To most, Justice League might pass for fun, in that it is a safe bet for the studio to bring back all the money pumped into the project; both intentionally or otherwise. And that could be more than enough for the DCEU to move forward with more additions to its spectrum. However, here’s the problem: as a film—and keeping in mind the news of its troubled production—Justice League is also precisely what you would be afraid it would be.
To write this is, on a personal level, quite heartbreaking—the writer of this piece has passionately and vociferously defended both Man of Steel and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. While director Zack Snyder’s first two films in this arc may have suffered a polarizing audience reception, it shone brightly in ambition and a deep understanding of its own identity—two aspects the director’s third lacks.
Sure, his latest might have some hollow callbacks to his trademarks—the opening titles remind you of a cheap knockoff of Watchmen—but is the first film to feel entirely unlike him, considering his immaculate visual filmmaking style. Add to that the barrage of checkbox-friendly quips and the cringe-worthy sexist humor (Aquaman’s confession of his objectification of Wonder Woman, and that Flash moment that’s in there because obviously), and there’s a lot more to be exasperated by than to praise here.
Quite like the number of problems that plagued the DCEU’s Suicide Squad, [Justice League] is the kind of black hole the studios seem to have willingly pushed themselves into following their decision to cut down an already distilled 3-hour cut of Batman v Superman by an extra half-hour.
Unfortunately, there isn’t much to praise here either—the functional performances of Oscar-winning actor-director Ben Affleck (Argo), standout performer Ezra Miller (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them), and Hollywood favorite Gal Gadot are but feeble attempts to sail a sinking ship to shore. Everything from the misguided writing to the borderline-offensive tonal deficiencies and what-have-you cannot make up for how distasteful and empty the film can make you feel like as the credits roll.
(And unlike with most movies boasting after-credit scenes, sitting through the credits here do end up feeling like a chore).
This is understandable. Quite like the number of problems that plagued the DCEU’s Suicide Squad, their latest universe-binding film is the kind of black hole the studios seem to have willingly pushed themselves into following their decision to cut down an already distilled 3-hour cut of Batman v Superman by an extra half-hour. Save for an impressively made Wonder Woman, thus, every other film within the franchise seems to feel unsurprisingly hasty and, consequentially, sloppy.
At the end of the day, though, it all doesn’t matter to its core audience—all they have hit the movies for is to see their heroes come alive on screen. That, however, doesn’t change just how much of a self-inflicted black hole Justice League ultimately feels like to the viewer. It is not great. It is not terrible. It’s a movie that strips itself off its own unique voice—the metaphysical overtones, the commentaries on power and the God complex, and the ever-relatable sociopolitical climate the world is plagued by—replacing it with the kind of jazzy-but-painfully-hollow narrative you would come to expect from any film by John Moore (Max Payne).
Quite ironic, this, considering the film centers around hope, but ultimately makes you feel cynical about your love of cinema. And that is just too much to handle.
