Five subplots in the Avengers: Infinity War of my dreams

As the only person ever who gets bored during the fighting bits in Marvel movies*, here are the non-combative subplots I’d like to see in Avengers: Infinity War.

*To be fair, I may not be Marvel’s target demographic.

Improved reviewing and reporting

Hey, remember in Ultron when Thor had to ‘report on the Hulk?’ and was then peer-pressured into providing a watered-down, anecdotal account that will prove of almost no value in a debriefing situation? Yeah, me too. Nightly.

Let’s see some best practice in action; maybe Kelsey Grammer, the most procedure-compliant X-Man, commands some kind of administrative Quinjet. Adminjet? That follows everyone around, like an impartial observer, and keeps really immaculate records. Potential scanning intern: Matty, a wisecracking humanoid formed of Black Widow’s many dreadful late-00s wigs.

Groot x Dum-E: Greasin’ The Wheels

Right? One’s a giant teenage tree, the other’s a retro robot arm! Together, they commit low-level crimes that allow the big guys to, uh, war. Infinitely.

They’ll nick a van/Taze your nan/Rewire a suit/I am Groot! *guitar slide*

Possible breakout franchise to capture the difficult over-85 former anarchist market.

More use of the ‘finger refocus’

If you’re not familiar with this technique, then may your eyeballs be ever charmed – basically, looking through a pinhole can provide enough focus for those rendered spectacles-less to check the time on a clock/number on a bus/horizon for warlords.

The moment in [film] when Tony Stark makes the ol’ finger telescope might be my favourite short-sighted shoutout ever, but now I can’t find it in my iTunes library and I’m starting to think it never happened. BACK ME UP HERE, FELLOW FOUR-EYESES.


Hey remember all of the funny, quippy ladies in the ol’ MCU? Me neither. Bring back astro-intern Darcy in literally any capacity! Maybe she could pilot the Adminjet or just pop up as a fourth wall- breaking narrator who explains what’s happening for anyone who hasn’t watched all 17 previous films because they have jobs and laundry.

Carbs for everyone

Similar to the Avengers’ shawarma-fest; post-credits, the supes enjoy one enormous bowl of carbonara. All the Spider-Men end up smooching, like in Lady & The Tramp, then Stan Lee wanders out in a dirty apron and separates the timestreams with a mop. Hulk crunches up the Infinity Stones like croutons. Thor flexes.


More life coaching with Hugh

Imaginary Hugh Jackman answers the questions that no one but me was asking. At 3am. In my head.

Dear Hugh,

I don’t really understand what Uber is. I thought it was… well, I told my husband what I thought it was, and he laughed at me for ages but then didn’t correct me. I think maybe it’s more of a London thing, but I haven’t lived there since bendy-buses and I’m woefully out of touch. 

Also, all my friends use Air B&B, but I feel this is surely the best way to wake up wrapped in tinfoil while someone lists your pancreas on eBay?

Please advise!

Mate, forget it. You know how I get around? I walk, like a man. Or prowl, like a grizzly. Or jack a motorcycle from a barn, ride it through a wall and bang it down a dirt track, raking the ground with my mighty claws any time I want to execute a parking manoeuvre. And no, none of that was meant to sound dirty, grow up.

What’s Uber? I dunno, Google it, get the app, get over it. But yeah, if someone says you can stay in their outhouse in Vanves for ten Euro and a Twix then they are definitely going to rob you blind, photograph your junk and send your thumbs back to your mother in a fur-lined matchbox. We all know that, come on.

Dear Hugh,

Is it acceptable to send my toddler to her new nursery with a glossary of all the mad shit she keeps repeating? For example, at the moment she walks up to me twice a day and insists “We don’t do magic, we’re elves! HADOO!” But because she’s two, it just sounds like she’s speaking in tongues through a malfunctioning Darth Vader mask. And what if the nursery people aren’t even aware of the complex socio-political themes of Ben & Holly’s Magic Kingdom? Should I propose a weekly vocabulary summit?

Yours helicopteringly,


Yeah, go on, have a summit, and why not make it daily? Or better, just follow the kid around wearing an interpreter headset, like at the UN. Or, you know, you could actually take advantage of the wildly qualified daycare professionals and go home and do some work.

I’m gonna tell you what I told my arch-nemesis and noted Dundonian, William Stryker, when I was skewering him in X-Men 2: “How does it feel, Bub?” That might not mean anything to you, but frankly these movies ain’t Shakespeare and it was slim pickings, right? Right.

Hey Hugh,

Several younger friends are all over Instagram with photos of their pregnant bellies cradled in wildflower meadows, plus pristine nurseries, swaddles hand-knitted in musk ox, piles of tasteful paperbacks they’re planning to read and usually some kind of ambitious quilting project for when the baby’s napping. Am I duty-bound to tell them to cover everything in tarps, buy a shitload of frozen pizzas and mentally prepare some brutal late-night insults for their significant other? I feel bad for them.

Sure, if you want to send them into a goddamn meltdown. You want me to tell you that you’ve got perimenopause and Type 2 diabetes in your near-future? Or that one day you’re finally gonna grind your molars into dust and you’ll have to eat creamed corn for the rest of your life? No.

If someone had warned me, back in 1886, that I’d soon have terrifying retractable bone claws, become a fugitive murderer, fight in all of the 20th Century’s most attractively-uniformed wars, kill or maim pretty much every woman I’ve ever loved, be forcibly weaponised by a shady military organisation then press-ganged into a team of mutant do-gooders, you know what I’d’ve done? EXACTLY ALL OF THAT.

So shut your mouth and send them a sack of organic cashews or whatever in three months when the pictures get all blurry and insane.