Tim Story’s 2005 Fantastic Four aimed to bring Marvel’s first family to the big screen, and while it assembled a likable cast and captured some of the comic’s lighthearted tone, it ultimately fell short of superhero movie greatness. Many critics and fans pointed to one glaring issue: the underwhelming portrayal of Doctor Doom. While not a complete disaster, Julian McMahon’s Doctor Doom 2005 failed to deliver a truly menacing and compelling antagonist, hindering the film from reaching its full potential.
The strength of Fantastic Four (2005) lies in its core cast. Ioan Gruffudd, Jessica Alba, Chris Evans, and Michael Chiklis brought a genuine chemistry to Reed Richards, Sue Storm, Johnny Storm, and Ben Grimm respectively. They weren’t necessarily carbon copies of their comic book counterparts, but they created engaging and relatable characters. Chris Evans as the Human Torch was a particular standout, injecting energy and humor into every scene. Chiklis managed to convey emotion even under the prosthetics of The Thing, and the dynamic between him and Evans was a highlight. Gruffudd’s awkward Reed Richards and Alba’s assertive Sue Storm, while perhaps younger than some comic fans envisioned, were easy to root for, making the team dynamic enjoyable. The film successfully established these characters, leaving audiences wanting to see more of them, specifically in a Fantastic Four 2 that promised a superior villain and overall narrative.
However, the film’s Achilles’ heel is undeniably its antagonist, Doctor Doom 2005. As crucial as compelling heroes are, a superhero movie needs a genuinely threatening villain to provide stakes and depth. A villain should be more than just an obstacle; they should be a credible menace that challenges not only the heroes’ physical abilities but also their ideals and the audience’s sense of security. This is especially true even in lighter superhero fare like Fantastic Four. Without a strong villain, the film risks losing its dramatic weight and devolving into mere fluff.
Unfortunately, Julian McMahon’s Doctor Doom 2005 fails to provide this necessary anchor. This weakness isn’t just a simple casting or performance issue; it’s symptomatic of deeper challenges inherent in adapting superhero comics for the screen, particularly in franchise-starting films. Instead of simply criticizing this specific portrayal of Doctor Doom, it’s more insightful to consider what we might call the “Doctor Doom effect.” This effect describes the frequent appearance of a subpar villain who drags down an otherwise promising superhero film, preventing it from reaching its full potential. This isn’t necessarily due to laziness or incompetence on the part of filmmakers, but rather a complex interplay of narrative and formal constraints in translating comic book properties to film. These challenges, while not insurmountable, are particularly difficult to navigate in mainstream movies aimed at both general audiences and hardcore comic book fans. It’s worth noting that viewers unfamiliar with the source material, like those who haven’t read Fantastic Four comics, might find Doctor Doom 2005 less problematic, as evidenced by more positive reactions from such audience segments. However, for long-time comic readers, the shortcomings of Doctor Doom 2005 and the film’s villain problem are much more apparent.
So, what are these inherent constraints that contribute to the “Doctor Doom effect”? Specifically, what challenges plague the initial installment of a superhero movie franchise?
There are at least four key challenges relevant to understanding Fantastic Four (2005) and the weakness of Doctor Doom 2005:
- The Constraint of Mainstream Plausibility: The need to ground fantastical elements in a relatable reality for a broad audience.
- The Problem of Closure: The pressure to deliver a complete, satisfying narrative within a single film, contrasting with the ongoing, serial nature of comics.
- Temporal Constraints of the Medium: The limited runtime of a movie compared to the expansive storytelling possibilities of comic books.
- The Problem of Visualizing the Villain: The difficulty of translating often visually complex and stylized comic book villains into live-action in a way that is both faithful and effective.
Looking at successful superhero films like X2, Spider-Man 2, and Batman Begins – often considered benchmarks of the genre – we see that their success often lies in how effectively they address or overcome these very constraints. Despite its likeable cast, decent special effects, and a script that attempts to be fun, Fantastic Four (2005) stumbles on nearly all four points. Could it have been better? Certainly. However, some of these challenges were inherently more difficult to overcome given the nature of the Fantastic Four concept and its relatively lower mainstream recognition compared to characters like Batman or Spider-Man. Let’s compare Fantastic Four (2005) to franchise-launchers like Batman (1989), Batman Begins (2005), X-Men (2000), and Spider-Man (2002) to understand these issues better.
(1) The Constraint of Mainstream Plausibility
Superhero franchise origin stories are almost unavoidable, serving as a necessary bridge between a niche comic book audience and a vast mainstream film audience. While comic book readers are familiar with the often-unspoken rules and logic of superhero universes, the general public needs to be brought up to speed. They might recognize iconic characters like Batman or Superman, but they often lack detailed knowledge of their backstories and the intricacies of their worlds.
This is where “mainstream plausibility” becomes crucial. It’s not just about explaining how the Fantastic Four got their powers or why Bruce Wayne dresses as a bat; it’s about making the entire superhero premise believable and accessible to a wider audience. Origin stories, therefore, become a compromise, a logical starting point that caters to both hardcore fans and newcomers. They perform a function of establishing coherence, even if the explanations themselves stretch credulity. They symbolize a sense of order and logic, even when the underlying concepts are inherently fantastical.
The decision to integrate Doctor Doom 2005 into the Fantastic Four’s origin by making him a fellow passenger on the fateful space mission is a prime example of this “mainstream plausibility” constraint in action. It provides a simplistic, unified, and pseudo-scientific explanation for the powers of all the film’s super-powered characters. In the comics, Doctor Doom’s origin is more complex, involving both science and mysticism, which wouldn’t necessarily be seen as implausible by comic readers. However, for a film audience, particularly in an origin story, even minor complexities in the universe’s rules can become problematic. Mainstream plausibility might not always demand a single origin mechanism for both heroes and villains, but it often necessitates a consistent logic that avoids mixing seemingly incompatible elements like magic and science within the same origin narrative. The film’s streamlined origin story, creating a “Fantastic Five” with one member destined to become the arch-nemesis, is a direct response to these demands of mainstream plausibility.
This constraint of plausibility seems to apply more heavily to live-action superhero films than to animated ones. This difference likely stems from the inherent realism associated with live-action, human actors, which sets higher audience expectations for believability compared to cartoons. Cartoons, despite their narrative sophistication, are still often perceived as existing in a realm of heightened fantasy where strict plausibility is less expected by adult audiences.
Despite the challenges, origin stories can be compelling. Batman Begins and the first half of Spider-Man are prime examples. In these films, the origin story is the central focus, and they succeed by expanding upon it, transforming it from a mere plot device into the core of the narrative. They make a virtue out of necessity. Notably, Spider-Man arguably falters when it shifts focus to the super-villain plot with the Green Goblin in its second half.
X-Men offers an alternative approach, bypassing the need for a detailed origin story altogether. The mutant premise, introduced in a brief opening voiceover, allows the film to quickly delve into the characters’ psychological motivations and accelerate the plot. X-Men feels more like a superhero “sequel” in its pacing and immediate engagement with established dynamics.
However, the “mutant shortcut” isn’t available to Fantastic Four. Given the characters’ relative obscurity to the general public, an origin story was essential. Could it have been executed better? Perhaps, but the challenge remains significant. Marvel was clearly aiming to diversify the tones of its franchises – Spider-Man with its melancholic undertones, X-Men with its Shakespearean grandeur, Daredevil with its grittier Batman-esque feel. Fantastic Four was intended to be the lighter, crowd-pleasing blockbuster in this mix. Therefore, the introspective, pathos-driven origin story seen in Spider-Man or Batman Begins wasn’t really the desired approach.
The scenes of Ben Grimm’s angst in Fantastic Four (2005) represent the closest the film comes to this kind of introspection, but even these moments are undercut by humor. Ben’s misery is often played for laughs, like the pigeon droppings or his inability to grasp the engagement ring. Tim Story’s Fantastic Four doesn’t aim for tragedy, even momentarily. This shallowness in Ben Grimm’s arc and the ultimately unimpactful “big choice” at the end are consequences of this tonal decision. Ben’s best scenes are comedic, particularly those with Chris Evans’s Human Torch. Johnny Storm, the pleasure-seeking id, becomes the emotional center of the movie, embodying the film’s desire for lighthearted fun.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with a lighthearted superhero film. However, Fantastic Four (2005) struggles with the inherent contradiction of needing a perfunctory origin story while simultaneously avoiding taking the implications of transformation seriously. This results in a film that, as critics noted, violates plausibility in a different way. Roger Ebert famously questioned, “Are these people complete idiots? The entire nature of their existence has radically changed, and they’re about as excited as if they got a makeover on ‘Oprah.’” In trying to be lighthearted with lesser-known characters, Fantastic Four (2005) gets trapped in a “mainstream plausibility” double bind. The origin story is necessary, yet impossible to treat with genuine realism within the desired tone. Comic books, with their serial format, have the space for both serious exploration of origins and lighthearted adventures. But in a two-hour movie, the simultaneous presentation of an origin story and the evasion of its deeper implications feels jarring and undermines suspension of disbelief.
Possible solutions could have been a more nuanced origin story with bittersweet moments, saving the high-octane fun for a sequel after the team’s initial struggles were explored. Alternatively, the film could have largely skipped the origin story and plunged directly into a thrilling adventure, minus the superficial angst. Either of these bolder choices would have likely resulted in a stronger film. Instead, Fantastic Four (2005) aimed for a middle ground and unfortunately missed the mark.
(2) The Problem of Closure
Mainstream film audiences generally expect narrative closure in adventure movies. Studios are typically hesitant to risk frustrating this expectation, except for established franchises like Star Wars or Matrix, or cultural phenomena like Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Only sure-thing sequels can afford the gamble and the aesthetic rewards of open-ended narratives.
Aesthetic coherence is undoubtedly valuable, and many successful superhero films, like Batman Begins, strive for both visual and thematic unity. However, for comic book readers, who often appreciate the serial medium’s inherent resistance to complete narrative closure, the transition to a stand-alone film, even a good one, can feel somewhat disappointing. Something essential to the comic book experience is lost.
What’s lost is the sense of anticipation generated by monthly cliffhangers and the development of long-term subplots. This pleasure of incompletion is inherent in serial forms, from soap operas to classic movie serials. The Empire Strikes Back is often considered the best Star Wars film precisely because it embraces this serial nature, and X2 and Spider-Man 2 are also fan favorites for similar reasons. While these sequels have multiple strengths, their ability to evoke the open-endedness of serial publication by teasing future storylines is a significant factor. The Phoenix hint in X2 and Harry Osborn’s discovery in Spider-Man 2 create a sense of ongoing narrative. Even franchise-hopefuls like Fantastic Four (2005) and Batman Begins attempt this, adding a slow coffin ride to Latveria or a leering playing card in their final moments. (Even in a mediocre film, this cliffhanger tease can be effective. Doctor Doom’s post-credits scene in Fantastic Four is ironically one of his more memorable moments). Conversely, movie trilogies that lean into seriality, like Star Wars or The Matrix, sometimes end with a whimper, as if imposing definitive closure on essentially serial adventures inevitably leads to a less satisfying conclusion.
If approximating seriality through cliffhangers is one way to address the closure problem, the Spider-Man films suggest another, more ingenious solution: narrative splitting. Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man films don’t feel like two two-hour movies, but rather four distinct hour-long episodes. Spider-Man episode 1 is the origin story, episode 2 is the Green Goblin adventure, episode 3 is “Spider-Man No More!”, and episode 4 resolves that two-parter while progressing the romantic subplot. This episodic structure wonderfully captures the feel of comic book storytelling on screen. Fantastic Four (2005) seems to attempt something similar, but doesn’t quite succeed, perhaps due to having too many main characters and plot threads to adequately develop within the limited runtime. Maybe this “splitting” technique is best suited to a single protagonist like Peter Parker. The origin story/super-villain battle structure of the first Spider-Man film itself is the least effective part of that duology, and this same structure is even less successful in the more crowded Fantastic Four (2005).
(3) Temporal Constraints
Another aspect of comic book seriality lost in film adaptation is the potentially infinite story length. The condensed two-hour format of a movie is a significant limitation, especially for franchise starters already burdened with establishing origins and mainstream plausibility. In these first films, the antagonist often suffers the most from these temporal constraints, becoming underdeveloped. As mentioned earlier, truly effective super-villains should be frightening, or at least command serious attention. The most memorable villains fall into two categories: psychologically complex characters with compelling motivations (Magneto, Ra’s al Ghul, Doctor Octopus), or embodiments of primal fears or mythic archetypes (Scarecrow, Darth Vader). Doctor Doom 2005, as portrayed by Julian McMahon, falls into neither category. He’s not scary, nor does he command respect. He feels like a leftover from campy 90s Bat-films, and a primary reason for his weakness is simply a lack of screen time to develop his character.
Fantastic Four (2005)’s primary focus is establishing the origin story and introducing the four core characters, their powers, and their relationships. This leaves minimal time to flesh out Doctor Doom 2005, let alone explore the richer, more complex Doctor Doom of the comic books. Ebert aptly noted the film is “all setup and demonstration, and naming and discussing and demonstrating,” so much so that “it never digests the complications of the Fantastic Four and gets on to telling a compelling story.” He even admitted to almost forgetting about the villain, Victor Von Doom, entirely. The awkward integration of Doom into the FF’s origin, while intended to address mainstream plausibility, also exemplifies these temporal constraints. Economy becomes paramount in such a packed narrative, and a shared origin is the most economical choice, even if it reinforces the problem of closure by neatly tying Doom’s defeat back to the team’s origin.
This narrative claustrophobia is as unsatisfying as it was in Tim Burton’s Batman, where Batman and the Joker are linked by making Jack Napier/Joker responsible for the murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents. This creates a closed circuit, trapped in an “eternal past” instead of the “eternal present” of “dynamic stasis,” as described by Dave Fiore. Fiore argues that Batman’s story is too origin-focused, perpetually reenacting his trauma, while Spider-Man’s origin provides a break from the past, allowing for dynamic engagement with the world. Superhero stories should strive for “dynamic stasis,” where closure is deferred and genuine encounters with “otherness” occur. However, comic book movies, more so than comics, are predisposed to reproducing origin stories, closure, and aesthetic coherence, making “dynamic stasis” difficult to achieve.
Even Raimi’s Spider-Man nearly falls into this trap by making the Green Goblin a father figure from Peter Parker’s immediate circle, creating an Oedipal dynamic that feels insular. If Spider-Man’s strength lies in breaking from the past, then Raimi’s Oedipal plot represents a regression, pulling Spider-Man back into a claustrophobic, familial world just as he’s poised to embrace novelty and “otherness.” The Green Goblin, while thematically defensible as an Oedipal villain, exerts a depressing drag on an otherwise luminous film.
(4) The Problem of Visualizing Villains
Translating superheroes, and especially super-villains, from comic book illustrations to live-action with dignity is a significant challenge. Comic book conventions like flowing capes often look awkward on film, appearing limp and impractical. Storm’s cape in X-Men is a prime example of this. The visual language of comics, with its stylized and perfected human forms, clashes with the realism of live-action, even with idealized Hollywood physiques in costumes.
Yet, superhero films have made progress in visualizing costumed heroes. The ideal is to make the hero’s visual appearance feel “conventional” or second nature, becoming part of the film’s visual language and almost “invisible.” The X-Men films achieve this by replacing distinctive costumes with uniform-like outfits, often black leather, making the “outfit” fade into the background. When everyone looks similar, the actors’ faces become the primary differentiator, shifting the visual burden from costume to actor, unlike in comics where costumes are essential for character recognition. Storm’s costume fails because it draws too much attention to itself as a costume.
The coolest characters visually are often those without costumes (Professor X, sometimes Wolverine) or those with basic uniforms (Jean Grey, Cyclops, Wolverine in simpler attire). Characters like Storm, Rogue (with her green hood and gloves), and Sabertooth, who straddle the line between uniform and costume, often veer into cheesiness. These semi-costumed characters are “too much” for film, where the medium itself is already visually intense and actor recognition reduces the need for elaborate costumes. Cyclops’s joke about “yellow spandex” in X-Men highlights the ongoing struggle to make superhero costuming disappear.
Spider-Man is an exception. His iconic costume is essential, and the film’s visual success lies in its dynamic camerawork and CGI-enhanced movement, bringing the costume to life. However, even these techniques don’t fully explain the almost magical success of Spider-Man’s visualization.
For Fantastic Four, naturalizing costumes is easier because they traditionally wear uniforms. The blue jumpsuits are cleverly integrated as astronaut gear, and the film even playfully acknowledges their uniformity.
Unfortunately, Doctor Doom 2005 suffers from a poorly visualized costume, despite the faithful iron mask. It’s one of the shabbiest in recent superhero films. Given the aforementioned constraints, a different conception and visualization of Doctor Doom could have mitigated the “Doctor Doom effect.” Even with the existing script, a more menacing and grounded costume and makeup design could have elevated the character. This is where Fantastic Four (2005) truly falters, as the visual representation of Doctor Doom 2005 undermines any attempt to take him seriously.
Super-villains often have less screen time than heroes, especially in origin stories. Therefore, their visual impact is crucial. The mistake of Fantastic Four (2005), and to some extent Spider-Man, is assuming that a “strong impression” from a villain requires abandoning the principles of hero costuming: austerity, plainness, and restraint. If anything, villain costuming should adhere to these principles even more stringently, with differentiation becoming more subtle and selective. Jack Nicholson’s Joker and his makeup team demonstrated the wrong approach to translating comic book villains to film, but Nicholson’s over-the-top performance unfortunately misled many into seeing it as a model, leading to a decade of diminishing returns. Spider-Man‘s Green Goblin is another example of bad costuming that almost derails the film, following the same lurid premise as Nicholson’s Joker.
The problem with Nicholson’s Joker, Dafoe’s Green Goblin, and McMahon’s Doctor Doom 2005 is that their costumes feel out of place, ripping us from the film’s world by trying too hard to replicate the bright, bold visuals of comic books. The costumes look silly, defy realism, and undermine the villain’s credibility. The Joker’s look is perhaps the most plausible and comes closest to being scary, but still has issues. Green Goblin’s mask is preposterous. And Doctor Doom 2005 is particularly disappointing, as his cape and iron mask (resembling an award statuette!) are poorly motivated, driven by a pathetic vanity rather than chilling menace.
The most effective screen villains in recent films are either minimally or austerely “costumed” (Magneto, William Stryker, Lady Deathstrike) or wear “costumes” referencing established filmic tropes of fear. Scarecrow in Batman Begins references horror films, and Doctor Octopus’s arms in Spider-Man 2 evoke the cybernetic horror of films like T2. Ra’s al Ghul in Batman Begins also succeeds because he’s taken seriously, even if not overtly frightening, with costuming referencing martial arts films, similar to The Matrix. In all these cases, the villains’ costumes subtly symbolize their characters without being distracting. Magneto’s clean, fascist lines are a masterpiece of subtle costuming, underscoring his character’s ironies. William Stryker’s cold military gear and Doctor Octopus’s King-Lear-like rags are also exemplary.
Comic-geek directors seem to be gradually convincing Hollywood to embrace less flashy super-villains, though missteps still occur. Imagine how much better Spider-Man would have been with a softer, Scream-like Goblin mask. This could have created a smoother transition from Willem Dafoe’s genuinely scary “madness” scenes. What’s frustrating about Doctor Doom 2005 is that the comic books offer a simple solution for a frightening visual: Doctor Doom’s iron mask in the comics is donned precisely because his relentless pursuit of power disfigures his face. This disfigurement could have translated seamlessly to film, creating genuine horror. The filmmakers’ choice to prioritize demographics over aesthetic satisfaction in Doctor Doom 2005 is disappointing, especially given Marvel’s generally strong track record in this area.
The good news is that, with the origin story established, Fantastic Four 2 (Silver Surfer) had the potential to surpass the original, just as Spider-Man 2 exceeded Spider-Man and X2 outshone X-Men. However, while Spider-Man and X-Men were already strong films with minor flaws, allowing their sequels to become masterpieces, Fantastic Four (2005) had a larger gap to bridge. Whether FF2 could have made that leap from B to A+ quality remained to be seen, but it wasn’t impossible if Marvel learned from the mistakes of Doctor Doom 2005 and focused on creating a truly compelling villain.
Notes
* Unresolved cliffhangers can function as effective endings. Would Empire Strikes Back be an even better film if Return of the Jedi hadn’t been made? Would X2‘s ending be any less thrilling if X3 were never produced?
** The Latverian cargo ship clip after the credits of Fantastic Four (2005) is a perfunctory attempt to reopen the narrative, but it’s too brief and feels tacked on, not truly integrated into the film.
*** Uniforms, unlike distinctive costumes, act as neutral mediators between the viewer and the fantasy persona, facilitating viewer entry into the film’s world. More individualized costumes, like Spider-Man’s or Batman’s, can be more distancing, although identification can be achieved through other means, like Spider-Man’s dynamic movement.
References
- For more on Dave Fiore’s discussion of “dynamic stasis” see these articles from his culture blog, Motime Like the Present, here and here.
- Read Roger Ebert’s review of Fantastic Four at Chicago Sun-Times, as well as many others at Rotten Tomatoes.
