Exactly a decade after the Marvel Cinematic Universe had kicked off with Iron Man, Marvel and Disney have finally seen fit to offer us the very first black superhero in the series, in the form of the Black Panther, the latest—not to mention, very late—addition to the gang. Of course, this isn’t our first encounter with T’Challa; we’d met him before in 2016’s Captain America: Civil War, but he’d been lost in the crowd back then, relegated to uttering the occasional tough-guy platitude and showing off his parkour prowess. 

But in this new solo vehicle, co-written and directed by Ryan Coogler (Fruitvale Station), T’Challa shines. What DC’s Wonder Woman did for women, injecting a long-overdue dose of feminist energy to the testosterone-addled cape-and-cowl world last year, Black Panther does for people of color, putting them front and centre, unabashedly embracing and celebrating black history, culture and power. Of course, neither film is perfect—both are bound by the seemingly inescapable clichés and conventions of the genre, and commercial concerns with such high-budget projects are always, unfortunately, bound to override nobler intentions—but they at least represent a step in a new, more inclusive direction for the series. 

As far as the rest of the world can tell, Wakanda is among the poorest, most destitute of African nations, but the truth is something quite different: Hidden in plain sight with the aid of some form of large-scale optical illusion is a grand, thriving metropolis, run on technology the likes of which we’ve never seen. It’s all powered by the metal Vibranium—an alien substance bestowed in hordes upon this area by a long-ago meteor—something Wakandans have kept secret for generations for fear of having their peace wrecked and the deposit falling into dangerous hands. 

High-tech though their world might seem, it’s also equally as beholden to age-old ancestral beliefs and customs—past and future existing comfortably side by side, seemingly without contradiction. Nowhere is this intertwining more evident than in the person of the king, who does not just rule over the tribes of Wakanda but also acquires certain powers upon his coronation, taking up the alter ego of the Black Panther—a god and a Vibranium-fuelled technological marvel all at once. And it’s in this position that T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) finds himself after his father King T’Chaka (John Kani) is killed in a terrorist attack in Vienna. 

A still-grieving T’Challa is overwhelmed by the burdens suddenly placed on him, including the difficult question of whether Wakanda should remain in the shadows or place itself in the service of needy brothers around the world. Chinks are already appearing in the armour, with mercenaries (Andy Serkis, Michael B Jordan) sniffing about the borders, having learned of the miracle metal in the Wakandans’ possession. Thankfully, T’Challa has an incredible support system around him: there’s his mother Ramonda (Angela Bassett), his tech genius of a little sister Shuri (Letitia Wright), fierce head guard Okoye (Danai Gurira) and friend Nakia (Lupita Nynong’o), all of whom must work together to help the king find his footing. 

The special effects in Black Panther are not stellar, to be honest—the depiction of Wakanda might be a few notches better than, say, Thor’s Asgard, but there’s a certain artificiality to the backdrops and costumes, vibrant and detailed though they may be, that never quite gives way. But action sequences have been choreographed to good effect, not the kind of frenetic stuff that many superhero films today feel entitled to plug in with liberal abandon. It’s also the case that instead of the drama being treated as haphazard filler intended merely to string together the action set pieces like in far too many cases, the action here is secondary, the emphasis is rather on interactions between characters. 

A note on those characters: It’s so refreshing, foremost, to see a nearall-black cast in a major blockbuster like this, especially given the talent that’s been rounded up. I might not be too sold on the charms of Mr Boseman himself—I find the actor a bit stilted, albeit still likeable—but he’s in such good company that it almost doesn’t matter. This is particularly true of the four major female characters, all well cast and well written, comprising strong, fully-formed people—something we don’t often (or ever, really) get in these films. Among them, Gurira stands out as the loyal, indestructible Okoye. And without going into too much detail, let me just say that Black Panther hits a slam dunk as far as its villain is concerned. For once, we’re not dealing with CGI-mangled alien warlords or misanthropic scientists with vaguely interchangeable plans of world domination/destruction; no, in the style of Loki, by far my favourite Marvel antagonist, Panther’s nemesis is born of tragedy and has genuine reason to be pissed. 

It’s also through this character that Black Panther’s larger message is presented—where, on one hand, if Wakanda represents the culmination of an imagined historical track for Africa, had it never been colonised and robbed of its natural and human wealth, the villain’s side of the story is one that resonates all too well with the present-day global African diaspora.

T’Challa had made his first appearance in comics in the year 1966, right in the midst of the American Civil Rights movement, and just before the formation of the radical Black Panther Party. It stands to reason, then, that a film adaptation of the same would be politically-charged—and true enough, Black Panther is as political a film as Marvel has ever made.

And this, in essence, is Coogler’s greatest triumph: using the comic book-movie template to deliver a stinging, poignant commentary on the state of real-world race relations. In addition, having the focus placed firmly on the fate of this, albeit fictional, African nation, rather than, say, the ubiquitous New York, feels practically revolutionary, given the heavily US-centric narratives we’ve so far been witness to.

I wouldn’t expect Black Panther to turn the superhero game on its head just yet: for now, it remains a welcome anomaly on a still very-white, very-male landscape. But it’s a start, and hopefully an indication of the entry of smarter, more diverse storytelling in a genre that too often feels like it’s already reached saturation point.