The lines between superhero spectacle and chilling horror have become increasingly blurred, a dimensional incursion subtly hinted at in earlier cinematic ventures like Moon Knight and No Way Home. However, it was Sam Raimi’s Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness that fully embraced this fusion, plunging audiences into a narrative that dares to explore the unsettling potential for darkness even within our heroes.
Have you ever embarked on a path with noble intentions, only to find yourself spiraling through a labyrinth of unforeseen complications and questionable choices? This descent into chaos, this confrontation with unintended consequences, lies at the heart of Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. It’s a film that doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable question: what happens when a hero, driven by arrogance and a warped sense of responsibility, veers into morally ambiguous, even “evil,” territory?
While extensive discussions on Marvel lore abound, let’s focus instead on the unsettling magic Raimi conjures. Remember the creed: No Spoilers beyond what’s commonly known. Proceeding further means embracing the responsibility of delving into the darker corners of the multiverse.
Beneath the surface of sorcerers and witches, with their spells and incantations, lies the essence of a magician, and in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Sam Raimi is the true illusionist. His mastery lies in misdirection, a hallmark of his horror background. Just as in Evil Dead, where expectations are constantly subverted, Raimi masterfully guides us down one path only to yank us into another, often into a maelstrom of madness.
The film opens with a frantic chase: Defender Strange, an alternate version of our protagonist, and America Chavez, a nexus being with the unique ability to traverse realities. They are fleeing a monstrous entity, dripping with dark magic. Initially, we are led to believe in a heroic sacrifice – Defender Strange will fall to protect America, ensuring she escapes the clutches of evil. We anticipate a tragic transformation, a zombified Strange becoming a twisted antagonist, pushing America towards the main MCU Doctor Strange for salvation.
Instead, in a stark subversion, we witness Defender Strange’s chilling decision. Trapped and desperate, he attempts to drain America of her powers, choosing to kill her rather than risk her falling into the hands of a greater evil. This act, this cold calculation, serves as a jarring prelude to the deeply flawed nature of Stephen Strange, a flaw that permeates across the multiverse and in our familiar MCU version. It forces us to confront the unsettling potential for “evil” within Doctor Strange, a potential rooted in his arrogance and control.
This scene unveils Stephen Strange’s defining trait: his arrogance, his ingrained belief in his own superior judgment, overriding the needs and even the lives of others. He is willing to betray trust, sacrifice friendships, all in the name of “the greater good,” a justification often used to mask morally questionable actions.
Our Stephen Strange awakens from this nightmare, but we, the audience, know it’s more than just a bad dream. America later reveals the concept of dreamwalking – powerful individuals can glimpse and even inhabit their alternate selves across realities. This notion is unsettling, particularly when applied to dreams of death, failure, or loss. Imagine these scenarios not as mere anxieties, but as realities unfolding in the vast multiverse, experienced by alternate versions of ourselves. And then consider those alternates dreaming of you. This existential dread, this chilling reflection of self, is what confronts Stephen Strange when he stands before Defender Strange’s corpse. The sight of his dead doppelganger, the revelation of his betrayal, shakes the foundation of his self-belief. It’s a profound omen, a gothic horror twist that screams, “reconsider your life.”
This foray into the morbid and uncanny sets the stage for exploring deeply disturbing character psychology. We are primed to expect a grand, external villain, a demonic force seeking to exploit America’s power. Doctor Strange, too, initially seeks help against this perceived external threat. He turns to Wanda Maximoff, an Avenger with mystic arts experience, for assistance, overlooking the darkness brewing within her.
Wanda, however, is a character steeped in tragedy and trauma. Her cinematic journey is marked by loss, delusion, and manipulation. From losing Vision to succumbing to the Darkhold’s corrupting influence, Wanda’s path has been one of escalating darkness. The Darkhold, a tome of forbidden knowledge, is Marvel’s equivalent to the Necronomicon, a book that promises power but delivers only corruption. Its influence is insidious, amplifying existing darkness within its user.
To understand the Darkhold’s gravity, consider its comic book origins: crafted by followers of Chthon, an Elder God of chaos and darkness, to tether his influence to our world and facilitate his return. Chthon, with Lovecraftian undertones, positions the Darkhold as a source of immense, chaotic power, and Wanda, unknowingly, is becoming Chthon’s instrument. This echoes Alan Moore’s Providence, where the Kitab al Hikmah Najmiyya prophesizes a redeemer who will plunge reality into non-human chaos. Wanda, like Moore’s Lovecraftian figure, is on a path of destruction, even if her intentions are rooted in grief and misguided love.
Raimi’s signature Evil Dead influence becomes palpable here. The Necronomicon Ex Mortis, the cursed book from Evil Dead, mirrors the Darkhold. Both are gateways to demonic forces, promising power but unleashing chaos. In Evil Dead, reading from the Necronomicon in a remote cabin unleashes Deadites – possessed, grotesque entities bent on mayhem. Similarly, the Darkhold corrupts and amplifies Wanda’s grief, turning her into a terrifying force.
Strange seeks Wanda in a deceptively idyllic setting, a secluded cabin masking the Darkhold’s pervasive corruption. It quickly becomes chillingly clear that Wanda, consumed by the Darkhold, is the true antagonist. She is the one unleashing monsters, driven by a desperate desire to reunite with her lost children in another reality.
Wanda, like Christine Palmer earlier, probes Strange’s happiness, exposing his emotional avoidance. She throws his hypocrisy into sharp relief – his past decisions, veiled under “greater good,” have also cost countless lives, while her motivations, however twisted, stem from a mother’s love. Her delusion is complete, fueled by the Darkhold and her obsessive desire for her children. To achieve this, she is willing to sacrifice America, rationalizing the act by dehumanizing the girl as an “anomaly,” echoing folklore tropes where witches sacrifice children for power. Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, has traded reason for madness, becoming a terrifying embodiment of corrupted good intentions.
The ensuing attack on Kamar-Taj is a brutal, one-sided slaughter, reminiscent of Army of Darkness. Wanda doesn’t rely on hordes of demons; she preys on minds, wielding raw power to obliterate the sorcerers’ defenses. It’s a chilling display of her descent into villainy.
As America’s fear-activated powers teleport them across the multiverse, Strange realizes the only counter to the Darkhold-infused Scarlet Witch is the Book of Vishanti, its benevolent opposite. This mirrors August Derleth’s interpretation of the Cthulhu Mythos, with benevolent Elder Gods opposing malevolent Outer Gods. Marvel’s Darkhold and Vishanti books seem influenced by this dichotomy, positioning Chthon and the Vishanti as opposing cosmic forces.
Books of power are a recurring motif in Raimi’s work. The Book of Vishanti, unique across the multiverse, contrasts with the Darkhold’s multiple copies. In Army of Darkness, Ash Williams seeks the Necronomicon to combat Deadites and return home. He faces multiple Necronomicons, highlighting the deceptive nature of such power. The Book of Vishanti, promising a singular solution, echoes the Necronomicon’s missing pages in Evil Dead II, containing a space-time vortex spell and prophecy. Both books, in their respective universes, hold immense, potentially dangerous power.
The destruction of these books also holds parallels. Burning the Necronomicon in Evil Dead destroys Deadites, while the Darkhold’s obliteration in Multiverse of Madness, at a terrible personal cost, diminishes its user’s power, including dreamwalking.
Dreamwalking, a Darkhold-derived practice, is central to the film’s horror. It allows possession of alternate selves, turning them into puppets. While normal dreams offer glimpses into alternate lives, dreamwalking grants control, overriding free will. It’s a horrifying violation, a power Wanda resorts to out of desperation. When Strange uses the Darkhold to dreamwalk, he is assailed by demonic spirits, reminiscent of Deadites, foreshadowing his unconventional strategy against Wanda.
The film’s plot is a masterclass in horror misdirection. The initial hero becomes a potential killer, and another hero descends into madness, willing to commit atrocities for a selfish desire. But the true horror lies in the personal and psychological dimensions.
America Chavez’s power, fueled by fear, and her tragic backstory of accidentally banishing her mothers, are deeply unsettling. But the core of the horror resides in Wanda and Strange’s moral compromises. Wanda’s descent into villainy, her willingness to slaughter and control, culminates in America forcing her to confront her monstrous reflection in her children’s terror. This brutal reality check breaks Wanda, forcing her to see the abyss she has become.
Stephen Strange, the supposed hero, is also deeply flawed. The Illuminati, formed by a Strange variant, exemplify the dangers of unchecked arrogance and a belief in their own infallible judgment, leading to their gruesome demise at Wanda’s hands. Their deaths, particularly Black Bolt’s and Mr. Fantastic’s, are shockingly brutal for superhero cinema, underscored by Captain Carter’s bisected demise and Captain Marvel’s crushing defeat. Even Professor Xavier, surprisingly, displays compassion, attempting to reason with Wanda before meeting his tragic end.
The Illuminati’s downfall stems from their fear of Strange variants. They reveal their universe’s Strange used Darkhold dreamwalking against Thanos, causing a universe-ending incursion. He acted alone, believing he knew best, mirroring Defender Strange’s actions and foreshadowing our Strange’s internal struggle.
Stephen encounters Sinister Strange in a dying universe, a being consumed by Darkhold corruption and driven to kill his alternates. This variant embodies the ultimate consequence of unchecked ego and failure. His death at Stephen’s hand is almost an act of mercy, a confrontation with the darkest potential within himself.
Stephen’s true battle is internal. He confronts his fear of failure, his isolation, and his perfectionism. He recognizes his arrogance and its devastating consequences across realities. Rejecting the “easy” path of Vishanti magic, he chooses the Darkhold, embracing darkness to achieve a twisted form of victory.
In a truly subversive act, Stephen dreamwalks into Defender Strange’s corpse, reanimating him and weaponizing the damned spirits against Wanda. He becomes a “Zombie Strange,” a monstrous entity fighting for good. This subverts horror tropes, where possessed bodies are typically threats. Zombie Strange, initially perceived as an antagonist in previews, becomes a dark hero, protecting America and enabling her agency.
This echoes Raimi’s Evil Dead universe, where possession and doppelgangers are recurring themes. Ash Williams repeatedly faces his own “evil” counterparts. Both Ash and Stephen share a defining trait: pride, leading to disastrous choices, like Ash’s misspoken words unleashing the Army of Darkness, and Strange’s unilateral decisions with the Time Stone.
However, unlike Ash, who often remains unchanged, Stephen learns a crucial lesson: the value of trust and help. He relies on his undead form and ultimately empowers America to make the decisive choice, saving them both.
Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is steeped in Raimi’s horror sensibilities, culminating in a classic Raimi twist – the unsettling third eye opening on Stephen’s forehead, mirroring Sinister Strange, suggesting a lingering darkness. It’s a chaotic, sometimes messy film, but it successfully captures the weird, uncanny, and zany essence of Raimi and Doctor Strange. The film’s imperfections are forgivable, mirroring the madness it portrays. It’s a story less about a singular villain and more about internal monsters, fueled by a corrupting force.
Ultimately, the film leaves us with a chilling question: after the madness subsides, after confronting the darkness within and around us, and considering the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, have we truly found what we were looking for?
Are we happy?
Perhaps, like Strange, I already know my answer. And maybe, one day, I too will stop hitting myself.
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Published by matthewkirshenblatt
I am a writer and blogger living in the Greater Toronto Area of Ontario in Canada. When I’m not writing for the Sequart Research & Literacy Organization and GeekPr0n, I tend to write science-fiction, epic fantasy, horror, literary and mythological revisionisms, and generally weird fiction stories though I have been known to make poetry, television and comic book scripts. Also, when left to my own devices I tend to write weird and strange hybrid creative opinion piece articles like those you will find on this Blog. I am also very interested in comics, video games, Star Wars, table-top role-playing games, Neil Gaiman’s works, H.P. Lovecraft, vampires, zombies, and budgies. View all posts by matthewkirshenblatt
