I confess I have not marveled at the Marvel movies. Reboots of radioactive spider bite victims and jolly green giants with giant jolly deficiencies don’t thrill me, nor Thor, and not amalgamations of iron clad, shield wielding, hammer throwing millionaires, Norse gods or WW2 relics.

I was wooed to the latest movie MARVELISATION by word of mouth that it was a funny take on the super-hero, sci fi scenario. Here I was hoping for something akin to GALAXY QUEST or the original STARSHIP TROOPERS. What I got was a rehash of STAR WARS with a little RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK but without the cheekiness of Harrison Ford.

Pic starts with a prologue set in the 1980s with a surly young brat plugged into his Walkman, not wanting to be anywhere near his mother’s death bed. In an ultimate act of denial he runs from the hospital only to be vacuumed up by a passing space craft.

Space time continuum a quarter century earth years later, the kid is now a man, Peter Quill, a kind of Hans Solo addicted to 8os music via his ancient and antique cassette tapes. He’s tracked down a powerful orb that will fetch him a fortune on the interstellar black as deep space market.

Trouble is, other interplanetary entrepreneurs want a piece of the power pulse, not the least uber Nazi types intent on not just world domination but worlds domination.

And so Quill ends up being quasi leader of a motley crew of critters considered outlaws by many but really good guys with hearts of gold.

The team is comprised of Rocket and Groot, a kind of R2-D2 and C-3PO double act, although Rocket, a rocky racoon with a penchant for bazookas in not quite the bubble headed booby and Groot resembles a wooden wookie, him being a walking tree with limited vocabulary.

Then there’s Drax, a rugby no neck, wrestler bicep, whose grasp on the vernacular can be likened to sleeper holds of mid-20th Century world championship wrassling vaudeville.

And finally, a post-feminist ball breaking sheila called Gamora, who wants to bust ass. Begosh and Gamora! Spare me, she has sister and daddy issues, and a complexion that telegraphs her envy over just about everything. Her evil sister is much more interesting, a spooky cracked athletic china doll.

The Marvel-ous are having conniptions over the comedy – probably because the previous productions have been woefully arid affairs.

There are some humorous bits, but most of the comedy is either feral, feeble, or infantile, which just shows that in the Marvel universe, CGI tripe trumps scribe.