REVIEW: Alien (2003 Director's Cut)

Film, being an art form, is largely a subjective medium. Different movies appeal to different people with different tastes. The vast majority of things I write about here is entirely opinion-based, built off of my own thoughts and personal experiences. However, there are some instances where a film's quality can be measured on an objective scale (for better or for worse). Ridley Scott's 1979 film, Alien, is one such movie, in that it is unquestionably an objective masterpiece, seamlessly blending the genres of horror and sci-fi. The late 70's saw something of a revival for sci-fi movies; the novelty of space travel had worn off in the years since man walked on the moon and most science fiction was regarded as childish and cornball. Much like the titular creature in Alien, the genre was primed for rapid and radical evolution. Star Wars brought the concept of space adventures back into the public eye, re-framing classic story elements in a fantastical and imaginative world. Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey presented a view of a future that could very well happen, albeit in a far-out, shiny, and sterile fashion. Out of all the films of this sci-fi resurgence, Alien was the first to approach the concept of futuristic space travel as something not only mundane, but as something we might want to reconsider altogether.

The plot is as classic and straightforward as can be, incorporating age-old haunted house tropes in a new and fascinating locale. The crew of the space-freighter Nostromo is awakened from hyper-sleep after the ship's computer picks up a distress signal. As per company guidelines, the crew is required to investigate, touching down on a barren, primordial planet. An away-team is assembled to explore the source of the signal, a massive and foreboding derelict space craft. Once the crew is back on the ship, they discover that a hostile alien creature has stowed away on the Nostromo, skulking through its claustrophobic corridors and picking people off one by one. It's essentially a slasher in space, but to simply describe it as just that and nothing more would be a gross oversimplification, ignoring just why this film works as well as it does.

The most immediately striking element is the set design, care of Michael Seymour. The Nostromo is an industrialized maze, filled with tight hallways, dangling wires, and deceptive shadows. It's the perfect hiding place for a biomechanical creepy-crawly like the Xenomorph, in that we never know what could be lurking around each corner (or in the walls, or in the ceiling, or in the vents, or, well, anywhere for that matter). By contrast, the derelict ship (designed alongside the creature by the brilliant H.R. Giger) takes inspiration from Gothic architecture, boasting high, vaulted ceilings and intricate details. We spend the first part of the film getting acquainted with the cramped, manmade halls of the Nostromo; by the time we enter the derelict, the change in scenery is so radical that we immediately know something isn't quite right. The film revolves around a fear of the unknown and exhibits a tremendous talent for subverting audience expectations.

Alien is very much a slow burn; it isn't until a good half hour in that anything even remotely out of the ordinary happens. This sense of routine, of making space travel into something totally mundane, plays a big part in just what makes the movie work. The Nostromo isn't an intrepid starship in search of adventure and discovery, so much as it is the outer space equivalent of a big rig, hauling freight from one destination to another. The crew isn't a gang of strange and exotic spacemen; instead, they're simply a bunch of blue-collar working joes. The first time we meet them, they've just woken up from stasis and are making small talk over the breakfast table, discussing their pay and the quality of the coffee, cigarettes in hand. The film goes a long way to sell the audience on its premise by making the world feel both believable and organic. In doing so, the premise becomes that much more real, a vital component of any effective horror movie. 

The film is also masterfully adept in manipulating an audience's expectations. I've said before that a well-crafted horror film will find a way to "train" the viewer to respond subconsciously to specific cues, only to subvert those expectations when delivering the scare. For example, there's a scene early on in the second act in which Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), Parker (Yaphet Kotto), and Brett (Harry Dean Stanton) are looking for the newborn alien. The tension builds and builds as they open up a locker, only to find Ripley's cat, Jones, instead (in what is possibly the movie's only totally pedestrian jumpscare). Soon after, Brett wanders off to find the cat, only to come across the newly-grown alien instead. By now, a subconscious pattern has been established; looking for the alien means that they'll find the cat, looking for the cat means that they'll find the alien. Which is why, near the end of the film, we fully expect Ripley to run into the alien when she hears a noise she assumes to be her cat. Instead, the noise actually was the cat this time; cut to the alien menacing Parker and Lambert (Veronica Cartwright) instead.

For this particular Review, I decided to revisit the 2003 Director's Cut of the film, seeing as how I usually just default to the 1979 theatrical version. For all the praise I could heap upon this film, there's just very little that hasn't been said before; entire books have been written on why Alien is one of the greatest films ever made. That said, I find the Director's Cut to be quite intriguing in its own right (even if I still prefer the original version that released some 38 years ago). The changes are largely superficial and, for the most part, totally inconsequential. A few shots are added, some are removed, but there are only a handful of changes that drastically affect the picture itself. There's a shot that Ridley Scott decided to add back in that I sincerely wish remained in the theatrical version, in which we see the creature hanging from the rafters just moments before it attacks Brett. I'm a huge fan of the multiple "hiding in plain sight" moments in this movie, and this shot completely took me by surprise; the effect is chilling. There's also a strong moment where we see Lambert attack Ripley for not opening the airlock; while it helps feed the tension of the scene, it's understandable why it was cut, as it tends to draw attention away from the recently-facehugged Kane (John Hurt).

Most notable of these changes is a moment during the climax, in which a fleeing Ripley discovers the cocooned bodies of Brett and Dallas (Tom Skerritt). This scene was originally cut because it completely killed the pace of Ripley's frantic escape, but its inclusion in Scott's personal Director's Cut of the movie says something interesting, I feel. In the scene, we see Dallas and Brett slowly turning into alien eggs; from a modern context, we can say that this somewhat clashes with the since-established mythos of the creature (since the sequel, Aliens, introduces the idea of an egg-laying Queen). Scott has often referred to Alien as his baby, and expressed his distaste that the series has gone on to be nothing more than cheap, action/horror schlock. The Director's Cut was released in 2003; by then, the Alien franchise had long since gone down the drain with critical flops like Alien 3 and Alien: Resurrection (not to mention, the utterly braindead Alien VS Predator was but one year away). By reinstating the cocoon scene in the Director's Cut, Scott is separating his vision from everything that came after it; there is no Queen Alien, there are no Colonial Marines, there is no Dog Alien or Predalien or anything of the sort beyond that which he himself created. Just as with Prometheus, the inclusion of this cut scene feels like an attempt by Ridley Scott to exert some degree of personal control over his creation that has long since gotten away from what he originally intended it to be. 

Alien is a bonafide classic, one of the greatest films ever made both in terms of horror and science fiction. Everything about it, from the subtle, sweeping camerawork, to the naturalistic performances, to the beautiful and horrfying art design and special effects work of artists such as H.R. Giger, Carlo Rambaldi, and Ron Cobb, is just an unending joy to take in. The Director's Cut, while just slightly inferior to the original theatrical version, offers a fascinating look at what could have been. We can see not only what was originally planned for the film, but what Ridley Scott might have done differently after nearly 30 years of gestation and rumination. No matter what way you shake it, the film is mandatory viewing for anyone who loves the art of cinema. If you somehow haven't seen this one yet, turn out all the lights and settle in for a gorgeous nightmare that remains unrivaled to this day.

REVIEW: Suicide Squad

Every superhero has to have their arch-nemesis. Superman has Lex Luthor. Batman has the Joker. And the DC Expanded Universe, it seems, has a team of Warner Bros executives. After two less-than-good entries from Zack Snyder, the DCEU was sorely in need of a critical hit. While it's true that these films continue to be financially successful, a profitable but continuous weakening of DC's brand likely isn't the best course of action for this series to pursue. To many, including yours truly, David Ayer's Suicide Squad appeared to be the film that would break free from the constant drudgery we'd gotten thus far; most of the problems with Man of Steel and Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice could be attributed to the distinct talents of Zack Snyder and David S. Goyer. If any live-action DC film stood a chance of being any good this year, Suicide Squad was definitely that film. Unfortunately, it's worth noting that every other problem with Man of Steel and especially Dawn of Justice can be attributed to blatant executive meddling.

Based off of the comic of the same name, Suicide Squad follows a team of convicted supervillains assembled by one Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) for the express purpose of defending the United States from the emerging threat of metahumans. The logic here being that, should the Squad fail to fulfill their duties, they can be succinctly thrown under the bus, taking the brunt of the blame while the government gets off scott-free. The team, comprised of various rogues including Deadshot (Will Smith), Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), and Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), is placed under the command of Colonel Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) and deployed to Midway City in response to one of the Squad members, The Enchantress (Cara Delevingne), going AWOL and attempting to bring forth a cataclysmic event unto the world. Why the Flash doesn't just take care of it (considering he seems to be on top of just about everything from Central City to Australia), I'm honestly not sure.

This movie truly feels like the next chapter in the tragic comedy that is DC's attempts at a live-action adaptation in recent years. Following the mountains of negative feedback BvS received for being a dour, self-serious slog of an experience, Suicide Squad went through a number of reshoots and edits in order to inject more levity into the film. This seemed like a fairly smart move (since plenty of quality films have gone through reshoots in the past, not to mention how obviously well the "witty action team-up" formula has worked for Marvel), but alas, the gods of fate did not see fit to smile on DC. When the film attempts to establish a dour or dramatic mood, it actually works well (unlike the entirety of the gray, drizzly melodrama found in Dawn of Justice). This sense of atmosphere is shattered on a regular basis thanks to the addition of unfunny, lazily-read joke lines that were clearly added in in a daft attempt to ape the Marvel formula. Every bit of "levity" that was added in the reshoots sticks out like a sore thumb, since it doesn't mesh in the slightest with the rest of the film (not to mention, it all sounds like it was written in an afternoon by someone with only the loosest grasp on the concept of comedy). 

Thanks to the studio-mandated reshoots and edits, the pacing of this film is left a complete and utter wreck; the first act was my favorite part, since it features some really strong worldbuilding, but even I must admit that the way it was put together was amateurish at best, embarrassing at worst. We jump from scene to scene, location to location, pop song to pop song with all the smoothness of a pint of spoiled milk. Call me a cynic, but this brightly-colored film about a gang of misfits and marauders who come together to save the world from a poorly fleshed-out villain in a stupid outfit who hopes to use glowy blue cosmic energy to destroy a planet (all to the tune of instantly recognizable chart-toppers) at times really just comes off as a blatant rip-off of Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy. I really have no idea how I came to that conclusion, but I just can't shake this feeling of familiarity. It's especially tragic, since the film honestly really works when it's doing its own thing. There are parts of this movie that exemplify exactly how DC should be handling their various film properties; not copying the Marvel formula outright, embracing the fun and color of the source material, but still producing something that feels unique. There are aspects of this movie that I love, but they are all handicapped by the intrusive meddling of studio executives (who, if certain leaks are to be believed, are responsible for leaving various scenes and moments of character development and growth on the cutting room floor).

As much as the studio interference put a damper on things, I must say that this film features a host of genuinely strong performances. While not everyone feels entirely necessary to the plot (Killer Croc and Katana, I'm looking in your direction), the characters we spend the most time with are appropriately endearing. Will Smith does his usual thing here, but I must say it fits the role well. It's been a good long time since we've seen this kind of classic, smart-ass Will Smith, and it's nice to see him back in action. Jai Courtney's Captain Boomerang was a personal favorite of mine, remaining just as over-the-top and deplorable as his comic book counterpart (though some less-savory aspects of his personality were reportedly edited out and will hopefully be restored in the inevitable Director's Cut). I was also pleasantly surprised by Jay Hernandez as the pyrotechnic Diablo; I knew absolutely nothing about this character or actor going in, but he ended up being easily one of the best aspects of the entire film. Margot Robbie was the one I was most worried about, seeing as how the character of Harley Quinn has lost her way somewhat in recent years (going from "tragically sympathetic villain" to "basically Deadpool, but with more cheesecake"); I wasn't entirely sure if this interpretation of Harley would be one I would enjoy. However, I am glad to report that Margot Robbie completely and utterly nails it here. This is the classic Timm/Dini-era Harley I know and love and I'd honestly be hard pressed to imagine a better way to depict Harleen Quinzel in live action form. 

The real MVP of the cast by far, however, is Viola Davis as Amanda Waller. Her character is known for being cunning and ruthless in equal measure, an angle that Davis pulls off flawlessly. She completely dominates any scene she's in, giving a performance that perfectly adapts the Wall from the page to the screen. That said, despite every strong performance, despite every spot-on characterization, this movie does have a glaringly obvious weak link. Which brings me to Jared Leto, as the Joker.

I will not mince words here. Jared Leto is, by far, the absolute worst live-action Joker ever committed to screen. Putting aside how his character barely has any relevance to the plot (aside from the obvious connection to Harley Quinn), his performance comes off as bland and derivative, while at the same time feeling as though he's trying way too hard. I could get past the oh-so edgy design if only his characterization made him feel like the Clown Prince of Crime, rather than a common gangbanger with a clown motif. The Joker has never struck me as the kind of guy to own a trendy night club or wear copious amounts of bling; that always seemed more like something befitting the Penguin or Two-Face or even Carmine Falcone. Basically, the kind of chump mobsters that the Joker typically eats for breakfast. This is a Joker that is trying very hard to be "cool", which is precisely why it doesn't work. This is not a Joker who would be found hanging around an abandoning carnival or poisoning crime lords. This is a Joker who wears fashionable clothes and has legitimate feelings for Harley Quinn. I understand that my argument here essentially boils down to "this isn't the kind of Joker that I like to see", but that's only because I like to see a Joker who's at least somewhat faithful to the source material beyond his name and taste in hair color.

To be perfectly fair, considering he's in the film for a collective ten minutes at most, Jared Leto really doesn't have enough screentime for me to fully judge his performance (especially considering we don't get to see how he plays off of Ben Affleck in the batsuit). However, I can say with 100% honesty that, going off of what I saw, I'm very much hoping for a drastic redesign in time for the standalone Batman film. No matter what David Ayer says, it's not too late to say he really WAS Jason Todd all along and that the REAL Joker was just over there, being played by Willem DaFoe this entire time.

Suicide Squad is a film that I almost feel bad condemning. With the exception of Jared Leto, no one really gives a spectacularly bad performance, the direction was solid, the action was fun, and you can really tell that there was a half-decent movie there at one point. However, thanks to the ineptitude of Warner Bros, a potentially fun, solid comic book flick was chopped up and stitched back together in the sloppiest way possible. There are aspects of the film that work perfectly, but that doesn't excuse the obvious problems that are present here. I feel as though a Director's Cut would (and hopefully will) be objectively better than what I saw, but all my wishful thinking doesn't change the fact that the supposed final product released into theaters is heavily, heavily flawed. It's the best DCEU movie to date by a fairly wide margin, but then again, that's not exactly saying much.

REVIEW: Batman V Superman- Dawn of Justice

2016 is looking to be the year of the superhero squabble; on the Marvel front, we've got Daredevil fighting The Punisher and Captain America fighting Iron Man. Of course, we also have DC's Caped Crusader facing off against the Man of Steel in Zack Snyder's Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice. 2013's Man of Steel was a flawed film; heavy on style and destruction, yet lacking that feel-good, inspiring kind of substance that makes Superman into the iconic character known throughout the world as a symbol of truth, justice, and the American way. For all its problems, it was not an irredeemable film by any means. We all knew it was to serve as a launching point for DC's own Cinematic Universe as they desperately tried to play catch-up with Marvel; with some luck, Man of Steel would be remembered as the black sheep of the franchise. An off-color, rocky start for an on-screen universe that would bring the iconic heroes of Detective Comics to the big screen in ways we've never seen before. Unfortunately, having seen Batman V Superman, I find myself having the same "better luck next time" kind of reaction I did when I finished watching Man of Steel three years ago.

The opening sequence is arguably the strongest part of the entire movie. In a few mere minutes, it manages to introduce us to the character of Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) and completely establish his origins and motivations. It knows we've seen Batman's origin a million times before and wastes no time getting it out of the way before diving right in to the overindulgent climax from Man of Steel, this time shown from Bruce Wayne's perspective. Blaming Superman (Henry Cavill) for the casualties and destruction he witnessed firsthand, Bruce Wayne steadily becomes more and more obsessed with finding a way to counter the potentially destructive force that Metropolis' Man of Tomorrow represents. Meanwhile, Clark Kent hopes to use the power of the press to shed some light on the Batman of Gotham, who has become increasingly brutal on criminals in recent years. Greasing the wheels of the conflict is billionaire CEO and mad scientist, Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg), hoping to pit the two caped heroes against one another to further his own vaguely-defined goals.

One of my biggest problems with Man of Steel was that it seemed to miss the point of Superman. Sure, Jor-El's speeches were inspiring and the "first flight" sequence was the highlight of the film, but overall it was a much more dour take on the character than was necessary. Superman is meant to represent all that is good in the human spirit; a humble-yet-confident everyman who uses his immense power to do the right thing simply because it's the right thing to do. The problem with Zack Snyder's take on the character is that he's less of a protagonist and more of a plot device; less of a relatable Kansas farmboy and more of a beleaguered alien messiah. One of my hopes for Batman V Superman was for the movie to give me a reason to feel good about Superman again. Something that makes my spirit swell the way the classic John Williams score or an excerpt from All-Star Superman might. There's a scene very early on in the film in which Lois Lane (Amy Adams) is captured by a terrorist cell in the middle east. When things start to go south, a militant cocks his gun and aims it at the head of Lois' traveling companion; as a Superman fan, I began grinning, since surely I knew what was about to happen. The music would swell and Superman would swoop out of the sky, rescuing this man from certain doom. Imagine my surprise when the trigger was pulled and this character (whom the director later confirmed to be Superman's pal, Jimmy Olsen) takes a bullet point-blank to the face, dying instantly.

It's fine to have a darker, more serious take on a comic book figure; I'm honestly glad that DC is exploring a tone different from that of Marvel's lighthearted blockbusters. However, Superman is a property that should most definitely never be described as "bleak", "joyless", or "heavy-handed". The character is meant to be a beacon of hope, so as to contrast with the dour, pessimistic Batman. The film portrays Superman's do-gooding almost as a burden, something he feels obligated to do for all of us puny humans so that we'll continue to tolerate his presence on our world. When he rescues a small girl from a fire or saves a space capsule from an explosion on the launch pad, there's no joy or warmth to be found in his good work. Unless he's saving his mother or Lois Lane, Henry Cavill looks like he'd honestly rather be doing anything else with his time, and that is an objectively wrong way to portray Superman. It's a cold, artificial performance totally unbecoming of the character. This movie commits the mortal sin of portraying Superman in a way that focuses almost entirely on the fact that his biology is alien, rather than how his heart is wholly human. The fact that I actually thought "oh boy, he's gonna do a Superman thing" when he saved someone who wasn't Lois Lane during the climax should tell you all you need to know about this interpretation.

Thankfully, the overly dreary tone here works to the full advantage of Batman, who honestly feels like the real main character of the film. While it's not without its flaws, I feel safe in saying that this is the best live-action interpretation of Batman and Alfred (Jeremy Irons) I've ever seen. There's appropriate amounts of detective work, brooding, banter, and acrobatic fisticuffs that are a legitimate joy to watch in action. As excellent as I found Affleck's portrayal to be, however, this does break one of the golden rules when it comes to Batman; he does kill people. That's not to say that Batman has never dabbled in a bit of murder from time to time; from his first appearance over 75 years ago, to the 1989 Tim Burton adaptation, to the classic The Dark Knight Returns (a graphic novel that clearly and directly inspired large parts of this film), the Dark Knight has taken his fair share of lives. However, going by the most widely-accepted version of the character, the Batman does not go out of his way to kill anyone. There are a few deaths in this film that are indirect and therefore excusable (for example, a henchman who falls victim to his own hand grenade), but the sheer amount of wanton carnage in the over-the-top (and altogether pointless) Batmobile sequence crosses the line for me. There's a number of ways that Batman can incapacitate his foes without resorting to flat-out murdering them with machine guns and missiles. Usually when Batman kills someone, it's treated with a certain degree of gravity; aside from one specific (and legitimately strong) moment, the film never lingers on how many people Batman directly murders in cold blood. However, writing that into this movie would probably require some degree of clever thought, a department in which the film is somewhat lacking.

Filling the role of our main antagonist, we have Alexander "Lex" Luthor Jr, played curiously enough by Jesse Eisenberg. A surprising casting decision that is sure to be divisive amongst moviegoers and fans. I personally found myself torn; I quite enjoyed this interpretation of Lex Luthor as something of an eccentric trust fund baby in the beginning. Whenever he was on screen, Eisenberg seemed to radiate the feeling that he felt he was smarter than everyone else in the room, a trait that is 100% Lex Luthor. However, it's important for a villain such as this to be able to back that claim up with actual intelligence and trickery, and this is where the character falls flat. This is a Lex Luthor with little motivation and absolutely no end-game for his fiendish plan. When one thinks of Lex Luthor, the greatest criminal mind of our time, one thinks of Machiavellian schemes that end with Superman being completely unable to take any meaningful action. Even if the day is saved, Lex still wins. Here, Lex's plan involves manipulating Superman and Batman into fighting one another. We can understand that he'd be fine with seeing Superman either proven to be an imperfect menace or dying at the hands of the Bat, but his plan raises a great many other questions about his motivations. Why exactly does he hate Superman? Is it mere jealousy, or something more? What is his beef with Batman in the first place? How'd he manage to deduce both Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne's secret identities, and why doesn't he use this information in any long-lasting, meaningful way? Why did he bother creating Doomsday at all? His motivation is more akin to that of the Joker or Riddler than Lex Luthor; all he does is cause chaos in an attempt to prove his mental superiority. Out of the three-way conflict of Superman, Luthor, and Batman, only the latter is given an appropriate amount of development and motivation; this might not have been a problem, had more of the two and a half hour runtime been spent developing our primary characters rather than advertising future Justice League movies.

It's no secret by now that there are a number of cameos, all from future Justice Leaguers; the Flash (Ezra Miller), Aquaman (Jason Momoa), and Cyborg (Ray Fisher) all make brief appearances to remind audiences that they exist and the DC Cinematic Universe is definitely something just as big and successful as what Marvel is doing. While the cameos were largely inoffensive (though I do think the camera lingered on Momoa for far too long, and this is coming from someone who's looking forward to James Wan's Aquaman moreso than everything else DC has in the pipeline), their place in the plot sticks out like a sore thumb. It's a scene that would have worked much better as a brief post-credits teaser than an intrusive coming attraction in the middle of the climax.

There's also the matter of Bruce Wayne's frequent dream sequences. While the majority of them act to the film's advantage, offering a bit of that visual flair that Snyder has such a knack for while also delving a bit into the mind of the Bat, one in particular is nothing more than a clear and obvious teaser for the coming Justice League film. Normally I wouldn't care too much, as it was a fairly exciting and well-shot sequence. However, the implications it raises are just too baffling to ignore (fair warning, I am going to get into mild spoiler territory for this paragraph alone). The dream ends with a warning from what appears to be a time-traveling Flash, telling Bruce Wayne that, in order to prevent the horrible future he's witnessed, he needs to track down all the members of the Justice League and assemble them before it's too late. However, this warning comes inside of the dream, before Bruce wakes up. I know that the Speed Force is essentially magic and thus does whatever the hell the writer needs it to do, but is the implication here that the Flash traveled into Bruce Wayne's dream (before Bruce Wayne ever met Barry Allen) in order to show him a vision of the future? Why not have the Flash appear out of the time stream in real life, considering time travel is one of his powers? Why not have Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), a character based around myth and magic, be the one to receive prophecies of doom and set out to unite the Justice League? I'm nitpicking here, sure, but this just seemed like the most roundabout and confusing attempt at foreshadowing I think I've ever seen.

By and large, the cast does a fair job. For as alien as Henry Cavill's performance is, the fact that he actually does feel like Superman the few times he does appropriately Supermanny things makes me think that the issues brought up by his performance are due more to poor direction and a weak script rather than flat-out bad acting. Ben Affleck and Jeremy Irons are by far the highlights here; their scenes flow wonderfully thanks to their mutual passion and natural chemistry. This is the Alfred and Master Wayne we all know and love, done just right. Gal Gadot is serviceable as Princess Diana of Themyscira, though she hardly has enough screentime for me to truly pass judgement (I suppose that will have to wait until next year's Wonder Woman movie). Unfortunately, Amy Adams, while a truly enjoyable actress elsewhere, is just a terrible Lois Lane and arguably the worst thing about this. Her character serves to do absolutely nothing than play Anne Darrow to Superman's King Kong, being in the right place at the right time to help further the plot. She sucks up far too much screentime with a dull-as-dishwater subplot involving someone selling munitions to terrorists (I'll give you exactly one guess as to who it is) and gets across exactly none of the charisma or spunk that the character is known for.

With everything I've had to say about this film, the cruelest irony is that I didn't even hate it. It's the most solid five out of ten I think I've ever seen. The action is sparse and overindulgent, yet it's still cool to see Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman teaming up to fight evil on the big screen. There's a lot of decent moments, but the pace is a disjointed hatchet job that flows like poorly-mixed concrete. The music (care of Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL) is really quite excellent, but we don't end up really caring about any of the characters that these pulse-pounding themes are meant to represent.

Honestly, I feel as though all of this film's problems can be attributed directly to Zack Snyder and executive meddling. The studio is all too eager to catch up with Marvel, even if that means bogging their product down with enough cameos and teasers to sate an entire phase of Marvel films. Meanwhile, Snyder clearly doesn't know or care enough about the source material to deliver a satisfying adaptation. While it's not fair to judge a film strictly on the grounds of being different from its source material, any adaptation does hold a certain degree of responsibility to accurately represent that which it is adapted from; it's fine to divert from the origins of a property (Christopher Nolan proved with his Dark Knight trilogy that such an approach can work out okay), but Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice just feels sloppy. It's time for Warner Brothers to ditch Snyder and bring in an actual auteur; a Guillermo Del Toro or a George Miller. Someone who can do these iconic characters justice while still delivering a well-made and satisfying film underneath it all. 

As it stands, DC's had strike one with Man of Steel and now a foul tip with Batman V Superman; they've made contact with the ball this time, but they still haven't made it to any bases. They need to hit a home run real soon, or they're out. There's elements of this series so far that are promising; elements which give me hope for projects like Ben Affleck's standalone Batman movie and James Wan's Aquaman. Hopefully, this franchise will find its way into the proper creative hands soon, so the potential that remains doesn't go to waste.