Last week, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier wrapped up its 6-week release on Disney+ in an action-packed finale. Despite an inordinate volume of violence — by Marvel standards, anyway — and a general pall of brooding melancholy that hung over nearly every scene, Sam Wilson’s band of depressed compatriots put together a performance so stellar that it conjured up a fourth Captain America film. For some, however, the flaws in the fabric of Marvel’s most popular foray into streaming might overshadow strong outings from several of the show’s main stars and a catalog of action to beat the band.
Before I light into the show, let me say one thing: Creating quality entertainment is hard to do in media, and yet the middle 4 episodes of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier produced a high-level experience for viewers across the country. That’s an accomplishment. Furthermore, Marvel put a Black man in the stars and stripes without glossing over the complicated history that stands between that man and those symbols. That’s a sterling achievement, too. Malcolm Spellman and the entire writers’ room deserve a great deal of applause for a series that is, in some ways, groundbreaking and innovative, if not the revolution heralded by certain members of the media. Unfortunately, thanks to Disney’s hard cap on the length of Marvel’s miniseries, the writers, actors, and producers put many of the show’s core questions to bed after little more than a shoutout or a nod.
Nowhere did these unfortunate oversights appear more than in Episode 6’s treatment of John Walker — the man who had served as Captain America from Episodes 1–4. During the show’s most intense moments, the writers took pains to paint Walker, played by Wyatt Russell, as a deeply insecure jingoist who took the symbolism of the Shield as carte blanche for brutality. When that penchant for excess goes public in Episodes 4 and 5, Walker murders one of the Flag Smashers and tries to replicate the feat against, well, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Arrested, decommissioned, and — presumably — awaiting a court martial, Walker fashions a second shield to replace the weapon taken from his arms by the US government. Frankly, the guy’s already pretty far gone, which is why it makes little sense for Walker to reappear in his Captain America getup to save a busload of dignitaries from Karli Morgenthau. It makes even less sense when we see Walker dapping it up with the show’s titular characters when they detain several of the Smashers. Everyone loves a good redemption narrative, but Walker doesn’t really get a redemption narrative. One minute, he’s a means-and-ends ideologue, willing to do anything to advance his view of the world. In Episode 6, he suddenly is not, without any real indication as to why. That’s a failure.
John Walker’s silent, magical about-face — symbolized by his decision to save the dignitaries rather than pursue the enemy — could have been a minor inconsistency, had the show not killed Karli Morgenthau in its waning moments.
The major conflict of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier exists between Sam Wilson’s Falcon and Morgenthau’s Flag Smashers. Wilson, portrayed by a stellar B-lister named Anthony Mackie, and Morgenthau, embodied in middling thespian Erin Kellyman, have a dispute that’s more tactical than philosophical — at least according to the Falcon. See, Morgenthau is basically protesting various governments’ harsh relocations of refugees by waging war on national borders as a concept. She’s blowing up buildings, killing innocent people, and beating up civilians in the street because she thinks that these things will somehow lead to more humane global policy. Wilson’s not about to be the guy pooh-poohing humane policy, of course, but killing innocent people is not a play in his book. “I understand what you’re doing,” he tells his mortal enemy, “But, I just can’t get with the way you’re doing it.”
Except, he kind of can in Episode 6.
Again — a lot of this is on Kellyman, who was supposed to turn the Flag Smashers into an organization that transcended the screen. Marvel doesn’t just produce villains to blow stuff up, per se: Marvel produces villains with a point. Josh Brolin’s Thanos had a point when he fought to end the scarcity of resources. Michael (B.) Jordan’s Kill Monger had a point when he wanted to seize the resources of Wakanda in the name of racial retribution. Daniel Bruhl’s Zemo had a point when he intoned that superheroes and super-soldiers shouldn’t exist. All of these villains had a point when they did whatever they did; their methods were just alternating degrees of evil, stupid, and shameful. Kellyman’s portrayal of Karli Morgenthau was supposed to do that for the Flag Smashers — it’s supposed to make you understand that the bad guys have a point.
Instead, Morgenthau looks almost as sadistic as John Walker. Because she sees the Flag Smasher cause as just, she doesn’t even feel a need to justify the violence she commits against the people of the world. (When she kills Walker’s sidekick in Episode 4, for example, Morgenthau appears to experience no remorse whatsoever — just a fear that Walker might catch her and return the favor.) Her sermonizing tirades against those who have reclaimed the mantles of national identity confirm that, to her, they had it coming. Morgenthau’s entire attitude towards her underpowered counterparts is little more than a perverted echo of Tchalla’s cry in Black Panther: “Every day I let you live is mercy!”
A better actor, frankly, wouldn’t have had any problem reconciling Morgenthau’s high-and-mighty principles with her Al-Queda-esque modus operandi, because a better actor would have articulated the (misguided) notion that the present violence would lead to future peace. A better writer would have made sure that notion popped out of Morgenthau’s mouth, to avoid making it look like the violence was the point. For this version of Morgenthau, it is.
The best actors in the profession can express conflicting — even contradictory — desires simultaneously. A Meryl Streep or Viola Davis-caliber actress certainly could have melded Morgenthau’s desire for peace with the remarkable violence she employs to get there. Erin Kellyman is not, to say the least, that caliber of actress, and that reality throws the whole show off-kilter.
Obviously, Episode 6 could have easily been the writers’ tool to clear out the dissonance. When the curtain rose on the Flag Smashers’ grand finale, Karli Morgenthau could have easily experienced some sort of heel-turn as the reconstructed Captain America guided her to a waiting fleet of police cars. Better yet, Wilson could have realized that such change was unlikely, and subdued the insurgent leader in a decisive confrontation. Alas, Marvel chooses neither route, leaving the cleaning job entirely in the hands of the former Falcon.
Sam Wilson, of course, embodies every political and ethical conflict that The Falcon and the Winter Soldier dares to put forward. He’s a Black man in the stars and stripes, as he makes clear, a hero emblazoned in the regalia of a nation that has not always granted him the full measure of a man. This is a TV show, obviously, so Wilson can’t just talk about the contradiction; he needs to live it. He needs some banker to deny him a loan under dubious pretenses. He needs a pair of police officers to stop him in the street. He needs to have terse conversations with a Korean War vet named Isaiah Bradley — one who couldn’t be Captain America because he didn’t have “blonde hair, blue eyes.” Someone, somewhere, must remind Sam Wilson that certain people don’t want him to be Captain America, because he doesn’t fit the bill.
It is in these degradations that the writers attach Wilson to Karli Morgenthau, forcing the two to reckon with their parallel fates. It is in this context that Morgenthau rotates her head in the heat of battle and sees Wilson, decked out in a metallic rendering of the American flag. It is in this world that she tries to kill the latest Captain before she’s shot three times by her shady employer.
If nothing else, the end of Karli Morgenthau brings us a most arresting image of the Falcon-turned-Captain America, wings outstretched, cradling the corpse of his mortal enemy in his arms as they float morbidly above New York City. But it’s Wilson’s descent — and the later rant — that serves to bridge the gap between a Black Captain America and the people who see that as some sort of contradiction. First, he berates a member of the governmental brass for referring to the martyred Morgenthau as a terrorist. When said official questions Wilson’s understanding of geopolitics, the new Cap circles around and tans his hide a little more. “I’m a Black man in the stars and stripes,” Wilson points out. “What do I not understand?” As Bradley — whose view of the US has been irreparably scarred by the suffering he endured — watches on TV, Wilson explains that people of every color have a stake in the American ideals of liberty and equality, even Morgenthau.
This isn’t the last time we see Sam Wilson in the series; there’s a meeting with Isaiah Bradley at the end of the show. But the themes of the Falcon’s outro (“we built this country, bled for it, died for it”) are similar enough to this speech to pick them both apart in unison.
For one, it’s difficult to imagine a scenario where the efforts of a Karli Morgenthau lead the nations to a lasting peace. It’s almost impossible to conjure an image of Wilson — who is, for better or worse, Captain America — making Morgenthau’s memory his first order of business after the drama has subsided. For the purposes of the show, however, both things are true. You’d think that Morgenthau’s bad habit of killing civilians in the most painful ways imaginable might rub the leaders of the world the wrong way. Instead, she’s right — Marvel makes her spree of violence directly responsible for the international community’s change of heart. A fascinating message, of course, but one that also muddies the waters as to the point of this entire series.
Wilson and Morgenthau (rightfully) see themselves as either victims of injustice or as the voices that can correct those injustices. But Wilson wraps himself in the American flag without any added information to reverse his initial reluctance to do so. Morgenthau is worse, greeting her foe’s ideological betrayal with an equally absurd act of unhinged violence. Again, a more compelling performance from Erin Kellyman probably could have given voice to the rage that Morgenthau is supposed to express in her death scene. More complete writing might have left viewers mildly convicted about Sam’s dramatic wardrobe change. And yet, Marvel chose moral ambiguity.
Ultimately, it’s fine that Marvel muddied the moral waters surrounding Morgenthau, Wilson, and Walker at the end of the show. If I may be so blunt, the abundance of ambiguity allowed stores to sell merchandise from every major character to appear on the show, which was probably the point all along. Create retail jobs and increase revenues, Marvel, if you so choose. Go ahead! But that commitment to ethical thickness makes for an imperfect narrative. For a show that explored so many concepts beyond heroism, Episode 6 was a dramatic disappointment.
That’s not to say that The Falcon and the Winter Soldier exists without any satisfying redemption narratives whatsoever. Sam Wilson is a Black man, he is Captain America, and, therefore, a Black man is Captain America. As far as we know, Anthony Mackie’s Wilson will function as Captain America in the next Captain America film, and beyond. But the writers of this show also understood that Wilson’s two (white) predecessors in the role always had the option of looking at this nation through rose-tinted glasses, as “a shining city on a hill” or a nation for which “the arc of history bends towards justice.” They could always ignore the injustices, the inconsistencies that marred the face of this great experiment. Wilson can feign ignorance too, of course, but he can’t be ignorant during his arrest, or inside the bank. In fact, he can’t be ignorant of America’s shortcomings because America won’t let him. All Sam Wilson can do is to be something of a skeptic, to call out the greatest country in the world whenever he has a chance to correct an injustice.
If you’re something of a conservative, if you entertain the idealistic images of America that I just described above, you probably won’t agree with Captain America’s bill of particulars against the United States. But that’s the contradiction: He must bear the image of a nation that has indicted itself in his presence, and many won’t be able to understand the nature of his indictments. Understanding that you can’t understand might itself be worth 6 hours of content.
And then there’s Bucky Barnes.
From the first time we see Bucky in this movie, we know that the curvature of his earth bends around the trauma he caused others as the Winter Soldier. Everything we learn about him tells us that he’s desperate to overcome his past, that he’s willing to do anything to move on from the sins of yesteryear. But Bucky can never permanently vanquish his past, so he lives in a constant state of reserved fear. He’s forever wary of relationship, perpetually hesitant to commit himself to the well-being of someone else, because he’s always worried that he’s already violated their well-being long ago. Could he ever truly drown his insecurities in board games with a lonely pensioner. Could he ever assuage his guilt via moonlight walks with buoyant baristas? Is that a thing?
Really, Bucky Barnes is asking the same questions as Wilson and Morgenthau: How can you address the people against whom you have committed irreversible crimes? How can you keep going, after you come to terms with the horrible things you’ve done? (In the words of Tobe Ngwiwe, “I’m speaking solely of atonement.”)
Barnes does keep going, as a useful — if cantankerous — sidekick to the Falcon. But the ideological spine of the show makes it clear that the Winter Soldier isn’t the focus. He’s a Pippen, a Draymond, a guy who does things that help you win without demanding recognition for himself. (Bucky Barnes has more important things to worry about than an international terrorist threat, obviously.) The Winter Soldier gets his touches in little moments, in therapy sessions and conversations when he comes to terms with the past and the future.
Barnes doesn’t have to deal with ambiguity, because Barista 1 and Elderly Gentleman at Bar probably won’t sell many T-shirts. The Winter Soldier can apologize without qualification, baring his soul to the man he has wronged and ending their friendship in the most heart-rending manner imaginable: By telling him the truth. Bucky Barnes’ heart is pure, his conscience clear. The Winter Soldier is ready to become something of a hero.
The last shot we get from the rechristened Captain America and the Winter Soldier isn’t of Captain America, although Sam Wilson does visit the original supersoldier to put some respect on his name. The last shot is of Bucky, walking past that same coffee shop, and peeking through the window at his old buddy, at his old barista.
In that moment, Bucky Barnes is a lot like America: He hasn’t always done the right thing, so he can never quite exist in the right way. But he can try to come to terms with his worst moments and reconcile them with his best. And that alone could make The Falcon and the Winter Soldier worth your time.