Most comics-derived superhero movies really wouldn’t be much of anything without buried rage, and what happens when it won’t stay buried. Their stories’ relentless emphasis on childhood trauma and the crippling psychological load carried by broken souls (heroes and villains both) — that’s the whole show.

With its adorable little asterisk in the title, “Thunderbolts*” goes further than most Marvels in its focus on psychological torment, mental health and, more broadly, a shared search for self-worth among a half-dozen also-rans who learn what it takes to be an A-team. Their sense of shame isn’t played for laughs, though there are some. Mostly it’s sincere. And it’s more effective that way.

“A” stands for Avengers, among other things, and with the legendary Avengers AWOL for now (hence the asterisk in the title), there’s a vacuum in need of filling.  Targeted for elimination, with Julia Louis-Dreyfus returning for duty as U.S. intelligence weasel Valentina, the combatants of the title have their work cut out for them. Who can they trust? If not Valentina, taking a more central role this time, then who?

Joining forces are Yelena/Black Widow (top-billed Florence Pugh); her gone-to-seed father Alexei/Red Guardian (David Harbour); the tetchy John Walker/Captain America (Wyatt Russell); Antonia/Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko); the quicksilver invisible Ava/Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen); and the Winter Soldier himself, Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), whose entry into the “Thunderbolts*” storyline is most welcome. Their mission: To neutralize as well as rehabilitate the all-too-human lab experiment known as Bob, aka The Sentry, aka The Void, played by Robert Pullman. He’s Valentina’s little project, more dangerous than anyone knows.

The misfits scenario guiding “Thunderbolts*” is nothing new. “Suicide Squad” did it, “Guardians of the Galaxy” does it, and this motley crew keeps the tradition alive. It works, even when the material’s routine, because Pugh’s forceful yet subtle characterization of a heavy-hearted killing machine with an awful childhood feels like something’s at stake. She and the reliably witty Harbour work well together, and while there’s a certain generic-ness at work in the character roster — these insecure egotists are meant to be placeholders, with something to prove to themselves and the world — the actors keep the movie reasonably engaging before the effects take over.

Even those are better than usual, for the record. That sounds weird when you’re dealing with another $200 million production budget commodity. Shouldn’t they all look good, preferably in wildly different ways?

It’s a matter of simplicity and selectivity, not assault tactics. The poor, tormented newbie Bob has a superhero guise (The Sentry, fearsomely powerful, essentially all Avengers packed into one fella). but SuperBob has a dark side. When The Void takes over, it’s insidious psychological warfare, with The Void’s victims suddenly, quieting disappearing into a massive black handprint. His targets must relive the worst guilt and shame they have known, whoever they are, wherever that shadow of anguish and rage may lead them.

Sounds heavy, and it is. But at its best, the visualization of this part of “Thunderbolts*” feels like something relatively new and vivid. And there you have it. The 36th MCU movie, if you’re interested. It’s the most pretty-good one in a while.

“Thunderbolts*” — 3 stars (out of 4)

MPA rating: PG-13 (for strong violence, language, thematic elements, and some suggestive and drug references)

Running time: 2:06

How to watch: Premiered in theaters May 1

Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.

Cultlike celebrities of a certain size sometimes cross the line between unsettling narcissism and unsettling narcissism with top notes of pathology. This may not be news, even if they make the news fairly regularly, but the frustrating new film “Opus” treats the toxic intersection of fame and infamy as a big reveal unto itself.

It’s a sleek enough experience visually, and the songs composed for “Opus” by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream are pretty tasty. This is the first feature from filmmaker Mark Anthony Green, who wrote and directed and undoubtedly pulled a few ideas for “Opus” from his ego-navigation experience as a celebrity journalist.

Premise: After a nearly 30-year hiatus shrouded in mystery, the ’90s pop legend known throughout the world as Moretti — bigger than Dylan, a pale white Prince with a wardrobe inching toward the interstellar — has produced his magnum opus, an album so major it’s almost too special for human ears. Moretti launches this album by way of a lavish but exclusive junket held at his remote Southwestern compound, which is staffed by serenely puttering acolytes in thrall to the Scientology-esque religion Moretti subscribes to, known as Leveling. (His followers are Levelists.)

The half-dozen who were lucky enough to be invited include five media poseurs Moretti has known a while, including the sycophantic editor of a Rolling Stone-type music magazine. For reasons unknown, a low-mid-level staffer of that same magazine, Ariel, has been invited as well. She’s played by Ayo Edebiri (of “The Bear”). Moretti is played by John Malkovich, because who else?

Consigned to providing her boss with a few atmospheric details for his story, Ariel can’t help but notice just how strange the goings-on appear. Cellphones are collected from everybody, with the promise of a return later. Moretti likes his guests unshaven, all over, so there’s a non-negotiable grooming policy enforced.

From there it’s one small step to the first disappearing-guest act, and “Opus” lurches from a satirically insufferable album-release party to a bloody nightmare. It does this while letting the audience get dangerously ahead of the narrative developments. Malkovich certainly holds his own, though there are times when his singular, sidewinding performance energy has a way of sapping a scene’s overall rhythm and pace. The supporting cast is a good one, with Murray Bartlett, Juliette Lewis and others filling in the blanks of their thinly conceived characters. Edebiri’s the anchor here, but the material is the material, and the material only goes so far.

It’s a familiar set-up by now: take a swank, remote compound, add an ultra-exclusive guest list and an escalating barrage of bloodletting, a la “The Menu” or last year’s undervalued “Blink Twice.” “Opus” has its moments. But even the surprises aren’t especially surprising.

“Opus” — 2 stars (out of 4)

MPA rating: R (for violent content including a grisly image, language, sexual material and brief graphic nudity)

Running time: 1:43

How to watch: Premieres in theaters March 13

Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.