The best thing about the future is — it hasn’t happened yet,” someone intones near the end of Madame Web, and indeed, you look forward to a future in which this film’s end credits (which, spoiler alert, are sans stinger scenes previewing coming-soon plot points; even Sony was like, yeah, enough of this already) are in your rearview mirror and gone from your memory. Or an alternate world years from now in which this unintentional comedy of intellectual-property errors has been retconned into a sort of cult camp classic — a Showgirls of comic-book cinema. Until then, you’re left with a present in which you’re compelled to cringe for two hours, pretend none of this ever happened, and ruefully say the words you’d never imagine uttering: “Come back, Morbius, all is forgiven.”
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