One needs a breather in between writing about Man Of Shpilkis and the second and third films in the Syndology, Mister Man vs. The Fuck-You Guy: Let’s Touch Dicks and Justice Luge.
I would have much preferred to watch Justice Luge than the actual movie.
Two hours of an unwilling Jason Momoa hurled down a mountain on a cafeteria tray.
And also Gal Gadot luging, and wearing the luge outfit with the helmet.
(Enthusiasts, you know I have never lied to you, and I maintain that streak with this revelation: major fetish. The skintight outfit that lugists and bobsledders and ski racers wear, but only with the helmet on. Tres sexy.)
Also, the woman’s name is pronounced Gal like in “pal” Guh-DAHT.
Not Gail Godot.
She is not French, and no one is waiting for her.
She is Wonder Woman, whose personality lies at the midpoint of “having a foreign accent” and “standing confidently.”
They gave WW some character in her solo film, but Zack Snyder thinks chicks are faggy and so all she talks about is how much she misses Steve Trevor.
Who died in The First World War One.
Which was 100 years ago.
Get some new dick, Diana.
There have been five generations of fuckable men since then.
You could’ve banged Bowie.
Or perhaps you could have explored your sexuality and rubbed muffs with another lady.
I am quite sure that someone on your all-lady home island of Themiscyra could have shown you the ropes of rubbing muffs.
But, no, you pined for Pine.
Like a sexless Disney princess.
YOU ARE NOT THE EMPOWERING FIGURE I WAS LED BY THE CHILDREN’S MOVIE TO BELIEVE YOU WERE!
Anyway, Wonder Woman shows up twice in BvS, once to fight and once to wear a dress
That is as precise as I can be.
It is an aggressively stupid movie in which nothing makes sense.
JL is similarly insipid, but the plot makes sense.
“CG monster desires Magical Things; heroes align to interfere with his plans.”
The machinations by which the script (assuming there was one) goes through to get Batfleck to fight Superduperman are uncountable; the Industrial Revolution didn’t have this many machinations.
Now, the excuse for having Cap and Iron Man beat each other up in Captain America: Civil War was similarly ludicrous, but at least there was some fun in that picture.
You had the airport fight and…okay, you had the airport fight.
That was a hell of an airport fight, though.
James Brown used to fight a lot in airports, but that wasn’t as entertaining as Spidey and Ant-Man going at it.
Much of the time, James would be sparring with a trash can or kicking a stranger’s children.
Which, again, is not entertaining.
At least, it’s not entertaining in the way you want something to be.
The viewer spends the entirety of BvS asking two questions:
How does that character know that?
How does that character not know that?
Also: everyone is an idiot.
Batface, Superguy, Jesse Eisenberg doing his Crispin Glover imitation as Lex Luthor: thorough dunces.
The evil plan is kicked off when Lex frames Superman for a mass murder in Africa.
Warlords and all that shit.
All the bullet-ridden bodies.
You know, like Superman tends to leave around.
Super “Have Gun, Will Travel” Man.
(And don’t give me any bullshit about how the mercenaries burned the bodies in the Extended Cut. Fuck the Extended Cut. I’m not watching a longer version of this diarrhea sandwich, even if it is more coherent.)
And then there’s some Kryptonite, which Lex knows will kill Superman and Bruce Wayne knows that, too.
Good question, dude.
Good question, but now you’re to report to Section 112 for reconditioning.
You should be more respectful of Brands and their Intellectual Properties.
Whatever, who cares about the plot now that the white men are punching one another.
This is what we came for.
This is why we will come.
Punch each other, white guys!
Batman is in Bat-Armor.
Superman is in his customary suit.
Sha sha, pocket Kryptonite!
(This allows the bout to take place at all. If Superman is not massively depowered, he turns Batman into a fine, moody mist within milliseconds. Or a charred, brooding lump. Maybe a thick, vengeful jelly. It wouldn’t qualify as a “fight,” and certainly wouldn’t do as the climax of an action picture.)
Jesse Eisenberg watches the brouhaha, which is taking place in Gotham, from Metropolis.
He can do this because–and I was just as shocked by this as you will be–the two cities are within a mile of one another.
And why not?
Z-Dog has gotten everything else wrong about the DC Universe, why not this?
There are also numerous–and ass-slappingly blatant–references to the area of the fight being “abandoned” or having “virtually no one there” after work.
This is, of course, in response to criticism received after StahlMenschen graphically depicted the deaths of thousand of Metropolitans who had the temerity to get in the way of a superhero dust-up.
And it’s late, late at night.
The DC Universe takes place at night because otherwise you can’t have Batman.
He’s a bat.
He cannot be present at two in the afternoon.
It would just look weird
Like when you saw your grade school teacher in the supermarket.
A NOTE ON HENRY CAVILL: Guy got fucked.
He coulda been a contender.
I mean it: might’ve taken on Christopher Reeve for the title.
The look was not the problem.
Motherfucker looks like Superman.
Tina Fey doesn’t look as much like Sarah Palin as Henry Cavill looks like Superman.
Nor was it his chops: he can act; go watch The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
The role of a lifetime, and the sap gets saddled with Z-Dog as a director.
“Say the line mopier! MOPIER!”
Anyway, Batman is punching Superman, vice versa, some tossing through brick walls, etc., until now Bats had Supes on the ground, weakened by the Kryptonite, with a spear (also Kryptonite) to his throat.
Superman goes, “MARCIA!”
Batman freaks out.
“WHY DID YOU SAY THAT NAME?”
Then Amy McAdams runs in and says,
“That’s his favorite Brady! Don’t hurt him, that’s his favorite Brady!”
Now, Enthusiasts, what was just reported is not what occurred in the movie, but can anyone argue that my version is dumber?
At this point, Lex Luthor gives birth to a cave troll.
Plus–and I realize I keep repeating myself here–it is uninteresting.
The laws of dramatis personae demand that Batman and Superman team up after their fight to take on a third, more powerful foe.
Doomsday first appeared back in the legendarily dopey Death of Superman run of comics; he was expressly created for the sole purpose of killing Superman.
It was his raison d’etre.
And he did.
Doomsday was self-actualized.
It was such a sad event that DC included black armbands in the mylar bags the comic came in.
Superman was, of course, resurrected a short time later sporting a bitchin’ mullet.
(A very short time: the first issue of the storyline killing him off came out in December of ’92 and the Big Blue Boy Scout was back among the living in October of ’93. That’s a cash grab. You have to give it a full year for the death to mean anything, in my opinion. Marvel let Colossus stay dead for a decade.)
And thus, as Doomsday exists only to murder Superman, Doomsday murders Superman.
I wish that he had gone on to also murder Batman and Wonder Woman, and then the rest of both Gotham and Metropolis, but that is not what happened.
This gives Z-Dog the chance for one of his beloved funeral scenes.
I heard Will Smith’s Girls of the World Ain’t Nothin’ But Trouble on the 90’s station today, and Will Smith absolutely stole his entire flow from Slick Rick.
He is one of the people I have had quite enough of that appear in this film, along with Jared Leto and Jai Courtney.
Jai Courtney plays an Australian, with magical boomerangs.
The Japanese lady plays a magical samurai with a magical sword.
Everything about this: ugh.
“These are the most dangerous people in the world and we don’t know what to do with them.”
SHOOT THEM IN THEIR HEADS.
If I ran the government agency tasked with dealing with superheros, the standing order would be to execute them on sight.
Sure, there are a few like Superman or the Hulk for whom a bullet to the temple would not end the conversation, but the guy who shoots fire from his hands can totally be killed with a gun.
“What should we do with this alligator-man?”
Shoot him, and if that doesn’t work, go get a bigger gun and shoot him again.
“What about the stone-cold fox in hot pants with a bat?”
Take away her bat and put her in jail: she is literally just a crazy, hot, crazy-hot woman with a bat.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t inject nano-bombs into their spinal cords and then team them up on a do-or-die mission against their wills?”
Get out of my office.
What the fuck is a Joel Kinnaman, and why should I care?
There is a character named Slipknot (not Slipknot!) that has magical ropes and he is played by Adam Beach, who was on Law & Order: SVU for a season or two, and he is a slow-talker; I would actively berate the television screen during his lines.
Margot Robbie continues to be preternaturally good at being looked at.
All the dudes in the movie are wearing tactical jumpsuits and trenchcoats and bandoliers and pouches and armored vests, whereas Margot Robbie is wearing–as I mentioned–hot pants.
Odds I See This In The Theater I hate everything about this movie so much that I refuse to even give it odds.
Wonder Woman has one enormous credit to its name in my book, and that is that Zack Snyder had less to do with it than the other two DC films, and David Goyer had nothing at all to do with it.
And while TotD is against purchasing tickets as a strategic act, I am tempted to support all female-lead superhero movies in hopes of getting a She-Hulk movie one day.
This is Wonder Woman’s origin story: Chris Pine, who is not Chris Evans in every way, washes up on the shore of a magical island named Themiscyra; only ladies live there.
Feel free to make your own sexist joke here.
And Wonder Woman is all, “You’re a man!”
And Chris Pratt is like, “How do you know?”
And Wonder Woman goes, “Because I looked in your pants, Calvin.”
And Chris Christofferson goes, “Why did you call me Calvin?”
And Wonder Woman goes, “It was written on your underwear.”
And so on.
Wonder Woman: Israeli ingenue neatly named Gal Gadot.
Ridiculous homunculi on the innertubes have complained that the actress does not possess the requisite brawn to portray the heroine, as if Wonder Woman’s strength came from her muscles or something.
None of these whiners have mentioned the fact that Wonder Woman was made out of clay and magic is also unrealistic.
And then Wonder Woman beats many men up while they shoot at her, and she dances with Chris Cringle while looking glamorous, and for some reason trench warfare gets involved, and then Wonder Woman dons her magical catcher’s leg protectors and wins World War I for Greece, I suppose.
The leg protectors are called greaves, and that is a delightful word.
The part that goes over your shoulder is called the pauldron.
Your forearm is protected by a vambrace.
Words are the best.
Wonder Woman doesn’t have any of that shit, though: just the shin-guards and a little round shield.
(The shield is called an aspis.)
And they’ll probably throw some sort of bullshit line about how the greaves extend a magical invulnerability to the wearer and blah blah blah: it’s just there to look bitchin’.
Wonder Woman looks totally bitchin’.
And this one ends with a joke, but one that fell flat.
Chris Handsome and Wonder Woman are standing there with his secretary, and he introduces her, and WW asks the secretary what she does, and the scretary goes, “Whatever Chris Whiteman says,” and Wonder Woman says, “Sounds like a slave to me.”
And it’s supposed to be Wonder Woman’s Strong Independent Woman line, but it just makes everyone involved seem like twits.
Chris should have responded, “Yeah, except I pay her, and she’s free to go at any time. So, you know: entirely unlike slavery.”
To which Wonder Woman would have responded, “I did not go to high school, as I grew up on a legendary lady-island, and am made from clay and magic.”
And then secretary might have said, “This is a little on me, guys. Silly way to answer that question. Should’ve said, ‘Performed the tasks required of me by the employer who provides me fair recompense for my services.’ Now, if you want to have a little chat about the systemic patriarchal bullshit laced into the culture of 1917 that dictates that this pretty dumwit be the boss and I, a Vassar-educated woman who speaks three languages, be his secretary? I would LOVE to have that discussion, Wonder Woman. But in all honesty: ix-nay on the ave-slay.”
Odds I See This In The Theater 70%. Will wait for reviews.
This is not your daddy’s Aquaman!
Batman goes to Ye Olde Fishing Village and barges in the bar.
“I am here to do two things: look for Aquaman, and chew bubble gum. And I’m all out of bubble gum.”
And I guess Aquaman is Thor now, but if Thor were in a Norwegian black metal band.
But he’s still named Arthur, for some reasOHMIGOD I JUST GOT IT because Aquaman is King of the Sea and King Arthur.
I truly just got that.
And also I think King Arthur is actually in this movie: I guess they’re going to say that Excalibur had something to do with Darkseid and Mother Boxes and all that Jack Kirby/New Gods bullshit?
(An aside for the Comic Nerds: the New Gods were fucking stupid. The bad guy was named Darkseid, who was always looking for the Anti-Life Equation, and there was an escape artist named Scott B. Free, and a torturer named DeSaad. Dopey. I will give points for the Boom Tube, which is how you travel through space and time in that particular comic.)
But Darkseid’s coming to eat the DC Cinematic Universe, so Batman needs to put together a team of people with actual super-powers.
As opposed to Batman, who has 20 billion dollars and PTSD.
Although having 20 billion dollars is kind of a super power, in that you can do things mere mortals cannot.
No amount of money will give you access to the Speed Force, which is what gives all Flashes their super-speed.
I am dumber for having written that sentence; you are dumber for having read it.
The Flash is played by the new version of Justin Long, and he is twitchy, and resides in the most “clearly existing in a movie” teenager’s bedroom you’ve ever seen.
Graffiti and monitors and half-cannibalized tech and a science lab: I am quite positive he will turn out to be a hacker.
To prove Flash is the Flash, Batman throws a stylized razor blade at his face.
In the DCCU, the Flash is high-school age, which means Batman broke into a teenager’s bedroom, laid in wait for the youth, and then hucked a knife at him.
That’s some good Batmanning, buddy.
You’re a hero.
God, all those superheros are unbearable.
There’s also a black guy, who is a robot,
And then the stinger, which is Ben Affleck smirking at Wet Thor, “I hear you talk to fish.”
And you can understand what they’re doing here–turning into the skid–but they missed a wonderful opportunity to have Aquaman respond by hurling a beluga whale at Batman’s smug face.
Odds I See This In The Theater Some percent. Definitely a quantifiable percent.