Lately, there’s been a feeling that the more expansive and complex the Marvel Cinematic Universe has gotten, the more by-the-numbers the individual films within it have become—barring the occasional stand-out, of course. And it’s hard to say which side of the divide the newest recruit in the club, Doctor Strange, falls in exactly. On one hand, the movie—written and directed by Scott Derrickson (The Exorcism of Emily Rose and the Sinister series, among other horror flicks) and based on a somewhat lesser-known character that first appeared in comics in the 60s—is a welcome twist on standard Marvel fare, featuring as it does a superhero who relies largely on his mind rather than brute strength, and who brings an element of exotic mysticism and magic into a world otherwise dominated by quasi-scientific theories, laboratory antics and alien warlords (and wormholes, so many wormholes). But for all its pseudo-profound musings on spirituality and trippy visuals—some of the most stunning special effects you’ll have seen all year, by the way—and despite boasting a thespianic dream of a cast, strip away all the bells and whistles and what you’re left with is an overly-familiar, assembly-line plot. So while compellingly acted and beautiful to look at—and with a sense of humour to boot—the film is still too safe in its construction, assiduously colouring inside the lines.

Much like that other rich-guy-with-a-mustache/goatee-combo that we know, Steven Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) is brilliant but arrogant, a neurosurgeon who takes on cases that have stumped other doctors, but who can’t count modesty among his fortes. He’s about to get a stern karmic kick in the behind, though. One night, a bout of irresponsible texting-while-driving results in his Lamborghini flying off the rails. When Strange comes to sense, he’s in hospital, bruised and broken, hands encased in some sort of medieval torture contraption. He soon learns from colleague and ex-lover Christine (Rachel McAdams) that the impact of the crash has damaged the nerves in his fingers, meaning he might never be able to practice medicine again. For a man who has defined himself solely by his professional accomplishments, it’s an understandably terrifying prospect.

Desperate for a cure, Strange bleeds his finances dry trying out all manner of experimental procedures, but in vain. Until he comes across someone who tells him of a place in Kathmandu, Nepal, where he might find his miracle. Soon after Strange arrives in the city, he locates the enigmatic Kamar-Taj, a coterie of martial-arts sorcerers commandeered by the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) and tasked with protecting the world from spiritual threats. Though initially skeptical of the hocus-pocus, Mystic Meg tone of the establishment—the sort of thing he’s been taught to dismiss all his life—one dizzying, mind-bending trip through a flurry of alternate dimensions later, Strange is convinced. Before you know it, our one-time staunch man of science is wearing robes, reading spells in Sanskrit, practicing combat ancient weapons and waving his hands around trying to conjure portals. But he better wrench that third eye open soon because, wouldn’t you know it, evil forces are approaching, led by Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen), a Kamar-Taj alumnus given over to the dark side (and a fondness for eye-shadow) who is determined to usher in an untimely apocalypse, and Strange and his colleagues (Chiwetel Ejiofor, Benedict Wong) must defeat him to save mankind.

You can already tell that structure-wise, there isn’t much going on here that you haven’t seen before. Certainly, the first half of this original story is a lot more inventive than most we’ve been offered so far, but eventually, Doctor Strange forgoes whatever “strangeness” it mustered early on to slide back into predictable franchise mode—retaining a place in the MCU means it can’t afford to rock the boat too much. So while it’s impressive the way writers have managed to keep the different films interconnected, that has its costs, too: for instance, you don’t nearly get as much a sense of the stakes, or any urgency really, when you know things need to be neatly wrapped up and a sort-of equilibrium attained before the next installment. And even though the New Age ruminations on multiverses, and manipulation of space and time is interesting at first, it ultimately degrades into a variation of the same brand of scientific mumbo-jumbo that have fuelled other films in the series, governed by laws and effects borne more of narrative convenience than internal logic.

Luckily, Doctor Strange doesn’t allow us much time to worry about logic, choosing instead to dazzle with some truly daring and immersive effects that begs to be seen in 3D. The most spectacular have to be the Inception-inspired sequences where big city structures and streets collapse and fold onto themselves, creating delightfully intricate, constantly-moving Escher-style geometric kaleidoscopes. Also impressive are the vibrant, psychedelic renderings of the different “dimensions”, where space can be bent, flipped and shattered at will. Indeed, there’s a terrific fluidity and coherence to the choreography here—a welcome relief from the wanton collisions and explosions that characterise set-pieces in other superhero films. Doctor Strange also boasts some fun sight gags, not least of which feature the Cape of Levitation, practically a character unto itself.

And given all the noise kicked up last year when the cast and crew had come to Nepal to shoot some scenes, you’re probably wondering what’s actually made it into the film. There are certainly some familiar-looking backdrops (presumably from Patan) here and there in some initial portions, though what we see is a far more pristine and uber-exoticised version of the city we know, and also one that appears to have moved much closer to the mountains since the last time I checked.

All this, however, would’ve amounted to little more than fancy trimmings had it not been for the sort of acting talent that’s been assembled here. Although the American accent takes some getting used to, Cumberbatch elevates the film as he is wont to do with most projects: in a turn that is reminiscent of Robert Downey Jr.’s stint as Iron Man in that there’s such a perfect fit between what feels like the actor’s real-life persona and the character, Cumberbatch has brought along some of that smug, sardonic, almost-misanthropic vibe he’s cultivated to perfection in his role in Sherlock.

Although Swinton’s casting had led to accusations of whitewashing since the character is actually a Tibetan man in the books, given that the alternative would’ve probably been to revert to the musty, overused Magical Asian trope, the results would’ve been offensive either way. Besides which, her performance is one of the film’s highlights, using that eccentric, otherworldly presence—not to mention the impeccable diction—to make even the most clichéd lines of dialogue sound significant, even profound. Mikkelsen, meanwhile, might be straitjacketed by a role that is almost cartoonishly one-dimensional, especially given the aforementioned glittery raccoon make-up, but the actor (who you might remember as a one-time Bond villain and star of the Hannibal series) makes the best of it. As for the others: Ejiofor and McAdam’s scenery-chewing can get a bit tedious at times, but that could just be because of their underwritten characters, while Wong breezes through, having a blast.

Doctor Strange isn’t able to entirely outrun superhero conventions, but it definitely makes a valiant effort. The outcome is a film that has enough to recommend it overall—great performances, top-notch visuals and some much appreciated self-deprecating humour—which is more than you can say for majority of its other counterparts in the genre.