The Captain’s name is Steve Rogers. He’s a clean cut, preppy kinda guy, as boring as Clark Kent and every mother’s home run in their daughter’s marital ball game.
Steve’s not Iron Man. He doesn’t do the horizontal jive. He may be gay; he may be nothing. He’s too busy beating up uglies to notice.
Oh, yes! He’s a beater and an upper. In fact, in Marvel’s make believe league he rates high. He may be dead, too. It’s a bit odd. Someone mentions that he was born in 1918, helped save the (Western) world during the Second World War and then was frozen to death in some iceberg.
No matter. He’s super and he’s here. Don’t ask why. He has this shield which is impervious to high velocity anything. He hurls it like a frizbee and kills people – cool shield! – and when he’s not doing that he’s indulging in black belt martial artistry.
The Winter Soldier has a plot only kids under the age of 25 will understand. It’s techno baffleo.
Basically, there is a covert organisation that wants to control international security, a nastier CIA if you will. Head honcho is a smooth talker, called Pierce (Robert Redford), with a curly auburn bouffant and wearing a suit – bad choice – who is not so much ruthless as ruthmore.The winter soldier is his mind controlled assassin who used to be the Captain’s...
Ditch the plot, except to mention the assistance of Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) who has to be Hit-Girl from Kick-Ass grown up. She’s awesome (down boy!).
Talking of art, let’s consider CGI and special effects. What you experience here is worthy of The Turner Prize. The choreography and commitment of all concerned is of the highest order.
It doesn’t matter how many millions movies cost, or how absurd their storylines are, cinema is a visual medium and the directors of The Winter Soldier deserve recognition as master craftsmen.