Too big for their boots
Tim Robey explores whether we’ve had enough of all these superheroes.
Are superheroes getting ideas above their station? Their takeover of Hollywood is unstoppable, as is the recruitment drive of emerging talent from across the world to direct and star in them. The endless popularity of these men in Spandex, and this year a woman in body armour, prompts an ever-growing clamour among devotees that we take them seriously as works of art — or possible Oscar contenders, which would be a first.
But all is not lost. Here comes Justice League to put the genre right back in its place, by reminding us how shoddy and maladroit the production line can be. Released this week, it is Warner Bros’ attempt to corral all its DC Comics stars — Batman, Wonder Woman, and three others we’ve barely met — into a gang’s-allhere supernova, much like Marvel’s The Avengers.
While critics generally admit this choppy, panicky film is a little better than its predecessors — Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and Suicide Squad — this isn’t saying much.
Will the reviews matter? Not particularly. Justice League surpassed $320 million worldwide in its first week of release. Critics can’t do much to hurt these productions, and the purpose of the films is certainly not to please us. It’s a bonus for the studios when one comes along that actually gets the thumbs up, like the zippy and unpretentious Thor: Ragnarok, or the widely welcomed (but weirdly overpraised) Wonder Woman.
There are smooth days on the assembly line, where everything clicks together nicely, and Jeff Goldblum, say, is handed a bright comeback opposite Thor. And then there are off days, where gears fall off, cogs grind in the conveyor and Jesse Eisenberg gives that excruciating performance in Batman v Superman. Results may vary, but the process is mercilessly the same. And this why it is difficult to consider any of these films as art. And it always will be.
They’re a product — designed to be avidly consumed by as many teenage boys as possible, while also keeping popcorn sales up in multiplexes from Timbuktu to Kalamazoo. If we want to get really cynical, some of the films feel like they exist only to get the next one made, introducing new characters for literally no other reason.
Yep, some are great fun, with the whiz-bang addictiveness of a sugar rush, but that’s not to say these should be taken any more seriously than the bad ones. The worst are often the ones begging the hardest for that very esteem. And there’s something meatheaded about the cries that come around every awards season for these studio tentpoles to be validated as art. Ponder for a minute the absurdity of weighing up (say) 12 Years a Slave and Iron Man 3 for the same accolade.
Wonder Woman, the most profitable live-action film ever directed by a woman, is getting a hefty push from Warner Brothers to be nominated for best picture and best director (Patty Jenkins). To date, no superhero film has made it this far up the ladder of Academy respect, a prejudice that routinely bothers fans. Tantrums were thrown back in 2008, when Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight was tipped for a best picture nomination and didn’t get one.
Titanic and The Return of the King are examples of effectsdriven blockbuster cinema that did sweep the board. And George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road, a sequel-cum-reboot that is pretty close to serving up a comic-book esthetic, was a rare feat, critically adored as well as being a blistering audience ride: a picture with heart, soul, guts and brains.
The difference between Miller’s film and Wonder Woman, so imitative of the rival Marvel style that it essentially amounts to Thor with a sex change, just comes down to Fury Road’s absolute distinctiveness. Miller’s creativity is light-years away from the assembly line. Critics knew it, audiences saw it and the film ascended to art.
Perhaps, in our dreams, George Miller might be able to magic a DC superhero film up to that level.
A decade ago, he was even attached to direct one. But the odds are massively against it, as they’re against anyone — the gifted Patty Jenkins included — who takes a turn as supervisor on the factory floor.