Black Panther Review

Coogler's achievement here is structural, not merely symbolic: he builds a superhero film around a succession crisis and then lets the villain win the argument. Michael B. Jordan's Killmonger arrives with a grievance the script refuses to trivialise, and the throne room scenes play as political theatre rather than setup for the next punch.

Rachel Morrison shoots Wakanda in saturated ochres and deep purples, Ruth Carter's costume work does worldbuilding that dialogue never has to state, and Ludwig Göransson threads talking drum and fula flute through orchestral cues without treating either as decoration. The Busan casino sequence is the cleanest action beat, a long take that keeps its geography legible throughout.

We think the weak seam is the third act, where a digital armour duel on a vibranium rail flattens a conflict the writing had made genuinely thorny, and Andy Serkis is so entertaining that removing him costs the movie its comic engine. But the ceremonial waterfall combat, the Jabari entrance and Jordan's final line land with a weight this genre rarely earns, and the film permanently changed what a studio thought a tentpole could be about.