Marvel's schadenfreude

Rating: 4/10 (26 March 2016)

Welcome to 2016 - the year where NO HEROES CAN BE FRIENDS. And here, amidst the releases of Daredevil vs. Punisher, Captain America vs. Iron Man (+ Marvel entourages), and X-Men vs. Other X-Men (sort of), comes DC comics' massive, go- for-broke tent-pole for its own super-franchise, too serious, even, for the conventional "vs": Batman v. Superman Colon Dawn of Justice - the (self- declared) "greatest gladiator match in the history of the world". But, after the dust settled, and my ears stopped ringing from the Hans Zimmer sledgehammering, we reflect on the adjective choice. Greatest? Nah. Surliest? Messiest? Unintentionally silliest? Better. But seriously (for being serious is about all it does) - the film is so hallucinogenically, histrionically mishandled that it almost defies belief. Visual pizazz aside, we're closer to Batman & Robin than Batman Begins (yup, I went there); more Breaking Dawn than Dawn of Justice.
You'd expect BvS to be excessively grim and mopey, with an overinflated sense of self-importance (all of which are true). What you don't expect is how downright strange it is. Amidst its two-and-a-half hour running time, there is more time devoted to Batman hallucinating abduction by alien bug monsters than actually battling Superman. Characters spout dialogue so utterly odd (Jeremy Irons' wry Alfred - a momentary highlight - blathers similes about "Mozart on the harpsichord"; Holly Hunter's scowling senator spits allusions like "rasslin' a pig" and "p*ss in a jar") it's more jaw-dropping than the film's action. And everything is so drenched in half-cocked discussions about Gods and morality it plays like a drunk football player puked in a theology textbook. And then it hits us: Zack Snyder, unsatisfied with delivering the pugilistics fans so desperately crave, is striving for artistry. For profundity. The problem? Snyder, while gifted at conjuring undeniably stunning, albeit showy, cinematic tableaux (though his best here are pilfered from Frank Miller, natch), has all the profundity of a popsicle stick. Seeing him sprinkle in dopey fantasy/dream interludes with such delirious abandon is so unintentionally amusing you almost feel guilty for jeering.
This batsh*t (ha) solemnity seeps into the plot as well. Initially, focalizing the plot around the criticisms of Man of Steel's collateral damage is clever, but Snyder's head is too much in the clouds to know where to take it from there. At least twice, characters pause, extensively, midway through cumbersome, meandering monologues, as if even they're literally forgotten what they're talking about, and it's the most honest the film ever is. Hands up if you came to a movie titled Batman v. Superman eager for nearly two hours of nonsensical, stalling subplots about African arms dealers, corporate subterfuge and computer hacking, Scoot McNairy's screeching amputee defacing Superman statues with the words "False God" (yawn), and Lawrence Fishburne's Perry White griping about travel expenses? How about the beloved (not) Marvel-derivative 'universe building' tie-ins to other future Justice League members so gratuitous it's gleefully disgraceful? Yeah, I thought not.
But plot schmott - let them fight. Problem here? Snyder's internalized Man of Steel's critiques so much that even he seems to despise Superman, regulating him to a supporting character, bereft of development, and more destructive narrative prop than character - a fate not helped by Henry Cavill's unfathomably surly, charmless performance. So: Batfleck, then? Not so much. Affleck looks the part (and his batsuit/armour do look spectacular), but, despite hints of promise in his haggard rage, his brooding mostly comes across as sleepiness. Moreover, he's besieged by the script's violently uneven misreading of the character, plaguing him with so much vacant staring we genuinely worry for his mental wellbeing. Hell, it would explain his impulse that Superman's inability to prevent collateral damage warrants being viciously stabbed to death as a preventative measure (listen for Christian "I have one rule" Bale weeping at the back of the theatre). So, the two heroes sneer and posture at each other redundantly, and we can't help but despite them both, let alone give a damn who wins.
And when they do - FINALLY - trade blows? They don't so much fight as take turns pummelling each other while the other lays there, stunned, crashing around a deserted building, as Hans Zimmer bwomps away in the background. It's impossible to imagine a more underwhelming, less cathartic, imaginative, and thrilling bout - and its resolution, where Batman flips from attempted murder to being bosom buddies with Superman, is so abrupt and for so ludicrously inane a reason, it plays like an SNL parody, and is just as deliciously hilarious. Thankfully, the climactic showdown with completely unsurprising twist villain Doomsday does - FINALLY - perk things up a bit, providing both a more mobile foe and the introduction of Gal Godot's Wonder Woman (who is introduced by an 80s hair metal guitar riff, of all things), though it still plays as an overcooked remake of The Incredible Hulk's Harlem brawl. Otherwise, there's really perilously little redemption to be found here. Jesse "Mmm!" Eisenberg's Luthor, even more unmotivated than Batman, is a squeaky, gibbering mess of tics, like a high school student doing an impression of Heath Ledger's Joker, while Amy Adams' Lois is such a whiny damsel it's genuinely embarrassing. Even Wonder Woman has her undeniably cool entrance marred by cameras lingering on her chest and crotch like a 90s video game. Classy.
The thing is, so many of BvS' innumerable flaws could be tolerated - stupid plot, dubious writing, and even boring fights - if it were fun. But Snyder's odyssey of awfulness is so drab, grim, and odiously self-satisfied that fun is like a long-lost mythical concept, with only shards remaining, deeply buried, like elusive kryptonite. The film's most worthwhile attribute has been an interview of Affleck confronted by early critical panning. A sea of disappointment dances across his face, calling the bluff of the colossal, shameful dud he's staked his recent reputation to. Batfleck is now Sadfleck. Now that's justice.
-4/10