Sounds Like a Fucking Franchise: A Look at Deadpool

Whoa, did you guys feel that? That disturbance in the force? As if a million voices suddenly cried out in apathy? I guess that's what happens when I choose to write about something that actually matters. Twice in a row no less. It truly is the end times, folks.

Some of you may remember from my last attempt at being relevant that I asked myself a pretty heavy question: How can I sit here and make jokes about superhero movies with the recent catastrophic events hovering over us like some sort of unrelenting specter? Even when the emotions of one tragedy ebbs, it seems another is right around the corner waiting to turn good people into terrible caricatures once more. Makes it really hard to find the ground under my feet.

Well I grappled with that question for a minute, trying to figure out how best to answer it. After contemplating this riddle for far longer than I should have, I eventually realized that I am the Fool. It is my lot in life; my job to shine a light on and make people chuckle at the ridiculous. Maybe it’s not, you know, the BEST rationalization, but it certainly helps me sleep better at night. Sometimes, the best things we can do for ourselves are laugh, argue about stuff that doesn’t matter, and move forward (hopefully maintaining whatever sanity we might have left).

And hey, speaking of sanity…

I do not write in a linear fashion. I start writing about a particular topic, but my thoughts are often so jumbled that I can't focus on the subject for an extended amount of time. Even now, mind turns towards the best way to eviscerate and laud Suicide Squad in the same breath. I compare my process to going down a Wikipedia rabbit hole. One minute, I'm looking up the definition of nihilism, then 7 hours later I'm on a page about the inventor of the Q-tip (fun fact: they used to be called 'Baby Gays.'). All interesting information, none of it relevant to narrative I'm trying to craft.

Pictured: Mr. Baby Gay

Most of the time, Netflix and my short attention span are the greatest obstacles to my (marginally) coherent thought process, but this time was a little different. See, whenever I sat down to write about Civil War or Ultron or why Spider-Man is racist, my mind would start concocting some hyper-analytical, air-tight argument based around empirical evidence and logically formed opinions. It is as tragically boring and asinine as it sounds. I decided (for everyone's benefit) that it’s time for some well-deserved catharsis. It’s time to live in a world where logic and reason are tied up and beaten senseless like the scene in Reservoir Dogs. It’s time to inhabit a realm where obscure pop-culture references and humor of 10-year-olds reign supreme. It’s time to embrace pure chaos and stupidity in order that I might cure this ailment oft referred to as rational thought.

It’s time to shoop, baby.

Let's talk about Deadpool.

Yes, let's. And good luck getting that song out of your head.

History Lesson

What was that? Did you guys see that?

Hello?

Um, anyway… To put things in a bit of perspective, this film has been in development since I was 16 years old; when my hair was long, my temper was short, and I was an otherwise angst-ridden know-it-all with delusions of grandeur (the more things change, am I right?). Back before the endless onslaught of comic book driven films, before the Marvel Cinematic Universe, before (what passes for) the DC Cinematic Universe, some tortured genius at 20^th Century Fox decided, “Hey! Let’s buy the rights to a Deadpool-led movie and do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WITH THEM FOR 10 GODDAMN YEARS!” Asshole. One of the most uniquely exceptional characters in all of literature relegated to the depths of the studios’ archives never to be released. And when the character was finally scraped from the bowels of Purgatory, he wasn’t the wise-cracking comedian we knew him to be. No, he was… well, he was this:

"....." - Deadpool

Oh, X-Men Origins: Wolverine. In that exercise in how not to make a movie, we received a version of the character of Deadpool that, at its best, is considered a significant departure from the character and at its worst, this is a steaming pile of shit from some animal suffering from a gastrointestinal distress. I’m leaning towards moose.

Moose? I was thinking capybara.

Okay, are you guys seeing this too? Am I going crazy here?

Well, aren't we all a little crazy?

Uh… Or-Origins threw out everything that made the character special, unique, fun, badass, and any other adjective typically used to describe Deadpool. I know that I have spent a lot of time reducing Green Lantern to a weeping pile of bad ideas huddled in the corner by using it as my go-to “joke-of-the-week,” and I make no apologies for that. It’s easy fodder. However, even compared to Green Lantern, X-Men Origins: Wolverine is everything wrong with modern cinema, America as a whole, and the world would be a better place if it just never existed. What it did to Deadpool is unforgivable. Maybe not Holocaust unforgivable, but it’s certainly up there.

Oooo, Holocaust joke. Edgy.

Wade Wilson had swords coming out of his arms, laser eye beams and, the most egregious of offenses, his mouth was sewn shut. Yes, the Merc with the goddamn Mouth was rendered completely unable to speak.

You're right, fuck this guy.
"...................."

Okay, hang on.

What?

Are you going to be sticking around for this whole thing? Don’t you think you’re running the risk of becoming overexposed?

Ah come on, you know me.
If there is one thing you can count on me to do, it's expose myself.

I guess I set you up for that one. Anyway, if there is any goodwill I have left for that movie (there isn’t), it’s because of Reynolds. Before the terrible CGI, before the climax that made absolutely no sense, before the inevitable reboot/sequel (se-boot?) that made this entire film non-canon, Ryan Reynolds took his 2 minutes and 32 seconds of screen time and managed to create the Wade that I had been waiting for; the Wade I was excited to see the movie for. It wasn't much, but this brief little intro went a long way in showing the fans who Deadpool could be in the right hands.

Aw, you're gonna make me blush!

Sadly, after two massively disappointing X-Men films, 20th Century Fox was unwilling to take any risks. Thus, our crimson friend sat in Development Hell for what seemed like an eternity. Directors came on (HA!) and dropped out. The writers turned in about 10 different versions of the script (there's a 5 minute long PG-13 version out there somewhere) and after a while, many of us thought that a Deadpool movie was not but a fever dream; a lustful thought in our minds' eyes.

A+ for effort, F- for execution.

And then, as if God herself descended from the heavens and granted us a small miracle, some noble hero leaked the now infamous CG test footage for Deadpool onto the web. Not only was this footage proof that the film was alive in some capacity, but fuck, this footage was good. The jokes landed, the action was over-the-top and, most importantly, Deadpool did not stop talking throughout that entire clip. The fans lose their collective shits, the studio finally green lights the project, and Deadpool finally danced his way into America’s hearts.

And pants.

Pants jokes, really?

I play to my strengths.

Art in its Purest Form

So why is any of that important? That’s what I’ve been saying. Quite simply, as your history teachers most likely yelled at you at some point in your life, our future is significantly informed by our past. We cannot know where we’re going if we fail to acknowledge where we’ve been, and Deadpool is truly a product of his journey. Yup, I’m all about that smelly wine and cheap perfume. It’s ‘smell of wine’. Huh, you sure? Positive.

. . . OH THE MOVIE NEVER ENDS. . . !

Now, at this point, you know might be thinking, “gee-willickers, that sub-heading sure is a funny joke, Mr. James!” Actually, I was thinking why some kid with thunder-thighs and a 2^nd-term pregnancy stomach is stealing my jokes. I understand your skepticism. You better. The things that come out of my mouth are dripping with so much sarcasm that I can’t even tell when I’m being sincere anymore. Plus, this movie has its title character jerking-off to a stuffed unicorn. Plus-plus, the ‘Mr.’ is highly unnecessary. Call me Sensei.

Hilarious. Eat a dick, now, remember way up there when I said the studio didn’t wanna take risks? It’s okay if you don’t, it was a few ramblings ago. Because of the studio’s unwillingness to put any amount of faith into this movie, Deadpool became a sweeping superhero epic made on a $5 budget. 20^th Century Fox wanted to ensure that any money lost on the unproven R-Rated IP would be minimal. The crew only had enough money for the costume and the Bea Arthur shirt; everything else was improvised. As a result, the studio took a backseat and allowed Director Tim Millar, Writers Rhet Reese and Paul Wernick, and God's perfect idiot Ryan Reynolds to make the exact movie they wanted to make. It’s why we have a movie in which our hero gets shot in the ass, openly air-humps a blind woman, gives a dude a wedgie in the middle of a high speed chase, and otherwise dismembers a good portion of the film’s cast.

Don't forget the dick jokes!

Who could possibly forget about those? And the stuff they weren’t able to do made the movie just a little bit better. The “countdown” scene on the bridge was supposed to be longer and more elaborate. However, all that they could afford was twelve bullets, so twelve is what we got. The final battle was supposed to be a massive fire fight but again, budgetary restrictions made it a straight up sword fight (which ended up giving us the Dopinder pay-off scene). The crew didn’t have the studio looking over them like some kind of overbearing parent. Thus, they were able to decide, "Hey, let's put this here and that there and see what happens." In a world where this sort of filmmaking is becoming increasingly rare in big budget productions, Deadpool really is an achievement of the highest regard.

“Your Crazy Matches My Crazy”

One of the most touching and perfect affirmations I have received as a writer came from one of my coworkers the week after Deadpool opened. She walks up to me, calm and cool as can be, and, with the eloquence of a drunken longshoreman, excitedly exclaimed:  "Holy shit! Deadpool was so fucking funny with the little fucking hand and shit! I sat there watching it and was like ‘Fucking James wrote this damn thing.’"

First of all, that hand thing is fucking disgusting. Second, I'm not embellishing here. That's actually how she talks. She is the most ghetto white girl I have ever met, and is the closest person to an actual cartoon character in existence.

Sounds like my soulmate.

What about Vanessa?

Hey, I'm like the Haunted Mansion. There's always room for one more.
Any volunteers?

Well thanks for ruining that ride for me.

My pleasure. And hers, hopefully.

Gross. All of these facts notwithstanding, I was honored just to be mentioned in the same breath as this movie, mostly because the writing of this movie is amazing. The fourth-wall breaks are breaths of fresh air for anyone who has any understanding of the X-Men Universe or how studio films work. Spelling “Francis” with dead bodies, the aforementioned countdown, the year-long sex montage (my personal favorite. Nobody asked!), making the costume, the ‘Agent Smith the Molester’ bit, the goddamn Zamboni! There is so much to like about this movie and even if you absolutely hate the character with every fiber of your being, there is bound to be at least one joke in here that can bring a smile to your face.

And if not, you're probably dead inside!

Well said. But amidst all the jokes, it's easy to disregard Deadpool's emotional story. See, when people think about Deadpool as a character, what most often comes to mind is his humor, his 4th wall breaks, and his violence. And why wouldn't it? It's the best part of who he is. I mean, yeah, it makes him an unbearable asshole (HEY!), but that's kinda his whole appeal, right? What many forget, though, is that Deadpool books contain a lot of well-earned emotion. The take on Wilson’s father in Cable/Deadpool is incredibly heartbreaking, and Daniel Way spends an entire arc with Deadpool trying to attain Death's sweet embrace.

So would you for an ass like that!

So when Wade sits there, talks about memorizing the lines on Vanessa's face, crying in the dark by himself and playing it off as a Liam Neeson nightmare, I get choked up (Pussy. Asshole. You are what you eat. Sick.). Not only are these scenes poignant (particularly for anyone who has seen someone go through something as terrible as cancer), but when I watch these scenes, I understand beyond all else that this crew understands the character in the same way that The Russos understand Steve Rogers, Whedon understands the Avengers, and Favreau understands Tony Stark.

But not Snyder. Never Snyder. Fuck Snyder
Fuck Snyder indeed.

It would have been incredibly easy to just make a non-stop joke machine, or a brutal action movie, but they decided instead to make Wilson human. And that’s where this movie succeeds. For all of its faults, Deadpool is a movie with an unquantifiable amount of heart. That’s what makes this movie work.

Final Thoughts

We all have our superheroes with whom we identify. It's why we go out to see these modern myths in droves. Maybe you identify with Stark's sarcasm, or Rogers' honor. Maybe we all strive to be the perfection that is Superman or Wonder Woman. Or perhaps you want to snap the necks and drink the blood of your enemies like Snyder's Batman (I know I do!). Yeah, I'm still on that. No, I'm not dropping it.

For me, it's been this guy since I first read his books in high school (Awww). I'm the rapidly-talking, manic idiot that always has a comeback, and that you find either shockingly funny or supremely annoying. I'm the guy to throw out pop-culture references so obscure that only two people in the room will understand what I'm saying, but fuck if they don't piss their pants from laughing so hard. I am the self-deprecating fool that uses fake laughs to hide real pain (‘Laughing on the Outside, Crying on the Inside’ is going on my family crest). Minus the proficiency with various weaponry, the unrelenting need to kill, and the ability to heal, I am Deadpool.

I think I’m starting to like you a bit more, buddy.

And if this movie has taught me anything, it’s that there is a place for my brand of comedy out there somewhere. What's more, people actually paid money at the theater and appreciate this sense of humor. That makes me feel good about what I’m doing here. I mean, it’s certainly not a perfect movie.

(AUDIBLE GASP!)

In fact, there are a lot of logical fallacies, jokes that don't always land, and references that go over the casual viewer's head that are often times a hindrance to the Crimson Comedian (you best take that back, or Imma come over there and make you!). But overall, despite the many issues I take with the flick, Deadpool is a movie that I highly recommend.

And you should. After all, you’ve been sitting there throwing out backhanded comments about what doesn’t work about my movie. I’ve had about enough of your film bashing bullshit. Oh, a fat nerd nitpicking on the internet, never seen that before.

What the hell are you talking about? I recommended your movie! And how the hell did you even get here? You’re a fictional character, you shouldn’t even be here!

Oh, I’m real enough to defend my movie from some over-fed armchair director. If you’re going for the Kevin Smith look, you’re well on your way, Tons-of-Fun.

Hey! I’ve lobbied nothing but legitimate criticism! I feel like I’ve been more than fair here.

Yeah, well I’m sorry that not every joke appealed to you, but that’s the risk you take when you’re being original. You would know if your best shit wasn’t stolen from stand-up comedians.

Oh original? Like your super-basic plot or cliché’ origin story? P.S. Original does not mean good, jackass.

Bo Burnham.

DAMN IT! Well at least I don’t bring my shit to a grinding halt to talk about Swedish furniture for 15 minutes. What happened? You guys shoot your wad of “hashtag” jokes and early 90s references in 45 minutes? You were one racist Chihuahua away from being an episode of I Love the 90s. If I wanted funny Swedish words, I would have popped in The Muppets. Go shit in another cat-litter box.

I intend to, just as I finish up verbally skewering you like a pig at a luau.

Wow, I’ve watched porn with more wit than you.

Oh man, who hasn’t? That shit is great! Come on; X-Men: Days of Future Ass?

Right?! Or Batman and Throbin’?

Lord of the G-Strings!

Edward Penis Hands!

The Devil Wears Nada!

Passion of the Christ: The Second Cumming!

Huh, don’t remember that one.

Sorry, that one’s not real. Just wishful thinking. Oh, how about Spermicide Wad.

Starring Big-Willy Smith as Moneyshot and Jai Courtney as Captain Boomerwang!

… Still Jai Courtney?

What else is he gonna do? Not like the asshole can act.

Man, it’s like looking into a warped and twisted funhouse mirror. But hey, for real though, am I losing my mind? How did you end up hijacking this thing?

Isn’t it obvious? I’ve always been here, hiding in the darkest corners of your mind. You see kids, the truth is you all have a little bit of me inside of you. Deep, deep inside of you.

Jesus, talk about low hanging fruit.

The elderly, all-male strip club? I love that place!

*Sigh*. Say good night, Deadpool.

Good night, Deadpool!

END

Boy, that got weird for a minute there, didn’t it?

Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to read these silly little things (especially after this one). I really love the whole writing thing, and I’m going to continue to do it, but as always, adulting is a real time suck. Just wanted to give you a quick update and let you know that I’m currently in the process of working on:

Suicide Squad, Captain America: Civil War, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Ant-Man, Daredevil, Jessica Jones, White-Washing: The Racial Landscape of the Industry and as always DC: An Abusive Love Story.

So, you know. Stay tuned for… at least one of those before the end of the year at the rate I’m going. I hope that for a couple of minutes, I can bring some sort of joy into your lives.

Be kind to each other.

-James

Chika-Chika

Peace in our Time

I've been fighting with myself over the last couple of weeks with regards to what I want to write next. I have about 5 posts in various stages of being complete, but I am having a really hard time finishing them. It's like, I have the idea in my mind, I just can't find the words to appropriately articulate what I am trying to say, you know? It's really slowing me down. Well, that and Netflix.

I was actually about to get off my ass (figuratively) and do something about it this weekend. Yes, really! I was all ready to sit down and finish writing one of the posts, when I saw the news of people being attacked in Orlando. Suddenly, I wasn't interested in being funny anymore. It seemed grossly inappropriate in the face of something so horrific. How can I sit here and make jokes about superhero movies when there is so much malice and hatred in the world right now?

Normally, I'm pretty adept at just ignoring this kind of stuff. It's easy (probably easier than it should be) for me to separate myself from the terrible shit people do each other, because that shit isn't happening to me. It's a fairly uncouth way to look at it, but it's this sort of disassociation that keeps me from flinging myself off of a fucking bridge. But this... I don't know man. I'm having a really hard time shaking this thing. It's weird, right? San Bernardino and UCLA happened right in my back yard, yet the tragedy in a city I have never been to is the one that is making me sit here and completely reconsider my life choices.

So I'm going to use this, forum to work through it, because I don't really know any other way to cope. I'm sorry if it sounds like pretentious rambling, but read the title and subtitle of the blog, folks. Shame on you for clicking the link.

Besides the inexcusable carnage and the fear I have developed of leaving my dwelling, the issue I keep coming back to is how quick we are to assign blame. That's most of what I've seen over the weekend, and it's making me sick to my stomach. The pure rage I feel watching people attack each other over social media is almost indescribable. Like, it's taking everything I have to stop myself from throwing my phone against the wall and putting my fist through my TV. It's the Democrats' fault. It's the Republicans' fault. It's religion at large. It's Islam. Too many guns. Not enough guns. Obama. Clinton. Sanders. Trump. Gays. Straights. Trans.

I understand why we do it. We need to believe that this isn't just a random act of violence carried out by a random sociopath because if it is, it can happen to us. In our minds, it is imperative that we separate ourselves from "them" in order to create that nonexistent distance. We need to think they they deserve it because they are gay. Or because the liberals said this. Or because the conservatives said that. We need to rationalize because it gives us that false sense of security that we crave like an addict craves his drug of choice.

But guys, these people aren't even cold in the ground, haven't been laid to rest, and my entire Facebook feed is filled with ignorant, accusatory statuses and memes blaming each other for the acts of a single deranged maniac. I don't care what side of the aisle you sit on; this manner of thinking is incredibly disrespectful and more than a little irresponsible.

The people who died are just that: people. People with dreams. People who loved. People who hoped that one day, things might be better. People whose only crime was being brave enough to live in the way that made sense for them to live.

Don't be like that inhuman monster that refused to see these people as human beings. Do not use these people as ammo to further your own agenda. These people aren't political statements. These people aren't yardsticks by which to measure how effective or ineffective certain laws are. These people are not an 'I told you so' in order to support whichever candidate's asshole you're currently tonguing.

Mourn these people. Celebrate these people. Love these people.

Be kind to each other, assholes.

-James

We will soon return to our regularly scheduled program.

Goodbye

When I was a kid, my parents owned a red, 1992 Pathfinder that took us everywhere. My brother and I would sit in the back (sometimes accompanied by our dog, Sheba) and would be taken on grand adventures. Durango, Albuquerque, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite. We saw most of the natural world in that car. When we were at home, I used the Pathfinder as my own personal spaceship/transformer/Megazord, pulling out and playing with bits and pieces from under the steering wheel which, in retrospect, was probably not the smartest thing to do.

I loved that car.

Then, one day, I learned that I had a little sister on the way. The Pathfinder would no longer work for our growing family. As excited as I was to have another sibling to mold and shape in my evil image, I was devastated to learn that we were getting rid of that car. See, it wasn’t just a car to me; the Pathfinder was a part of the family. However, that was no combating the inevitable. We parked the Pathfinder on the lot and said our goodbyes. I sat in the passenger seat, tears streaming down my face, reminiscing about battling the evil hordes of Rita Repulsa, cuddling with Sheba in the backseat, and driving through the various campsites on my dad’s lap. I’ve ridden in several cars since then, and will probably ride in several more before my untimely death, but none have or will come close to inciting that same kind of feeling that the Pathfinder did.

This little anecdote should tell you two things. First, I have an almost indescribable, insurmountable, and otherwise irrational fear of change. Second, I am overly sentimental to the point of turning into a weepy mess over inanimate objects. It’s why Toy Story 3 was such a hard watch for me. Imagine, then, how difficult it is for me to walk away from a job, let alone a job with some of the greatest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. That sadness that I felt with the Pathfinder is that same sadness I carry with me now.

This job at Canyon Ridge Mental Hospital came to me at a time I desperately needed one. As many of you may well remember, I was unemployed and “standing-in-line-for-government-cheese” broke at this time last year. What some of you may not know is that I was jobless for a full two months after the conclusion of my Marvel Retrospective (shameless self-plug). It was difficult enough to pay for our normal expenses and adding the cost of an upcoming wedding made me increasingly desperate. I was about to go crawling back to a job I absolutely hated (on hands and knees, asshole agape) when my soon-to-be-wife, beautiful optimist that she is, found one final place for me to apply. Two days later, I was hired and two weeks later, I began my career as a Mental Health Worker.

And boy, has it been a ride!

There are so many stories I can tell about flying chairs, fights with septuagenarians, penis screaming, shit smearing, Game of Thrones-like betrayals, passive aggression, inappropriate jokes guaranteed to offend all races, religions, and sexual orientations, lost shoes, lice infestations, poorly timed DJ-ing, hilariously bad impressions, day drinking, and all around good times. Perhaps one day, when I decide I want to become a real writer, I’ll jot it all down, release it in a novel, and become a millionaire who never has to work again.

But this is not that. While I may choose to write about all of the (for lack of a better word) crazy things I’ve witnessed, heard and smelled (oh God, the smells!) that’s not what this is about. On the eve of beginning the next leg of my journey, I would like to say thank you and farewell to everyone who has helped shape me into person I have become.

To the OG Unit 3 NOC Crew: Honestly, I probably owe you guys more that I really care to admit. I have never met a handful of people more inviting, welcoming, and supportive than you assholes. Things on Unit 3 can go south really fucking quick. As such, it’s important to know that your crew has your back. When you guys were there, I knew that I was going to be safe (from patients or otherwise). Looking at how everything has played out over the last year, I realize that I could not have been as adequate of a worker if I had started out on any other Unit or any other shift. Plus, without Unit 3, I would not have been privy to The Continued Misadventures of Bugsy and Gilbert (the story of two friends who are each a cock-in-the-mouth shy of being boyfriends. Seriously, it was like watching Top Gun every night). Thank you.

To the Sups, Both Past and Present: Thank you for believing in me, trusting in me, and otherwise validating my work so early into my career there. While I didn’t always necessarily agree with your various courses of action, I respected each of you enough to trust you knew what you were doing. That is the most faith I have ever put into any other supervisor I have ever worked for. All of you deserve better than that place, and I cannot wait to see what you guys do with your futures.

To My Unit 2 Family: My home away from home. Thanks you for being so welcoming when I would get bumped to your Unit, and thank you for being accepting and receptive when I was made a Lead over there. This is a hard Unit to be on, not just because of the patients, but because we get a lot of the day players, pinch hitters, and otherwise homeless employees. It’s like the Island of Misfit Toys over there. And yet, every night, no matter how short-staffed we were or how busy the night was, we always handled our shit. You guys made me a better worker.

To those who thought I was Worth Celebrating: Thank you for the cirrhosis. After two weeks of drinking, I think my liver is finally back where it should be (which means it’s time to go out again, whoo!). I would name names, but you motherfuckers know who you are. I really hope that you all remain a huge part of my life, because I cannot imagine going through the rest of this without you guys laughing at my terrible jokes. You are what made me want to come to work every day.

To my Amazing Wife: There is this misconception that Melissa followed me to the hospital, but really she should have gotten there first. She had every intention of applying for the same position, but figured that I should probably have one job before she picked up a third. Melissa, you have loved and supported me through every decision, good or bad, I have made this last year, and I don’t know if I could have handled working there if I did not have you to come home to. Run that shit, and take care of these idiots.

To all of my Canyon Ridge Friends, Family, and Coworkers:

Thanks for being my Pathfinder.

Thanks for the memories.

-James

Grasping at Greatness: A Look at Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice

Wow. Two weeks since I’ve seen the movie. So much for deadlines.

I thought this was going to be easy. I thought I was going to be able to see the movie, hate it, write something pithy and moderately hilarious, and call it a day. However, after watching Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, I noticed something odd. This flick left me feeling despondent, which is proving to make this an absolute beast to write about. After reading the reviews from both fans and critics, I was expecting a pretty bad movie. Not “slam the head of your cock with a hammer” bad, but certainly something less than spectacular.

The closest I will come to Google Image searching that phrase.

The odd thing is, there are glimpses of the makings of a really strong movie here. At times, Batman v Superman flirts with greatness and introduces some really interesting ideas about our preconceived notions of power, humanity’s place among gods, and the kinds of ways these ideas could affect the psyche of the world at large. Unfortunately, the film leaves these questions mostly unanswered in favor of poorly written dialogue, nonsensical coincidences, convoluted evil plots, and some of the most unearned character moments in recent comic book cinematic history.

The good thing about taking time to write this is that I’ve had a lot time to think. Ruminating for the better part of two weeks has truly allowed me to separate the trivial logic problems of the film (how does Lex know for certain that Batman has the means to kill Superman) from the critical structural problems (why are there so many fucking visions, dream sequences, and Flashbacks (ha! Pat on the back for that one)). The biggest problem I keep coming back to is that BvS: DoJ (even that acronym is fucking ridiculous) has no idea what kind of movie it wants it be. It is simultaneously trying to be a Batman Origin Story, a Man of Steel follow-up, a Justice League prelude, and (as the title would suggest) a massive superhero, smack-down/team-up movie.

So fuck it. If they don’t have to make up their minds, why should I? Buckle up kids. Much like the film itself, this article is going to be a long, tedious, mostly unfunny journey through the stories that are contained within Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice.

Spoilers ahead.

Man of Steel 2: Mopeman Returns

And here I thought that Superman couldn’t get any more boring as a character. The Superman aspect of DoJ is by far the weakest piece of the movie. Much like our appendix, Superman’s arc probably served some use at some point during the film’s evolution, but now it’s just kinda vestigial and will probably end up leading to sepsis and eventual death.

Pictured: Superman's influence on the film

In a turn of events nobody could have predicted, Superman’s story begins with him saving Lois Lane from being an idiot (shocking!). Apparently, it’s the only thing she’s really good at in this universe. Lois gets herself kidnapped by a warlord, which Kal-El proceeds to throw through a fucking wall because rational reactions to things.

Guess he didn't learn anything about overkill from Man of Steel.

From that moment on, we have no idea what is going through Superman’s mind. We see how Batman reacts to him, how the general public reacts to him, how Holly Hunter, Lex Luthor, Lois Lane all react to him. Hell, even Neil Degrasse Tyson give an impassioned speech about how insignificant we are next to the proof of other life in the universe. From the time the opening credits roll to the minute the film is over, Superman is used as a nothing more than a prop, doing whatever the script requires of him.

Just a monkey banging cymbals up there.

I guess we shouldn’t be too surprised. Look at his role models! We got Ghost Dad, who pretty much tells him to not bother with heroics, because saving one person is essentially killing someone else (further cementing Pa Kent as the most horrific villain in any DC movie thus far), and Earth Mom whose advice is “Do whatever you want, I don’t give a shit,” which stands as the most unrealistic portrayal of a mother in the history of ever.

"Magneto ain't got nothin' on me."

I wish there was more to write about Superman. I wish I could tell you how the character grew and redeemed himself from Man of Steel or how the character learned nothing and pissed me off even more. Sadly, he is just a nothing character, which makes it really hard for me to feel anything when he dies later.

What? I said spoilers.

Hello darkness my old... Wait, that was Watchmen.

Batman Origins: What Knightmares Are Made Of

You know what’s worse than watching an origin story? Watching the same origin story for the rest of eternity. I gave The Amazing Spider-Man so much guff for retelling the radioactive spider bite story a mere 10 years after Sam Rami’s Spider-man hit screens. After this, I believe I owe Sony an apology, because at least we haven’t had to watch it four-goddamn-times. We have now seen Batman’s origin in Tim Burton’s ’89 Batman, Joel Schumacher’s ’95 Batman Forever, Chris Nolan’s ’05 Batman Begins and Zack Snyder’s What Currently Passes as a Batman Movie here in good ol’ 2016. What’s even more frustrating is that the only reason this scene exists in the already bloated movie is to establish that Batman’s mom’s name is Martha, which leads to the most unwarranted, uninspired moment of the film, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

Oh look, another hidden display case for the batsuit.
Never seen that before.

After his origin (which ends up being a dream sequence with unnecessary voice-over narration that is never used again in the film), we cut to the end of Man of Steel to see the destructive final battle from the point-of-view of Bruce Wayne. Of all of the missteps this movie takes, this is a sequence that actually works. You have Bruce Wayne charging through the wreckage of Metropolis with no gadgets, no suit, and no plan. He just knows that he needs to help however he can. It is singlehandedly the most Batman thing in the movie. Unfortunately, it’s also the only Batman thing in the movie as Bruce Wayne then becomes a sociopathic murderbot with only one directive: kill the Superman by branding and murdering a bunch of dudes.

He's about to kill that little girl and eat her still-beating heart.

I’ve heard a lot of arguments for and against Batman torturing and killing bad guys. I personally don’t care one way or another. What does bother me is that in this movie, Batman has no real motivation for doing so. The movie plays it like Batman needs to cross these lines in order to prevent a dirty bomb from going off in Gotham City, which leads him to investigating Lex Luthor by slowly killing his way up the pecking order. As far as motivations go, this is an okay one. We have an older Batman working against the clock to save Gotham; shit is going to get sloppy. I understand it. That is until *TWIST* Wayne is only investigating Luthor to try and steal the kryptonite out from under him in order to kill The Man of Tomorrow. In essence, Batman is killing a bunch of dudes so that he can, in turn, kill Superman, who he sees as a threat for… killing a bunch of dudes…? 

"It's only okay if I do it! You're an alien, so it's wrong!" - Donald Trump

I know that people are already crafting their arguments about how The Caped Crusader is worried about home-planet security and how unchecked power should be viewed as an absolute threat. However, no matter how passionate and well-acted the speeches are that Batfleck gives, it never comes across that he has anything but total eradication on his mind. At one point, Alfred pleads with Bruce to choose diplomacy over violence, to which Bruce replies “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me sharpening my goddamn kryptonite spear.”

In case we thought a kryptonite bullet to the back of the head was too humane.

This isn’t Batman. Batman is the world’s greatest detective, valuing logic and reason above all else. Killing isn’t necessarily outside of his wheel house, but I don’t want to live in a world where Batman kills before he absolutely has to. He never even took a minute to make sure that Superman is the one that he should be after. He never asked Superman out for coffee, or asked him to curb his neck-snapping habits. He went straight to the murdering. Batman’s not a hero in this movie. He’s a thug with nicer toys.

This picture gets more unsettling the longer you look at it.

Batman v Superman: Best Friend, Bitter Enemy

But what about the main event? The whole reason we are here? It’s an exciting premise, to finally witness the event we have been promised for three years. God vs. Man; Day vs. Night; the greatest gladiator match in history, as Luthor says.

Only, it’s kind of not.

Not even for a second.

In an effort to pit our two heroes against each other, Lex kidnaps Superman’s mom, Martha. Bring me the head of the bat, he says, and your mother shall be returned safely. Let’s go ahead and stop there for a second. Apparently, Lex Luther, the most intelligent man in the world, could not think of a more elaborate plan than that of (deep breath) Green Goblin, Doc Ock, Sandman, Venom, Green Goblin again, and that’s just in the Spider-Man movies. But hey, if it ain’t broke, right? They needed a shortcut from A to B, and since our heroes have as much personality as cardboard cut-outs, I can see how this would be at least passable reason for our boys to throw down.

But he did do better than Electro so... I guess that something?

Except that the entire reason Luthor wants Batty dead is because Batman stole the thing to kill Superman… which both men were going to use to kill Superman… huh… kinda seems like things would have worked out on their own, especially since Batman is already in pure murder-rage mode.

"I will fuck your rotting corpse!"

Superman flies to Gotham to confront Batman, and in a move that genuinely shocked me, asks for Batman’s help. In typical Snyder fashion, Batman responds with something akin to “I’m going to rip off your head and shit down your throat.” 

Stay classy, Wayne.

Superman beings his menacing walk towards the Caped Crusader, activating Wile E. Coyote-esqe traps, which he (naturally) is able to dismantle with ease. Superman, in no immediate danger, again tries to plea with the Dark Knight in order to… no, wait, he throws him through a fucking wall.

"Cause I had the time of my life!"
"Damn it, Clark, we're fighting!"

This entire fight could have been avoided if Batman had just taken a fucking breath and listened to what the Man of Steel had to say. In other words, HE JUST HAD TO BE THE GODDAMN BATMAN. But of course, we all know what happens next. We get about 10 minutes of the laziest, slowest, most apathetic fight in a superhero movie I have ever seen. It’s the equivalent of a superhero slap fight. Each time one of these powerhouses lands it hit, it takes the recipient of that hit about 3 minutes to waddle their way back up onto their feet. It’s like toppling over two obese people and taking bets on which one can get up the fastest. Only less exciting.

The fastest anyone moves in this fight.

Batman hits Superman with kryptonite gas and, since the sun never shines in the Snyder-verse, Superman can never fully recover leading to Batman besting The Last Son of Krypton. Batman is about to plunge the spear into Superman’s heart and fuck the bloody hole, when all of the sudden, Superman says it. The line that shall live in infamy. The line that will make or break the entire movie for you.

“Save Martha.”

Suddenly, Batman and Superman are best friends. They hug it out, get matching lower-back tattoos, and skip off merrily into the sunset holding hands.

"Kiss me, you fool!"

If you look at it from a psychological point of view, the line almost sorta works. In helping Superman save his mom, Batman is retroactively saving his own (who, remember, is also named Martha), which is the source of his dourness (duh). You want to look at it that way, awesome. Good on you. However, there is no redeemable quality in this fight that makes this line work for me. If the filmmakers were able to create a beautifully choreographed, emotional fight scene with real stakes on the line, I could forgive “Save Martha,” or at least look the other way. The problem is that they never do. We don’t care about Batman, we don’t care about Superman, and we don’t care about why they’re fighting. Hell, Snyder couldn’t even do the ONE THING he is good at as a director and make a visually fascinating fight. Everything falls flat. The characters, the movie, the terrible line they decided to use to resolve every issue. Like the rest for the film, this scuffle and this resolution are probably the most insulting things I’ve seen in a superhero movie. Congratulations, Green Lantern, you’re off the hook.

Let's fist-bump it out.

Dawn of the Justice League

But wait, there’s more! As if those three movies were not enough to keep you entertained (they weren’t), DC also decides that hey, why not throw in references and appearances to every other upcoming DCCU film coming down the pipe?

And you know what? Taken by themselves, most of these nods and references actually work. So let’s talk about the minor ones first. Batman’s future-look Knightmare sequence is pretty cool. DC channels Mad Max to create a visceral, dystopian look for a future under the rule of Superman. Granted, apparently every single soldier during the fight against Batman forgets that they are holding an automatic weapon, but that’s just the logic of the movie. I’ll buy it. 

My name is Bruce. My world is fire and blood.

The sequence ends with The Flash coming back in time and warning Batman not to trust Superman. Or something, I don’t know. The audio was pretty shitty. Seeing Flash on the big screen is enough to get any nerd excited, and to the critics who say that nobody outside of the inner circle of nerd would understand that cameo, I retort with the same could be said about the Nick Fury/Avengers reference at the end of Iron Man. Not everything is for everyone, get over yourselves.

I'm here to talk about the Justice League Initiative.

The viral video introductions to the rest of the Justice League were okay. Watching Aquaman break the sound barrier underwater was awesome, and seeing Cyborg being created in a Frankenstein-like manner had the same effect as an old Universal Studios monster movie. But the biggest connection to the bigger universe was, obviously, Wonder Woman. Seeing the character in action portrayed by an actress who genuinely looked like the only person having fun during this film was, for lack of a better word, thrilling. Gal Gadot was able to play the hardened Amazonian warrior with a bit of Selena Kyle thrown in the mix. It ended up being a lot of fun to watch the dichotomy and range in her brief yet powerful performance. And seeing the holy trinity on the screen for the first time together made my heart skip a beat (or it might have if it hadn’t been revealed in the trailer).

Spoilers!

Sadly, all of this content belongs in different movies, or at least be moved to another part of the movie. The Flash sequence comes immediately after a Knightmare, what comes immediately after Batman falls asleep trying to jailbreak a phone. The whole scene really slows down what was already becoming a sluggish pace for the movie (who woulda thought that Flash would have slowed down the movie, am I right?). The viral videos come to us immediately after Batman finishes sharpening his goddamn kryptonite spear on the skulls of his fallen enemies, and is on his way to fight Superman. The scene is literally the audience watching Wonder Woman read the email Bruce sent her for about 10 minutes before (what should have been) an epic fight scene. At the risk of evoking the other big comic book property, doesn’t that seem a little better suited for a post-credits scene? At least save it until after the Doomsday fight when it would made Batman’s “I thought she was with you” line make a bit more sense.

Dude, you literally just emailed her. World's greatest detective my ass.

Speaking of Doomsday, this entire sequence felt like it belonged to Justice League: Part I. Imagine how much more impactful Superman’s sacrifice would have been after he had surveyed the bodies of his fallen comrades; if he had no other choice but to pick up the spear and kill himself in order to kill Doomsday. It would have been a great cliffhanger/set-up for Justice League: Part II, and a great culmination of the DCCU up to that point. Instead, we get an unnecessary sacrifice (Wonder Woman seemed to have Doomsday pretty much handled, and the spear could have been handed off to literally anyone else), a waste of a villain, and a waste of what could have been a cinematic game-changer.

As a bonus, we also get a copy-cat villain from eight years ago.

Speed-Round

Since this article is running very long in the teeth (at least from my end; I hope you haven’t died of exhaustion halfway through reading this), here are just snippets of things I couldn’t organically fit into the four subheadings above.

Lex Luthor is not as irritating as I was expecting him to be, but he also didn’t do himself any favors by being Mark Zuckerberg 2.0. I hope he gets raped in prison, causing an impacted bowel, infection and eventual death so we never have to see him again.

The Batmobile just looks terrible. It reminds me of the mousetrap cars we had to make in 8^th grade, only with murder cannons strapped to the front. It’s also amazing how cartoony that entire sequence looked. Nolan used props and toys and managed to make something more realistic looking 10 years ago.

Without a proper fulcrum and lever, this thing probably won't go the required distance for full credit.

Lois Lane is fucking useless. From being held hostage by an African warlord, to being trapped under a pile of rubble and almost drowning, to going up to a known mercenary and asking him “Do I know you?!” it seems like Lois was the kid who should have died from eating too many marbles in kindergarten. I don’t understand how she made it this far in life without sticking a fork in an electrical socket. If her only reason for being is for Superman to save her, please just let her die. Everyone will be so much better off.

Knock that shit off! It sets a bad precedent!

Jeremy Irons as Alfred was great. I was afraid he would be a dark and gritty Alfred because the rest of the fucking movie. Instead, Scar was bitchy, hilarious, and brought much needed levity to the ensemble. Using him as the voice of reason and the only one in the film with a conscious was also a nice choice.

The one joke not told by Alfred in the movie was actually pretty funny. After Batman saves the life of Martha (Kent, not Wayne), he tells her “I’m a friend of your son’s.” “I kinda figured,” she replies, “the cape.” It’s a glimmering ray of light of what the movie could have been, and what future movies could be. It is possible to be dark and funny at the same time.

The fight scenes are really poorly done. We have exactly one good fight scene with Batman, and that was revealed in the final trailer. The Knightmare scene is like watching a Power Ranger fight the Putty People, the Doomsday fight is poorly tracked, CGI nonsense, and you already know my thoughts on the main event. Zack Snyder only really does one thing well. He just couldn’t do it in this movie.

I count four guns that nobody thinks to use and a bat about to feed on his next victim.

Why are knives the most powerful weapons in the DCCU? I know I wasn’t going to talk logic HOWEVER Batman’s suit can clearly deflect bullets, but a knife pierces his skin like butter. Superman gets fucking nuked in outer-space, but a spike through his chest is enough to earn him a funeral. I can overlook a lot of problems with this film, but “pointy things trump all others” is where I draw the fucking line.

Final Thoughts

If Warner Bros. had taken one of these storylines and given us a more focused narrative, the movie could have been great. We could have had a truly amazing Batman movie, Superman movie, or Justice League movie. Instead, they made a movie that is trying to be too many things, which only succeeds in being a failure for everyone involved.

I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job in leaving Marvel out of the discussion, but there is one comparison that I feel like I have to draw. I’ve been watching Daredevil on Netflix, and it’s incredible to me how much better of a “versus” story it is. See, these two stories share a lot. You have one vigilante that creeps just up to the edge, and another who thinks that there isn’t an edge; he must only do what is necessary. Both stories are dark, have brutal fight scenes, contain elements of the supernatural, and are part of a bigger shared universe. The only real difference is how they approach the story. Daredevil and Punisher spend an entire episode on the roof of a building arguing the concept and ramifications of morality. After a while, it gets pretty difficult to figure out who the viewer should agree with. The biggest debate Batman has with Superman is whether or not Batty should cut of Supes’ dick and feed it to him before he kills him. That’s not good story telling.

"You'll be eating your dick through a straw by the time I'm done with you!"

So why take the time, right? Why spend two weeks crafting a piece that ultimately amounts to every other bad review that is out there? Why spend over 3700 words taking the piss out of every fanboy/girl that will not concede the fact that this movie is not “ZOMG THE GREATEST COMIC BOOK FILM EVER”?

It’s because I feel like we deserve better.

If this is all you want from a superhero movie, if this is all you care to see your favorite characters do for the rest of their cinematic future, then please, disregard everything that I have said. Go give more money to Warner Bros., see the movie a thousand times, and buy the unrated Blu-Ray with 30 minutes of extra footage.

But I want more. I feel like we deserve to be able to leave every event movie like we just finished watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens (with half-a-stalk and eager to see it again). I want to be excited to buy the movie and listen to the commentary and delve into everything it took to make this film. As it stands, I have seen the movie once. Once was more than enough.

END

As always, thanks for reading, folks. Hey! Want another perspective on Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice? Click here to read an article by Thera Pitts: and individual who genuinely enjoyed the movie. And while we’re at it, do you like movies in general? Of course you do! Click here to read amazing reviews from Chris Kryaninko!

Be kind to each other.

-James