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Waititi’s distinctive brand of humor is evident throughout, but it’s more like an enamel than a true blend of sensibilities. The result is a surprisingly schlocky juxtaposition, almost as if by begrudgingly accommodating a director’s personal vision Marvel justified indulging in its own worst impulses: useless accounting for continuity, a fetish for junk science and absurdly fantastic artillery as a substitute for real magic, endlessly tiresome posing. There’s also some pleasure to be derived from seeing the most Kirbyesque production design ever realized on screen, but that’s drowned out by all the other nonsense of the “universe.” In the end it’s like watching a lengthy, lavishly produced Power Point deck.