A product of 1970s cynicism and satire is made into a sanitized bubblegum alien-lands-on-Earth piece of fluff. A product of 1960s the Cold War-era spy-thriller craze is made into a movie in the late 1990s when the genre was at its nadir. And even if they were released at better times, they still both suck the wet farts out of dead pigeons. The great superhero movie rewatch suffers through Howard the Duck and Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. so you don’t have to.
What’s frustrating is that the basic story of Nick Fury is perfectly fine. It’s a straightforward S.H.I.E.L.D.-versus-Hydra tale that I could easily see Jim Steranko writing and drawing in 1968. But the script is so hideously clunky, the acting so frighteningly awful, that you just sit there and wonder who they expected to like this film.
And you know what? If I had to choose between that and Howard the Duck, I’d choose Nick Fury every day of the week and twice on Sunday, because the only thing watching Howard is good for is to destroy your soul and remove your ability to feel joy and happiness.