Ironheart review: Was Riri really left like something between a victim and a villain?

As I started watching Ironheart, I was eager to see a young black genius emerge from Tony Stark's imposing shadow and establish her sense of self. Marvel seemed to be promising something radical right away: a bright, impoverished, unrepentant kid from Chicago's South Side who would use her intellect to control her fate.

I wanted to watch her create armor out of sadness and resiliency as well as metal, to turn suffering into something bright. However, as the episodes rolled by, a quiet discomfort started gnawing at me. Like a slight fracture beneath the surface of a perfect-looking suit, there was a tension that I initially couldn't quite name.

That crack? It was wide open by the time the finale came. What should and could have been a tale of self-determination became something else entirely, a gradual loss of agency, a betrayal that seemed almost intentional.

Ironheart and the illusion of choice

From the very first episode, Ironheart tries to sell us a story of “ambiguity,” a young black genius navigating grief, survival, and impossible expectations. But behind that supposed complexity hides a deeper problem: instead of giving Riri Williams the space to grow, Ironheart boxes her into a corner she never truly chose.

Ironheart frames Riri as a brilliant outsider, someone who could turn her pain into power and become a new kind of symbol for a new generation. But episode after episode, we watch her slip further away from that promise. She aligns herself with criminals, betrays Joe who ends up arrested, leaves another member of the crew to die, and finally seals her fate by making a pact with Mephisto.

These are not the bold, rebellious choices of a genius forging her moral path. They feel like carefully orchestrated steps designed to drag her down, until she is left stripped of agency and dignity.

Even when Ironheart tries to justify these turns as “human flaws,” it never offers Riri the same narrative generosity that Tony Stark received. He started as a rich white merchant of death but was allowed to redeem himself, sacrifice himself, and be celebrated as the ultimate savior.

In contrast, Riri begins with a disadvantage and becomes even more compromised; she is shown less as a hero and more as a warning figure, her brilliance obscured by the narrative betrayal.

The painful contrast with Tony Stark

One cannot see Ironheart without considering Tony Stark's legacy. He begins his career as a rich weapons dealer who makes money off of devastation and war. However, the story goes out of its way to provide him atonement. He gets to mature, change, die heroically, and be remembered forever as the universe's savior.

Riri, however, is positioned as the “poor black genius,” a young woman fighting for survival from the start. Instead of being given space to rise, Ironheart drags her into increasingly destructive decisions.

Here, as is, Riri's arc feels less like an evolution and more like a slow erasure of her potential. While Tony’s mistakes become stepping stones to heroism, Riri’s wrongdoings are presented as proof of her fundamental instability and moral failure.

It's not a subtle contrast. It reflects broader cultural beliefs about who can make amends, who can fail, and who is destined to be defined by their darkest experiences. In Ironheart, the following message became quite clear: a young black woman’s pain isn’t a foundation for growth but a convenient tool to serve a larger supernatural plot.

A lonely orbit

Beyond Riri herself, the supporting and tertiary characters in Ironheart feel frustratingly thin. They appear to only revolve around Riri's chaotic path rather than existing as complete individuals with interiority or arcs of their own. The show never gives them enough weight to become significant characters, even when they hint at conflict or inner strife.

It's as if Riri is the only real planet in this solar system, misguided and spiraling, while everyone else is reduced to distant stars or small moons, there only to reflect her crises back at her.

Characters like Joe and Parker Robbins had potential to become complex, but Ironheart treats them as narrative tools rather than characters worthy of depth. N.A.T.A.L.I.E. stood out, managing to break through this orbit and feel more alive and grounded, which makes her role in the finale even more impactful.

It's even ironic that Riri wrote to Xavier, Natalie's brother and her best friend, this quote taken from Star Trek:

"Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, hers was the most... Human."

It really feels like N.A.T.A.L.I.E. is more human and even more nuanced than most human characters in the show. The emotional stakes are lowered by this lack of development, which also serves to further the idea that Riri's story is isolated and devoid of genuine companionship, community, or challenge.

Ironheart further isolates her by not establishing a foundation for her relationships, which makes her decisions feel even more hopeless and cut off from any real sense of belonging.

The pact and the price

Everything Ironheart could have stood for seems to come crashing down when Riri strikes a deal with Mephisto. She gives up her agency in exchange for the opportunity to bring Natalie back? Really?

It's like watching someone get swallowed up by an abyss from which they were never allowed to escape, rather than something that inspires radical self-definition or empowerment.

This is further emphasized by the choice to bring Natalie back to life. Because of her demonic return, Natalie—who stands for warmth, connection, and humanity—becomes a terrifying echo of what Riri has lost. It changes the essence of Ironheart from being a triumphant reunion to a sign of spiritual corruption and deception.

This isn’t just a twist to set up future MCU storylines; it’s a fundamental statement about what Ironheart wants to say about heroism and sacrifice. Ironheart frames her choice as both inevitable and tragic, but it never gives her the space to truly grapple with the implications or confront what this pact says about her identity. In the end, Ironheart takes away the possibility of self-forged heroism and replaces it with a hollow, manipulated existence that feels as painful as it is irreversible.

By the time the finale closes, Ironheart no longer feels like a story about a young genius creating her own destiny but a slow surrender to forces that strip her of meaning and agency.

The final verdict on Ironheart

At its best, Ironheart shows sparks of brilliance. Dominique Thorne delivers a powerful, layered performance that deserved a much stronger foundation. Mia Barron, as N.A.T.A.L.I.E., also brings surprising warmth and dimension, managing to break through the show’s isolating narrative and become a rare point of real emotional connection. There are moments when the show hints at what could have been, a complex, emotionally charged journey of a young black woman building something entirely her own.

But those moments can’t hold up the weight of the overall narrative. The choices Ironheart makes feel less like bold storytelling and more like an erosion of everything Riri could stand for. By pushing her into betrayal, isolation, and finally a demonic pact, Ironheart transforms her into a cautionary tale rather than a symbol of possibility.

Supporting characters drift without depth, the moral center dissolves, and the promise of a new kind of hero is replaced by a hollow, manipulated figure trapped between victimhood and villainy.

I can’t give Ironheart more than a 2.5 out of 5. There’s talent, there’s potential, but in the end, it feels like a betrayal, not just of Riri, but of every viewer who hoped to see a new kind of hero rise.

Ironheart was never formally named in the show, and by the end, you’re left asking: was Riri really left like something between a victim and a villain?