Marvel’s first family take their place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe in Matt Shakman’s The Fantastic Four: First Steps.

The Fantastic Four have had a troubled cinematic history. Roger Corman’s version was infamously made just to retain the rights and has never been officially released, Tim Story’s two films met with mixed reception and Josh Trank’s version -less than affectionately dubbed Fant4stic– is widely considered as a cinematic misfire. Fans have long argued that the team belongs in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, where interconnected storytelling and crossovers could unlock their full potential. That possibility became reality when Disney acquired Fox, reverting all Marvel characters under their banner to their original studio. Now, we finally have a version of the property that can play in Marvel’s ever-expanding cinematic sandbox, promising to hew more closely to the comic book stylings that previous adaptations largely sidestepped.

Curiously, Marvel chose to set this film outside of its established Cinematic Universe. The studio’s ongoing flirtation with the Multiverse offers the audience a conceptual safety net; an assurance that alternate realities exist, and stories can unfold independently. By placing the Fantastic Four in their own universe, Marvel gains the freedom to deviate from the visual conventions that define much of its output, while also telling stories unconstrained by accumulated continuity. This creative latitude is fully embraced through a retrofuturistic, 1960s-inspired aesthetic that signals a bold stylistic departure, and through a self-contained, high-stakes narrative that sidesteps the usual question: where are the other heroes?

This approach may be a glimpse into Marvel’s future. As their shared universe continues to expand, the risk of its continuity becoming unwieldy grows with it. Inconsistencies are cropping up more frequently, and the lack of communication between projects often leads to major events being ignored from one installment to the next. For those invested in the promise of a tightly connected narrative world, this drift can be frustrating; a sign that cohesion may no longer be a priority. One potential solution is to embrace stories set in alternate universes that form part of a larger multiverse, with crossovers reserved for moments that genuinely warrant them, free from the burden of ripple effects across unrelated projects.

The film wastes no time capitalising on its disconnected setting. From the outset, it’s clear we’re far removed from the aesthetic and narrative norms of the mainline MCU, not just in visual design, but in the fundamental structure of this world. Here, the Fantastic Four are more than superheroes: they’re global icons, wielding influence as both celebrities and political leaders. Four years after their public debut, they’ve ascended to near-total authority, founding the Future Foundation to act as their world’s United Nations, defeating a litany of comic-book villains, and uniting the planet around an optimistic mission to build a better future. It’s a utopian setup, yet reminiscent of the fascist undertones in speculative fiction like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Crucially, the film presents this power structure without irony or critique. The Four face no resistance, and the world appears genuinely better off under their leadership.

Following the current trend in superhero cinema, The Fantastic Four: First Steps skips the origin story entirely. Instead, it drops viewers into what feels like the second, or even third, chapter of an established series. The team’s powers are in place, their dynamic is well-honed, and they’ve already navigated the familiar arcs typical of early superhero narratives. A brisk recap of their formative adventures serves as background, but for the most part, the audience is expected to keep pace and piece things together contextually. It’s not a bad tactic; origin stories often tread the same ground, so starting from a well-established status quo opens the door to more evolved character drama and richer storytelling.

It’s not without its drawbacks. One particular issue is the assumption of audience familiarity with these characters and their history. The opening scene sees Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby) discovering she’s pregnant and sharing the news with her husband, Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal). Both are visibly ecstatic, having long accepted that parenthood was beyond their reach. It’s a tender, well-acted moment, but it lands without the emotional weight it clearly seeks. These versions of the characters are brand new -even die-hard comic fans have never encountered them in this configuration- so there’s no existing groundwork to make the reveal meaningful. The film retroactively earns that connection as it unfolds, building rapport and nuance between Reed and Sue. But as a first impression, it falls flat.

The film’s summary of the Fantastic Four’s origin and early adventures is serviceable. Using an anniversary TV special to power through the exposition is an efficient device, covering a lot of ground quickly before settling into their day-to-day lives. It also sets up their near-universal adoration which is crucial context for when the public inevitably turns on them, though that reversal isn’t handled especially well. Pacing also becomes a noticeable issue: compromises made to keep the runtime under two hours are palpable. Narrative threads are either hastily resolved or quietly dropped, and scenes that could add texture -like Reed and Sue adjusting to parenthood- are conspicuously absent. Overall, the film flows well enough, but with more room to breathe, it could’ve achieved far greater emotional and thematic depth.

Much of the first act focuses on Reed and Sue preparing for parenthood, ticking off tasks like babyproofing their skyscraper home and -off screen- eliminating lingering criminal threats to their family. These scenes reinforce the film’s central theme: the power of family, both biological and found. The Fantastic Four function as a tightly bonded unit, full of mutual support and occasional irritation, like any real family.

Reed and Sue’s relationship feels lived-in, brilliantly portrayed by Pedro Pascal and Vanessa Kirby, who convey the ease and rhythm of a couple that has weathered years together. They complement one another beautifully: Reed is the hyper-analytical scientist, constantly probing possibilities -however improbable- while Sue grounds him, offering calm, practical alternatives that tether him to reality. Her instincts consistently override his, not through force but trust. Kirby brings a confident pragmatism to Sue, seeing the protection of her family and the world as inseparable. Pascal plays Reed with quiet intellect and a subtle unease, suggesting something unresolved beneath the surface, something he’s not ready to face.

Rounding out the four are Sue’s brother Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn) and close family friend Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), though “friend” undersells it. Ben is every bit a core part of this family, blood ties or not. While the film offers less focus on them, particularly Ben, it still conveys a clear sense of who they are and how they fit within this tight-knit group.

Johnny has a compelling through line, striving to prove he’s more than an impulsive, hotheaded youngster. Joseph Quinn infuses the role with deliberate, hidden depths. His performance is layered, revealing just enough to demand he be taken seriously. Ben, meanwhile, is the family’s quiet anchor: dependable, introspective, and emotionally attuned. Moss-Bachrach captures this wonderfully, playing Ben as the fun uncle with an undercurrent of quiet devotion. However, Ben’s presence suffers from the story’s jump past the team’s formative years. With his internal conflict seemingly resolved and his acceptance of his rocky form complete, the script struggles to give him direction. Aside from a lightly sketched romantic subplot, there’s little sense of who Ben is beyond his familial role. He’s a clear casualty of the narrative’s starting point, where transformation has already led to peace but left little room for personal evolution.

Reed and Sue’s preparations for their son’s arrival are abruptly derailed by Shalla-Bal (Julia Garner), the Silver Surfer and herald of Galactus (Ralph Ineson), a cosmic entity bent on consuming Earth. Her declaration that the planet is marked for annihilation shifts the Fantastic Four’s focus from domestic calm to planetary crisis. Shalla-Bal is perhaps the clearest casualty of the film’s compressed runtime. Her backstory is introduced late and clumsily; less a deliberate twist, more a forgotten thread hastily knotted in. It’s frustrating not because the groundwork isn’t there, but because the film gestures at richness and then retreats. Shalla-Bal could have been a thematic echo of Reed and Sue’s own struggle; duty versus family. Instead, she’s a footnote in the rush toward resolution.

Galactus is intentionally underdeveloped, but not absent. He speaks -his voice a digitally enhanced boom that Ralph Ineson delivers with ominous gravitas- but he isn’t a character in the traditional sense. He’s a force of nature, a cosmic inevitability: not someone to understand or reason with, but something to survive. He embodies an allegory as vast and impersonal as climate change, and handling him requires global unity rather than individual heroics.

The film initially commits to Galactus as something transcendent; a threat beyond comprehension. A long shadow stretches between his initial declaration and final arrival, with a brief, chilling encounter in between that deepens the sense of cosmic menace. Dread builds slowly and effectively. Yet when the moment of reckoning comes, the narrative swerves. Galactus becomes the centerpiece of a conventional superhero climax: explosive action staged in a conveniently vacant city. It’s a jarring shift from the film’s earlier assertions that this was a different kind of problem, something that couldn’t be solved through brute force or familiar tactics. Just when the story could have explored profound ideas about inevitability and global unity, it slips into genre routine.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps is lighter on action than most superhero fare, but what it lacks in frequency it makes up for in creativity. The standout sequence is a thrilling chase through space that culminates in the orbit of a collapsing neutron star. It’s stunningly rendered and conceptually rich. Other set pieces favour strategy over spectacle, highlighting thought and preparation rather than brute force.

Much of the film centres on problem-solving, with the team’s powers woven into everyday life in subtle, grounded ways such as Reed stretching an arm to reach something just out of reach or Johnny uses his flame to illuminate a darkened room. These moments don’t announce themselves, they simply exist, reinforcing the idea that powers are tools, not shortcuts. When action does arrive, it carries more weight because it’s earned, not expected. The restraint makes each sequence feel intentional, even elegant, rather than obligatory.

The retrofuturistic 1960s aesthetic is excellent. Sets and props are artistically crafted, costumes are striking, and the colour palette pops. It’s not just stylish, but tactile as well. Chalkboards replace sleek holographic interfaces, characters jot notes with pen and paper, and audio logs are played on vintage record players. This otherworldly physicality contributes to the escapism, helping sell the notion that the world could unite in common cause. The visual effects -CGI infants aside- are similarly impressive. The Thing’s craggy exterior has never looked better, Johnny’s flames cast ash toward the camera, adding texture, Sue’s invisibility is rendered with a gorgeous light-bending shimmer; and Reed’s elastic movement avoids the cartoonish pitfalls of past adaptations. The Silver Surfer is a stunning standout, and Galactus looms with truly cosmic grandeur.

Taken as a whole, The Fantastic Four: First Steps stands out as one of the most visually dynamic superhero films in recent memory, certainly within the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It’s a feast for the eyes, but more than that, it’s a world you want to linger in.

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Verdict

A visually rich and emotionally earnest superhero film that, despite structural missteps, distinguishes itself through a commitment to introspection over spectacle.

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