Marvel Just Announced Phase 7 and Honestly, Nobody Asked

In a move that surprised absolutely no one and delighted roughly eleven people, Marvel Studios unveiled its Phase 7 slate this week at a press event that reportedly featured more concept art than completed scripts. The studio, which has spent the last few years convincing audiences that the Multiverse is both infinite and somehow incredibly tedious, confirmed that yes, there will be more movies, and yes, your ex who still has a Funko Pop wall is already planning his November 2027 calendar around them. The lineup includes three sequels, two "groundbreaking" origin stories about characters you'll pretend to care about for exactly one weekend, and a Disney+ series that insiders describe as "a six-episode setup for a movie that will explain why the six-episode series didn't matter." Kevin Feige reportedly smiled warmly for forty-five minutes straight while describing this as "the most ambitious chapter yet," a phrase now legally required at every Marvel press event since 2019. Let's be real. The MCU used to feel like an event. Now it feels like a group chat you can't leave because you're worried you'll miss the one message that actually matters. We went from "I am Iron Man" to "some guy from a show you skipped is now the linchpin of the entire multiverse." That's not storytelling. That's homework. Critics have already started the usual dance: "It's fun if you turn your brain off." Great. I love paying $22 plus a small loan for snacks to turn my brain off. I can do that at home by watching paint dry, and the paint doesn't lecture me about incursions. The bigger issue is the math. Every new movie now has to justify forty hours of prior content, which means new viewers are locked out and longtime fans are locked in, like a timeshare presentation you can't escape. The box office numbers keep sliding, but Marvel's response is apparently "more content, faster," which is a bit like treating a stomachache by eating a second pizza. And can we talk about the post-credits scenes? They used to be a fun little wink. Now they're hostage negotiations. You sit through twelve minutes of scrolling to watch a guy in a cape say one ominous sentence, and then you have to Google who he is because he was in a comic from 1974 that you've never heard of. If I wanted to feel confused and vaguely resentful, I'd just check my 401(k). There's also the small matter of the actors. Marvel is now paying people so much money that the budget for catering alone could fund a small independent film. Meanwhile, actual original movies—the kind with beginnings, middles, and ends—are getting pushed to streaming where they die quietly next to a true-crime documentary. Cool system. Look, I'll probably still watch it. You'll probably still watch it. We're all going to sit there, mildly entertained, slightly confused, and completely unable to remember the villain's name by the time we get to the parking lot. That's the deal we've made with the House of Mouse, and honestly, it's cheaper than therapy. **Final take:** Marvel doesn't need a new phase. It needs a nap, a writer's room with actual stakes, and the courage to end a story before the post-credits scene. Until then, enjoy your twenty-two-dollar nap in a reclining seat. The movie's fine. You're fine. Everything is fine.