More than thirty films deep into the improbable experiment in translating the interconnected storytelling of superhero comic books to the screen, it’s borderline impossible to evaluate a new feature-length entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a single film, judged solely by what exists between the opening logo and the last gasp of the closing credits. The dilemma is partially the studio’s own doing, of course. The overstuffed piñata of starry, costumed do-gooders that materialized on the battlefield in Avengers: Endgame was less a culmination than a new baseline that every subsequent film was implicitly expected to clear in its extravagance of moving parts that were repurposed from other moving media. Further, every freshly released movie invites comparison with all that have come before, compelling any devoted viewer to immediately declare a newcomer’s place on the quality spectrum between the nadir of Thor: The Dark World and the constraint-defying artistry of Black Panther. Combine all that with the increasingly demanding requirement to do outside research on television series dispensed on the streaming service of Marvel’s corporate parent, and the whole endeavor is bound to exhaust even the truest of true believers.

Fundamentally, The Marvels is a sequel to Captain Marvel, the 2019 that introduced Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) and her cosmically powerful alter ego. It’s also an extension of the winning television series Ms. Marvel, which introduced Captain Marvel fangirl and burgeoning hero Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani), and it relies on at least a cursory knowledge of Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris) powering up in the first small-screen extension of Marvel cinematic adventures, WandaVision. It might also be helpful to watch the poorly received series Secret Invasion to get some context about what Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), but I can’t attest decisively to that. I’ve done a lot of the tacitly assigned homework and still occasionally felt as adrift as someone cast into the Negative Zone; at no point during The Marvels could I have detailed the full extent of Monica’s superpowers with any confidence.

That The Marvels largely prevails as a fine, fizzy entertainment despite all the burdensome business heaped upon it feels like a granted wish made upon a lucky star. More crucially, I think the reasons why it works more often than it doesn’t offers the key to Marvel Studios mending their broken system. That The Marvels just had the softest opening weekend of any Marvel Cinematic Universe entry unfortunately suggests that studio honchos won’t be inclined to draw positive lessons from the film.

Director Nia DaCosta works with seasoned Marvel television writers Megan McDonnell and Elissa Karasik to concoct a story that finds Carol, Kamala, and Monica physically switching places, sometimes across vast reaches of the galaxy, whenever they use their powers at the same time. In proper comic book fashion, the cause of this synchronized teleportation is explained with science-adjacent gobbledygook just plausible enough to accept it and enjoy the farcical mayhem. If some of the set pieces built around the conceit don’t exploit the possibilities as fully and dynamically as they could, that strikes me as forgivable. It would take a maestro of inventive physicality on the level of Buster Keaton in his prime to make the most of these quick changes. DaCosta still engages with the blissfully bonkers ideas in the story — which also extends to a planet where the citizens communicate through song and the strange behaviors of feline-like copilot Goose — with a welcome conviction that these superhero movies are supposed to be fun. Anguish and guilt keep intruding, because the studio’s formula demands it, but DaCosta holds it off as best as she can. Even the film’s more compact running time is a signal that DaCosta knows bright and breezy is better than grim and grueling when traversing this particular universe.

The Marvels suffers from the same flaws that are pervasive in the Marvel Cinematic Universe model. The villain (played by Zawe Ashton) has murky motivation and is entirely unmemorable, the storytelling trips on the tendrils of continuity that extend forwards and backwards, and the story culminates in the sky breaking apart as reality itself is endangered, an absurd raising of stakes that Marvel Studios employs with a tedious repetitiveness that rivals Star Wars flicks centering raids on Death Stars. DaCosta’s film is at its very best when the requisite mechanics are wrenched aside enough to let some personality shine through, which seems like a obvious strategy when the cast is filled with charismatic performers who effortlessly command the screen. As Marvel Studios is increasingly bogged down by its own massive myth-making, The Marvels is an argument for giving more leeway to the creative people enlisted to shepherd each new installment. When putting heroes behind the camera, let them fly free, too.