes of the Infinity War era. It’s a visually stunning ride that manages to make "magic" feel like a physical, tactile skill rather than just glowing CGI circles. Even if the plot beats are familiar, the trip itself is one I’m always happy to take again, provided there aren't any giant pretzels involved.