Avengers: Endgame is a three-hour Marvel film about a group of superheroes who attempt to reverse the outcome of the last Marvel film in scenes that last approximately three hours. Watching it was the worst experience of my life.
Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo, The Avengers: End of Game – which is three-hours long – apparently brings eleven years’ worth of Marvel films to some sort of conclusion, one that prompted every single crazed fan surrounding me to scream and flail like brain surgery patients having their stems violently poked by a back-alley doctor.
“Baaaaaahhh! Lullop! Gaaah!” frothed the gentlemen sitting beside me as the film’s opening titles came up on the screen. The involuntary noises he made were slightly alarming, but unfortunately he didn’t die.
As the film’s flimsy, cop-out, predictable plot unravelled, I sat there motionless amongst the swathes of frenzied fans seemingly trying to reproduce with their chairs, like a grey Where’s Wally in an ocean of carnival attendees celebrating the death of high standards.
One HMV t-shirt twat behind me repeatedly kicked my seat when Captain America and Thor did something presumably important, so I had to leave the cinema.
After spending 20 minutes crying in the toilets, I eventually returned to my seat, making sure I blocked the view of every bastard on my way for an inane amount of time. Their frustrated squeals brought me much satisfaction, so I decided to go to the toilet again.
When it was finally over and I told one friend, whom I used to respect, that it had been the worst experience of my life, they said I was being ridiculous and that watching the film can’t possibly be worse than starving to death in a Third World country or something.
To which I replied, ‘Yes, it can’.
Avengers: Endgame is in UK cinemas April 25.