Marvel movies usually mean big explosions, sarcastic banter, and some overpowered villain trying to blow up New York… again. But Thunderbolts? It’s coming in with something different. This time, Marvel’s not just flexing muscles and CGI — they’re flexing hearts. And it hits deep, especially if you’ve ever wrestled with anxiety, trauma, or just that little voice in your head that won’t shut up.
At the center of all this emotional chaos is Bob, played by Lewis Pullman. Now, Bob’s not your classic, chiseled, save-the-world superhero. In fact, his story starts in a pretty dark place — addiction, mental illness, and a desperate need to quiet the storm inside his own head. So what does he do? He steals what he thinks are drugs from his old science teacher and shoots up. Except it’s not just drugs. It’s an experimental super-serum.
Cue instant regret and massive unintended consequences. Bob becomes the Sentry — a superhero with the massive power! Sounds epic, right? Except there’s a catch: the serum didn’t just give him power. It split him in half.
Meet the Void — Bob’s evil alter ego, born from his darkest thoughts, deepest trauma, and untreated schizophrenia. The Void isn’t just his bad side — it’s a full-on cosmic horror capable of turning people into shadows and dropping cities into pitch-black chaos. So yeah, not exactly sunshine and rainbows.
What’s wild — and honestly kind of brilliant — is how the movie uses Bob’s story as a metaphor for mental health struggles. He’s not just fighting “the bad guy,” he is the bad guy… sometimes. And also the good guy. Basically, Bob’s brain is doing that thing where it spirals and self-sabotages, except it happens on a city-destroying level.
Now throw in the rest of the Thunderbolts crew: Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh), Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), and John Walker (Wyatt Russell). They’re all dealing with their own stuff — past trauma, guilt, identity crises — you name it. They’re not shining examples of heroism; they’re broken, messy, and trying their best. So yeah, basically human.
And here’s where Thunderbolts really flips the superhero script. There’s a major turning point in the movie — you expect this big final battle between Bob and his dark side. Instead? The team shows up not with weapons, but with empathy. They talk. They listen. They don’t try to punch the Void out of him — they help Bob face the parts of himself he’s been too scared to acknowledge.
It’s powerful stuff.
Director Jake Schreier and the cast apparently fought hard for this kind of storytelling.
The story, co-written by The Bear’s Joanna Calo, approaches Bob’s character with a notable sense of empathy — which makes total sense, considering Calo’s track record. If you’ve watched The Bear, you know it doesn’t shy away from tough stuff like anxiety and suicide, and it handles those themes with a rare kind of care. Here, Bob is given a backstory that’s rich, if slightly familiar: he grows up in a household weighed down by mental illness — his mother’s struggles — and haunted by his father’s violent behavior.It’s a background that leaves deep emotional scars, and Bob doesn’t walk away unscathed. He’s prone to wild emotional swings, delusions of grandeur, and frightening blackout episodes that disconnect him from reality. Things take a dark turn when Val — who tries to act like a twisted blend of therapist, mentor, and overbearing mother — steps in. Her manipulative “tough love” approach backfires spectacularly. Instead of guiding Bob toward becoming the heroic Sentry, her meddling helps unleash his darker half: the Void. The scene quietly leans into a heavy idea — that sons raised in violent, emotionally unstable homes can carry forward that trauma in destructive ways if left unsupported. It’s subtle, layered, and hits harder the more you think about it.
In Thunderbolts, Bob (aka Sentry/Robert Reynolds) is depicted as struggling with several serious mental health conditions, many of which mirror real-world psychological disorders. Here are the key ones, along with their real-world counterparts:
1. Bipolar Disorder
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: Extreme mood swings between god-like heroism (mania) and cataclysmic despair and destruction (depression/Void).
Real-world equivalent: Bipolar I Disorder — marked by episodes of full-blown mania and deep depressive phases.
2. Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: The existence of two distinct identities — Sentry (heroic) and The Void (destructive), with limited control over transitions between them.
Real-world equivalent: DID involves the presence of two or more distinct personality states with memory gaps between them.
3. Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: Persistent dread, fear of losing control, and anxiety over the consequences of his own powers.
Real-world equivalent: GAD is characterised by excessive, uncontrollable worry about various aspects of life.
4. Major Depressive Disorder
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: Intense feelings of guilt, worthlessness, fatigue, and suicidal ideation.
Real-world equivalent: Clinical depression involving persistent low mood, lack of pleasure, and cognitive distortions.
5. Substance Use Disorder
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: In the comics, Bob originally gains his powers from an experimental serum — metaphorically tied to addiction. He also exhibits self-destructive tendencies.
Real-world equivalent: Substance use disorder includes dependence on substances despite harmful consequences, often co-occurring with mental illness.
6. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)
Symptoms mirrored in Bob: Flashbacks, guilt, avoidance, emotional detachment — particularly stemming from his violent past and fear of turning into The Void.
Real-world equivalent: PTSD follows exposure to traumatic events and includes symptoms like nightmares, hypervigilance, and emotional numbness.
What makes this movie stand out isn’t the action (though there’s plenty), or the superpowers (they’re cool too), but how deeply it dives into what it means to live with your inner demons — and still choose to fight. Not with fists. With love, community, and acceptance.
Whether you’ve ever faced mental health challenges or not, Thunderbolts hits home. It’s about what happens when you feel like a burden, when you’re scared of what’s inside your head, and how healing doesn’t come from being “fixed” — it comes from being seen and supported.
So if you’re expecting the usual Marvel spectacle, you’ll get it. But you’ll also get something deeper — a reminder that even superheroes struggle. That the strongest thing you can do isn’t saving the world, but facing your own.
In a genre that often skips the heavy stuff in favor of one-liners and explosions, Thunderbolts dares to say: hey, maybe the real battle is the one inside your head. And honestly? That’s the kind of hero story we need right now.