It’s a bird! It’s a plane! What is it?

But I can’t do this all on my own
No, I know, I’m no Superman



Superman’s latest cinematic adaptation is like the Where’s Waldo version of the man with an S on his chest. If you find him you win the red underpants. The catch though is you will have to extract it from Keanu Reaves who after his post matrix trauma stole them right after Iron man and Transformers gave birth to their bastard child. Both parties admit that one night stands should end as soon as the sun rises. The mistakes that result otherwise are hybrid breeds that are bound to develop incurable conditions and not live beyond a few years of their conception.

The makers of this anomaly however felt that all strange life forms deserve some amount of dignity, even if you can’t love them. So they tried very hard to grant him that and in a moment of unprecedented inspiration they came up with – Man of Steel.  The blinding flash of inspiration does not stop there because the makers of this CJI mechanic shop start from the beginning. Such steely resolve to avenge the DC comics by Zack Snyder shows how much they care. Infact the overwhelming resolve to treat a special child with forced affection becomes suffocating. Especially since you realize during the first few minutes of the film that it’s a façade. They try and cover it up as well as they can but if Superman does not have his underpants there is something very wrong.

The film is robs the superhero if his identity. Zack Snyder has a watchman hangover reflected in awkward metallic contraptions that are probably constructed out of Transformers scrap. A redone detailed history of Krypton destroys the foundation upon which the character had landed upon and had developed over the years. It’s a sad devolution especially for Superman fans because he is now perpetually left mid air. The man who stops planes and saves lives is heroic because he lands back on his feet as Clark Kent, an alter ego so pale that he is almost a wallflower. And that was his magic. The fact that it’s far more difficult to remain oridinary. Clark Kent was what made him Superman.

This Man of steel however is gleams with a metallic sheen. Clark Kent is overshadowed and the film is a loud, overbearing assault on the senses. Christopher Nolan and David S Goyer went though all the post production effects and threw them in. Zack Snyder lacked the good sense or any sense for that matter to filter them out and mashed out what was meant to be a darker, more evolved version – in their heads. Nolan tried to do what he did with Batman, where he succeeded since you saw the coming of age of a man anguished by his past, battling his demons and still trying to save Gotham. Here, the character is devoid of any depth. Its dark and metallic but so flat that it just asserts my earlier point of hybrid babies that don’t last. Add to this Amy Adams who on any given day is reminiscent of poufy Cinderella sleeves from Enchanted and the chemical imbalance is enough to make the DC comics people clinically depressed. I know because I had to schedule an emergency appointment with my therapist.

The most important question I have though is where in the world were his red underpants?


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