Do you remember Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice?
It was not a good movie. There are those that would argue that it was a good super hero movie, but they are wrong and I resent their willingness to apply a lower standard to my favorite things just because they pity nerds. They can keep it.
It is not a good movie for a lot of reasons: the pacing is bad, filled with long, meaningless scenes and plodding action sequences. The inclusion of Wonder Woman is forced, as she adds nothing to the movie. The fact that she was the best part of it is not a credit to the movie: it is an indictment. The script needs another pass. The themes are confused and at odds with themselves. The foreshadowing is seldom paid off and when it is it is unsatisfying.
But it’s greatest crime is mis-characterization of its ultra-valuable icons.
Superman is an immigrant that wants to be loved by his new world. He strives. It’s something people don’t get about Superman because he is so powerful and people don’t get that at his core is dogged perseverance. Batman overcomes every disadvantage. He is ten steps ahead, even ahead of the audience. He wins. Wonder Woman is a queen. She is regal. This is why Cheetah is such a constant and effective foil for her. She essentially mirrors Wonder Woman, except that she is savage and Wonder Woman is regal. She rules.
You don’t get these ideas very clearly in B v. S, except maybe with Dianna, which, I think, is why she is preferred so strongly to everyone else in that movie. She comes off (more than the others, at least) as true to her iconic character. The thing is, with the possible exception of Wonder Woman, the ‘Holy Trinity’ of the Justice League are basically as ubiquitous as Mickey Mouse or Bugs Bunny. People know Superman and Batman. Spider-man: Homecoming did what these movies should have done years ago: skip the origin and move on with life. There is almost no one that cares that also does not know that these Mega-Orphans are friends, that Batman is all-human, that Superman is stupid-strong, and so on and so on and so on. Ringing the bell of who these people are should be a slam dunk. That’s the part you don’t have to figure out.
But, nerd: isn’t it boring if we just keep repeating the same stories over and over again?
First off: no. Just, “No.” There are academics that would argue that there are just 10 types of stories, or seven, or two, or even one: Man versus himself. Look it up: it’s fun.
But forget those poindexters. Nobody likes academics anyway, right?
Look at the popularity of Avatar: the Last Airbender, Rick and Morty and Stranger Things or the inevitable profiteering strategy of constant remakes, sequels and reboots in Hollywood. The good ones hearken in our hearts to great stories from before, and the bad ones, nevertheless, have a pull so strong that making them will never cease to be a “safe” strategy for the Biz.
Secondly (call-back to three paragraphs ago), the trick is not to try to re-invent these characters from scratch, or perform such a weird turn from their core that they are barely recognizable. Total reinvention might have the potential to be amazing (Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight) but it is much more likely to be bad (Macaulay Calkin in Suicide Squad) and may make the ultimate mistake of just being forgettable. Instead, the goal should be to reinvent yourself as a storyteller within the confines of the pallet you have chosen.
Consider the character of Mad Max.
By the time of Fury Road, Max is a known quantity. He doesn’t have a character arc. No more than Clint Eastwood in Fist Full of Dollars or Conan the Barbarian in… Conan stuff. We are not expecting Max to turn over a new leaf or reveal new, hidden layers. We know who he is and we are relishing the chance to watch the world break upon his craggy shores. In Fury Road, Furiosa is the protagonist. Mad Max is the POV character most of the time, but she is the one acting, changing and moving to make something better happen, including taking action to involve Max. Max is just a force of nature. He does what he does. Conan, too, just does what’s on the label.
Most of the time, characters like Max and Conan need other characters with them to help us, the audience, answer questions that they themselves won’t even ask. “How can we stop the wizard?” “Can we trust the gas boyz?” “Did that camel need to be punched?” This is where a scrappy thief, or twitchy warboy, or brightly dressed ward/ sidekick comes in as a narrative stand-in for the audience. A “Watson” for the implacable Sherlock Holmes.
But what does this have to do with writing Superman or Batman movies?
Everything.
The movie The Dark Knight Rises was trying to show the effect of the man crumbling beneath the weight of the unknowable legend. All-Star Superman challenges the invincibility of the Man of Steel. Batman: White Knight shakes up the premise of the evil, psychopathic Joker and Batman as his righteous oppressor. These are each excellent, but each of these puts the reader in the uncomfortable position of not believing in the fundamental elements of their respective worlds for a time. By the end, each reaffirms the core characters in even more certain terms than before, and I believe it is this adherence which sets them apart from other “Elseworlds-type” variants which do not return to form in the end. It’s why we like them.
Several writers or directors have said over the years that they would never want to write anything for Superman, because they are not interested in a character that has everything, needs nothing or cannot be hurt. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of Superman and is often used to justify radically “re-inventing” him as a darker, moodier or more “human” character. But I think it is simply a failure of creativity or research to not be able to write a compelling Superman story. Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne (in the comics) know perfectly well that Superman can bleed better than most.
But even if Superman really is an unknowable, monlithic myth-man… so what? Paddington, Peter Pan, Conan, Mad Max and James Bond are all at their best when nothing in the swirling miasma of activity around them can affect who they are or how they think. Are there parts of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies that drag or are just bad? Those are the parts where Jack isn’t acting the way we think he should. What are the good parts of those movies? The parts where Jack is “being Jack.” He should be monolithic. We want him to be monolithic.
Zach Snyder was just bringing some much needed freshness to the Superman story.
There is nothing wrong with Zach Snyder butchering Superman’s character in an effort to shoehorn him into an Ayn Rand-ian parable, if he must. However, there is also nothing saying that we need to remember these efforts with anything other than the same embarrassment we reserve for the Bat-nipples or the Bat-shark-repellent.
As a creative, Zach wants to stray from the paths of those before him. I get that. But, Picasso was perfectly competent in the methods of the classical masters before he started drawing people as seen through a kaleidoscope. Snyder needed to understand who these characters are at their cores before he could strip away the non-essentials without damaging them. As far as I can tell, this is heart of what Archer has been doing for several seasons now: they know who their characters are and they now have the freedom to iterate them in any setting. The things that Snyder tried to strip away are core elements, colors and notes, in the interest of creating something new.
He succeeded in stripping everything away, but it doesn’t feel like Superman anymore.
Mystery/Story/Bored 
“…are all at their best when nothing in the swirling miasma of activity around them can affect who they are or how they think.”
Exactly. Some people don’t “get” sports, but this translates directly. I’ve seen a thousand tennis matches; same story over and over. Why did I watch the Wimbledon final last Sunday? On my phone at Dairy Queen, no less? Because it’s Federer v. Djokovic, perhaps the two greatest players ever, in an epic struggle, with millions of people watching, millions of dollars on the line, massive legacy building at stake. You win, your legend grows. As a spectator, my heart is pounding. The match is enthralling. So how do these guys make it look so easy? How are they so calm? How do they survive pressure that would crush most anyone else on earth? When all seems lost, how does each one keep coming back to stay alive? I have no idea. Two titans push it to the absolute limit, 12-12 5th set tie break. If you don’t know what that means, just know it’s the longest a tennis match at Wimbledon can possibly go. Djoker wins 7-6(7-5) 1-6 7-6(7-4) 4-6 13-12(7-3). I was pulling for Roger, feel bad someone had to lose a match like that, but appreciate the greatness of both. They are super heroes to me, able to be who they are, play at a world-class level when the maelstrom is churning around them, when everything can be won or lost with one swing of the racket. Remarkable. The best pro athletes are a different breed of cat. And like the heroes of the comics, they inspire; they keep me asking, “how is that even possible?” And then they do it again.
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