In Marvel’s newest film, Thunderbolts*, an unexpected emotional richness arises from the grandeur of its superhero narrative. Central to the story is Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh), whose wry humor conceals an increasing feeling of hollowness. Her adoptive father, Alexei “Red Guardian” Shostakov (David Harbour), observes that her inner spark has faded — what once appeared as ennui now appears as a more profound and debilitating melancholy.

This emotional chasm serves as the film’s focal point, examined not only through Yelena but also through her fellow anti-heroes and even the main antagonist. Thunderbolts* endeavors to confront the repercussions of trauma — stemming from betrayal and abandonment to mental health struggles and suicidal thoughts — and implies that human connection can be a crucial support during dark times.

It offers a daring message for a Marvel blockbuster, attempting to merge thrilling action with thoughtful reflection. However, the film’s handling is inconsistent, particularly in its depiction of Bob (Lewis Pullman), a civilian whose prolonged history of psychological distress leads to his evolution into the super-powered Sentry — and ultimately, the malevolent force known as The Void.

Bob’s plunge into villainy isn’t self-generated. Lured under misleading circumstances by CIA director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), he undergoes experimental procedures intended to augment him, only to morph into a tool of mass destruction. His internal struggles are projected through The Void, a murky entity that wreaks havoc across New York City.

Although the film, co-written by The Bear’s Joanna Calo, approaches Bob with understanding and integrates a nuanced backstory — including a youth marked by domestic abuse and mental health issues — it still succumbs to a concerning cliché: linking mental illness to hazardous violence. In truth, those facing mental health challenges are far more often victims rather than aggressors. The film’s decision to manifest Bob’s suicidal tendencies as a city-destructive menace risks perpetuating damaging stereotypes.

Nevertheless, Thunderbolts* also includes uplifting moments. Yelena, representing the film’s emotional essence, engages with Bob not through force but with kindness. In a pivotal scene, she ventures into The Void’s domain — a surreal setting of “shame rooms” where she faces her own history — and discovers Bob concealed in a symbolic reconstruction of his childhood attic. These moments resonate with real-life mental health initiatives encouraging people to “be the friend who listens.”

Yelena’s compassion becomes essential in loosening The Void’s grasp. When Bob’s internalized self-loathing transforms into a monstrous version of himself, it is not aggression that redeems him, but the gentle solidarity of the Thunderbolts, who encircle him in a collective embrace. It symbolizes the act of quieting one’s inner critic through self-compassion — a principle frequently advocated by mental health experts.

Still, the film’s conclusion is lacking. Following his emotional epiphany, Bob retains no memory of the events — including his own act of redemption. This narrative decision weakens the very message Thunderbolts* seems to uphold: that healing and significance are attainable, even amidst deep suffering. Instead, Bob becomes an empty vessel, a convenient plot tool rather than a fully developed character.

Despite its commendable efforts, the film ultimately wavers in its portrayal of mental health issues. While it makes a rare and praiseworthy effort to delve into psychological trauma within the superhero genre, it also yields to the MCU’s tendency to prefer spectacle over substance. The concluding sequences forsake the emotional foundation established earlier, leaving audiences with an impression of incompleteness.

Thunderbolts* strives to convey that the void within us can be filled — not through power or revenge, but through connection. It nearly achieves this. However, by sidelining Bob’s journey in the finale, the film loses touch with its most human truth: that even in our darkest hours, we deserve to be acknowledged, understood, and remembered.

If you or someone you know is facing mental health challenges or suicidal thoughts, support is available. Call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988. You can also contact the Trans Lifeline at 877-565-8860, the Trevor Project at 866-488-7386, or text “START” to 741-741 to reach the Crisis Text Line. For additional resources, visit crisischat.org or findahelpline.com.