Despite not doing MCU-esque numbers, Man of Steel enjoyed a successful box office, becoming the highest grossing Superman movie ever and the second highest grossing reboot of all time (behind Amazing Spider-Man). Mixed critical reviews didn’t seem to have hurt the commercial success of the movie, and with Marvel’s shared comic book universe going from strength to towering strength, WB/DC were eager to catch up. Director Snyder was keen to have Superman face Batman in his next film, and this combination of factors led to the announcement of what would become Dawn of Justice, less of a Man of Steel sequel and more of a pilot for the shared universe the studio hoped to create.

Enraged by the loss of life in Metropolis during Superman’s battle against Zod, Bruce Wayne becomes convinced that the Man of Steel is a threat he must deal with before it’s too late. For his part, Clark Kent is aghast at the violence of Gotham’s cowled vigilante, and sets out to put an end to his reign of terror. As the two inexorably move toward conflict with one another, it becomes clear that their enmities are being stoked from the shadows by eccentric entrepreneur Lex Luthor.

Fair to say, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (hereafter BvS) is one of the more controversial entries in the superhero movie genre. Hugely anticipated, massively budgeted, and starring two of the most iconic superhero characters (with a cameo by a third), this almost feels like a project that was doomed never to live up to expectations. But in truth, having sat down for this re-watch, it occurred to me that the usual suspects in the list of reasons cited for this movie’s ‘failure’ either don’t quite ring true for me or miss the deeper, underlying fault that it has.

Of course, the fanboy moans started early on this one, with (you guessed it) outrage over a casting decision. Although it must be pointed out – against the vitriol directed at Ben Affleck when his casting as Batman was announced, the rumbles of discontent directed at Keaton’s casting in the cape or the confused head-scratching that followed Ledger’s announcement as Nolan’s Joker seem mere polite coughs by comparison. A massive outpouring of hate greeted the announcement of ‘Batfleck’, directed both at the man himself and the studio, and many so-called ‘true-fans’, already outraged at Snyder’s apparent perversion of the Superman mythos, loudly declared they would boycott the movie on principle.

In hindsight, it’s difficult to escape the notion that perhaps those fans feel a little silly now, what with Affleck’s brooding, sarcastic portrayal of a damaged, cynical, homicidally violent Batman being one of the standout things about the film. Snyder was open about basing his version of Batman on the Frank Miller Dark Knight Returns aesthetic, and that comes across strongly in every aspect, from the grey and black costume to the accentuated muscle mass build of Affleck himself. This is a Batman who’s seen more than his fair share of the bad side of humanity, and twenty years in the business of enforcing his own brand of justice on the mean streets of Gotham has taken its toll. Snyder – ever the fan of deconstruction when it comes to these mythical figures – presents a brutal and uncompromising picture of the sort of mental toll and physical demands that lifestyle places on Bruce Wayne, and Affleck plays the role like he was born to it. Wisely eschewing the ‘Bat-Growl’ of Bale for a voice modulator (a la the CW’s portrayal of Oliver Queen) allows Affleck the quiet resignation of delivery in both halves of the role that are required. As Bruce, he’s a conscientious boss, genuinely hurt by the misfortunes that befall his employees; he’s a condescending asshole, attending parties of the rich and famous with the sort of disdain that says not only am I richer than everyone else in this room, but I’m better in the only ways that count, and he’s a bitter, damaged man, driven by the firm conviction that the world is so bad that his own transgressions on his path to fixing it are meaningless by comparison. This is exactly the sort of man you would expect to be produced by two decades of violent vigilantism after witnessing the murder of his parents. And therein lies the deeper issue with the film, which I will come to later.

On the physical stuff, much was made of the ‘cross-fit bro’ approach of this Bruce Wayne to his training, which is again to wilfully miss the point of the character. If you’re going to spend your nights running around the city taking on criminals then a handsomely chiselled chin and a massive bank balance alone aren’t going to cover it. Batman needs to be at the peak of his physical condition, and obviously as he gets older (he’s mid-forties here) then that’s going to take more work. This again is a part of the deconstruction angle Snyder takes, in which you can also include Jeremy Iron’s Alfred, dressed in cargo pants and a sensible jumper, unshaven and every bit as snarky and jaded as Bruce himself. Unlike other screen incarnations, the pretence of a Butler/Master relationship has long since been dropped – this is more of a partnership of equals.

Superman here is also a darker, edgier version than we are used to. It seems that, with eighteen months since the battle in Metropolis, the people of the world are split as to exactly what to make of Earth’s most famous refugee. There are statues raised to him, and to many he is an almost Christ-like figure (because Snyder never met a metaphor in a character that he isn’t happy to hammer on aggressively forever) whereas to others he is a figure to distrust – an unknowable, frighteningly powerful super-being who could easily represent the greatest threat to a world he claims to be here to save.

On a personal level, here is where we start to see Clark really begin to struggle with the duality of his own nature, on multiple levels. At the core, there is the internal struggle of a man who presumed he was fulfilling some great responsibility bestowed upon him by both his fathers, but who finds that the reality doesn’t meet with the theory. It isn’t that Clark wants to be worshipped, nor that he necessarily feels the people of Earth should be grateful, but when he tries to do the right thing and still finds himself vilified, it is tough for him to cope. The early incident in which he rescues Lois is a narratively weak structure on which to hang one of the plot’s central conceits – that Superman is being framed as a villain – and it feels like with more effort a better solution could have been devised. But the struggle itself – the internal conflict in a man who wields literally the biggest stick but doesn’t want to use it for anything but good, and still gets vilified because of what he is capable of doing rather than anything he’s actually done, is a solid study in deconstructing a character who has traditionally been narratively a little limited.

Alongside this is the struggle of Clark the man. He instinctively rails against the methods of Batman, who is delivering brutal ‘justice’ (in the form of brands) and is admittedly misled by Luthor’s scheming into believing that these brands are Batman deliberately causing prisoners to be murdered for bearing them (explained in a scene mystifyingly dropped for the cinematic cut). This is the other, not often examined side of the Superman/Clark conundrum, as Clark the reporter struggles to get his editor to take his concerns about Gotham’s vigilante seriously, knowing full well he could easily make Perry let him do whatever he wanted, but restraining himself.

Of course, Cavill is still not the most gifted of thesps, and it doesn’t help that much of what must be conveyed here comes from looks and nuance as much as dialogue. That said, he does his best, in what is a difficult part.

Ranged against the pair of them is eccentric entrepreneur/evil genius Alexander ‘Lex’ Luthor, played with gleeful enthusiasm by Jesse Eisenberg. Much was made on release of Eisenberg’s twitchy, high-strung performance, with some opining that he’d thought he was playing the Joker. I myself never minded the performance at the cinema and the more I see it, the more I appreciate it. In his quest to truly convey the Gods and Monsters type mythos which the DC comics have presented for years, Snyder here takes a very literal approach with a villain who sees Superman as a God, and who having suffered at the hands of an abusive father, long ago deduced for himself that ‘If God is all-powerful, he cannot be all-good, and if he is all-good, he cannot be all-powerful.’ The issue is that this sort of pseudo-philosophical musing forms a great proportion of Eisenberg’s dialogue, and it’s rather difficult to take seriously a villain who converses like he’s reading from an introduction to theological philosophy textbook. That’s my main fault with the character – the twitches, the falsetto notes to the voice, the giggling – all these I can cope with because they are mere aesthetic trifles which don’t affect the core of the character. The extent and level of his plotting (again mostly revealed in scenes dropped from the theatrical release) are such that one can be in no doubt this is an intelligent opponent for our two protagonists to match wits against. It’s just a shame his dialogue makes him so damned pretentious.

Perhaps the best thing that the film does (on every level) is in its introduction and treatment of Gadot’s Wonder Woman. From her signature theme (easily the standout track on a score that otherwise overwhelms with its crashy bombast) to her confidence and the charisma and power which ooze from the character to help her easily steal every one of the all-too-brief scenes in which she appears, Wonder Woman is easily the star of the show. Certainly her appearance in the big fight against Doomsday is the undisputed highlight in an otherwise fairly dull action climax, whose general mediocrity is only highlighted further by the anticlimactic nature of the titular conflict which proceeds it.

Which brings us to the title fight itself – Batman v Superman, the Dark Knight vs the Big Blue Boy Scout. Part of the film’s issue is that it builds so long towards this standoff that when it comes, it would be impossible to do it in a way that didn’t feel anticlimactic. Running to around ten minutes from a three hour film, it feels almost like it’s over before it begins, and no amount of faithfully designed Bat Armour or ludicrously overblown smashy-crashy fighting up and down buildings and even with a literal (bathroom) sink can disguise this. In truth, the earlier confrontations between Bruce and Clark at Lex’s party and later between Batman and Superman at the end of a chase sequence have more tension and intrigue than the actual throwdown itself, and what makes that most obvious is the way in which Snyder chooses to end it.

Endless essays await the curious across the internet on the subject of Martha, and it’s not a subject I feel inclined to address in huge depth here. Suffice it to say, in context – if you buy into the film as a whole, and if you happen to be watching the Ultimate Edition, which I heartily endorse as the better version of the movie – it makes a sort of narrative sense. I understand that it’s easy to stand back and mock it objectively – the idea that a commonality of mother’s names would mean so much that it stops a life and death fight – but there’s a lot more to it, if you are prepared to fully embrace the whole narrative journey of the movie. Thomas Wayne’s last word is Martha, something which sticks with his son through his whole life. In this version, Thomas is not a weak rich man who gives in to a mugger but a man who acts to defend his family aggressively and ends up dead. Martha is merely a victim, passively watching her murderer as he pulls the trigger. When Batman sees the victims of crime, it’s Martha’s face superimposed over them. When Bruce finds a little girl in the wreckage of Metropolis, he asks her where her Mother is. Thomas Wayne has nothing further to impart to a son who follows his dying example, to take the fight aggressively to those who would take from you. Martha Wayne is the one who haunts Bruce’s dreams and fuels the furnace of Batman’s fury. In that context, yes, it makes sense that the phrase ‘save Martha’, uttered to him in the midst of a murderous rage as his caped alter-ego, would give him pause.

What’s dumb about it is that Superman literally comes to Batman trying to talk in a reasonable manner, Batman doesn’t listen and gets his beating on, and then Superman just sort of goes ‘Oh well, yeah let’s batter him.’ It isn’t the ending of the fight itself that’s narratively stupid, it’s the fact that it happens in the first place.

But all of these are mere quibbles: let’s discuss the real, underlying problem that plagues both characters in this film. If there was one film that stood out to me by comparison as I did this re-watch, it’s Logan. Bear with me, because I understand that’s a little odd.

I liked Logan. In fact I loved it, as a film in and of itself. As much a love letter to the Westerns of old (in particular obviously Shane) as it was to its titular character, it was an emotional, raw, powerful testament to what can be done by a studio with enough faith in a filmmaker to let him interpret the material in his own way. It’s also disappointing for one key reason which has nothing to do with the film itself – it feels like the denouement to a much better, bigger, more involved franchise than it has. I enjoyed Origins (and I’m aware that leaves me in the minority) and I thought The Wolverine was ok, but both were fairly standard, throwaway comic book fare – the B tier of the genre, if you will. Logan, by comparison, feels like it belongs to an entirely different franchise. It’s an ending that feels like I should have had a much better run up to, with a series of maybe half a dozen films showing the same commitment to character, narrative and structure as it does, leading me to that undeniably beautiful conclusion.

I don’t pretend that BvS has the same impact or raw emotional honesty to it as Logan, but it does have that sense of wanting us to invest an awful lot in characters we have no reason to. Affleck’s Batman is a rough-edged, jaded, beaten down thug who has lost his sense of morality amidst the daily grind of violence in a city out of control. I want to see the story of how he got there. I want to witness the events the film merely gestures to as having happened in the past. When did Wayne Manor get destroyed? What happened to Robin? What single moment was it that tipped Batman from upholder of justice to murderous vigilante? It doesn’t matter, says the film, just enjoy this deconstruction of the character at the end of his span. But the point of this sort of deconstruction is that it can only truly carry weight and substance if we have a journey to go on with it, instead of just an endpoint to witness.

The same applies to Superman – in Man of Steel we see the birth of the man in the cape. We see the violent, destructive, messy beginnings of a man with unlimited power finding his feet and working out what exactly to do with it, how best to harness it to save his adopted world. Here, we see the cruel disappointment of the same man with a world that doesn’t care so much about his intentions as the consequences of his actions. The problem is, we never get to see the bit inbetween. It gets gestured at (again) – here’s a statue we put up for him, here are some super-fans etc. – but we never get to see Superman actually enjoy being Superman. We never get given that crucial middle step between him starting out and becoming disillusioned and that means that again, the deconstruction lacks the weight it should have.

This isn’t to say that had DC/WB gone down the Marvel route and punted out four or five solo movies with these and other characters first and then produced this exact same movie it would have been objectively massively improved, but I do think that the movie asks the viewer to do a heft amount of buy in to its characters in order to make it work – or at least make sense – and that buy-in is difficult when we have this huge gap where the development of these characters to this point would be.

It also bears mention that Snyder here kind of wants to have his deconstruction cake and eat it – the point of a deconstructive narrative is that it must perforce have detail. Nolan understood this with his Dark Knight Trilogy, and though it wasn’t above the odd bit of hand-waving, it largely followed through on Nolan’s obsessive level of detail orientation. Snyder on the other hand is more of the Grant Morrison school of persuasion on the subject frustratingly often (nobody pumps up the tyres on the Batmobile, it’s a made up story, to paraphrase the comic book writer on the subject). Too often, BvS just assumes its audience will accept some plot gap or weird conceit of the narrative ‘because comic book movie’ but that jars with the level of deconstruction being attempted elsewhere.

I don’t honestly think it deserves half the criticism or most of the bile that’s thrown at it, and I think Snyder actually makes a lot of smart, intriguing choices with the film. Unfortunately, it can’t help but feel shoehorned, with too many things being crammed in (including dream sequences that we must assume – for now – will go unfollowed up) and then a theatrical cut which stripped much away that actually made the narrative work. ‘Failure’ is a relative word, given the insane box office numbers the film did, but I will always wonder what might have been had the studio exercise just a little more patience.