James Gunn's Guardians of the Galaxy always played as a kind of funhouse Avengers — while Iron Man and Captain America traded quips and jokes, the stories were superhero serious: half of all the life in the universe needed saving, and they were the only folks powerful enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, good enough to do it! The Guardians, on the other hand, very often played it totally straight — viz. Drax the Destroyer's impermeable sincerity — with consequently comic results. They weren't funny characters, they were merely ridiculous. Which made for funny situations. But also tragic ones: Avengers big baddie Thanos got as close as he did to winning because Guardian Star Lord couldn't control his temper over losing his girl. Because the Guardians aren't just ridiculous, they're ridiculous because they're damaged. Volume 2 was all about Daddy issues; now, Volume 3 goes for more existential (read: religious) childhood trauma as its source of drama. Handsome star (and cosmic orphan) Star Lord gets a piece of the therapeutic action, as does abused daughter Nebula, but the real focus here is Rocket "Not a Raccoon" Raccoon, who spends most of the runtime in a coma and failing fast. What we get instead is his adorable/horrible youth, told in regular installments of flashback. He's one of those unlucky souls who gets to meet his maker — a genetic tinkerer named The High Evolutionary — only to discover that his maker has only a little use for him, and may even hate him a bit. Remarkably, Gunn is so sympathetic to the despair brought on by such a discovery that he entertains the only possible consolation: that of a Providence that shapes our ends. More remarkably, given the studio brand: this is absolutely Gunn's movie. It's cheerfully gross, frequently hideous to behold, nakedly emotional, indulgent to the point of bloat in its desire to tie off every narrative thread...and, happily, its own thing. It's surely a sign of super-fatigue that that should be enough. But enough it is. (2023) — Matthew Lickona