Author: Henry Spiro

The summer has, for many years, been a fantastic time to be a moviegoer. It’s a time when Hollywood pulls out all the stops to deliver exciting, action-packed, and fun blockbusters with a few great independent films and early Oscar contenders on the side. As someone who has always loved movies, I’ve always looked toward the summers with anticipation. The summer of 2016, however, has proved to be quite possibly the worst summer for movies ever, or at least the worst in my lifetime. With both its extremely high budgets and its total lack of interest in artistry, Hollywood spared no expense to be as dull and tedious as possible, producing mostly awful, forgettable time-wasters, instead of inspired movies. Where to even begin?

For starters, there were the two clunkers from DC comics “Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice” and “Suicide Squad.” While I’ve already written about “Batman v. Superman,” it’s still worth rehashing its problems: the unfocused plot; boring action; theological themes which go unexplored; bad acting; and Zach Snyder’s tasteless, terrible direction. (But, hey, at least we got that Sad Affleck meme.)

“Suicide Squad,” in many ways, should have remedied the damage done by Snyder’s awfulness. Based on its trailers and promotion, the film promised to be a dark, crazy, and colorful alternative to both “Batman v. Superman” and Marvel Studios’ family-friendly efforts. Instead, it was a choppy, shallow, boring mess. Its talented cast—including Jared Leto, Will Smith, Margot Robbie, and several unknowns—was entirely wasted. Leto was barely in the movie, and his version of the Joker was nothing more than a cheap gangster who did nothing more than obsess with Robbie’s Harley Quinn, who was given little more to do than obsess over Leto in turn. Smith was given nothing more to do other than suppress his charisma, and the rest of the cast was barely featured in the film with most of their roles cut down to a couple of lines. (Two exceptions: Jay Hernandez as El Diablo, a man who had fire-controlling abilities, was intriguing and provided some emotionally devastating moments. Viola Davis, in spite of playing the Machiavellian bureaucrat Amanda Waller, turned out to be the most badass character of the film, which is not a compliment to a movie about superheroes.)

The rest of the film, not unlike “Batman v. Superman,” squandered its fantastic premise on bad direction, writing, editing, action, and a general lack of creativity. The film, written and directed by David Ayer, quickly propels itself through cliché after cliché without any efforts put into character or plot development, or anything else that might make it stand out beyond its gritty aesthetics. It is, in a word, boring.

But, of course, that wasn’t the only colossal time-waste. Let’s not forget about “Jason Bourne,” a sequel/reboot of the Matt Damon-starring franchise. Was this reboot created out of a genuine desire to tell new stories using old characters? No. That would require effort. Instead, returning director Paul Greengrass presents audiences the vague outline of a boring conspiracy involving Bourne captured through a nauseating shaky-cam, and (like “Suicide Squad” before it), a waste of an Oscar-nominated cast with Tommy Lee Jones and Alicia Vikander doing nothing other than looking serious and staring at computers. Aside from a couple of good action scenes here and there, the movie practically redefines what it means to be shallow and empty.

Essentially, Bourne discovers some information about his father’s assassination and travels the globe to find out what really happened to him. Also, a millennial with some kind of mind-blowing new technology (Riz Ahmed) is conspiring with the government. And there’s a villain with a vendetta against Bourne (played by Vincent Castel.) The writers (Greengrass and Christopher Rouse) don’t even bother to create a compelling conspiracy connecting all the plot points. The final plot twist tying it all together is stunningly boring.

Then there’s the dull “Star Trek Beyond,” which makes for yet another movie with a paper-thin plot, lifeless action, and the general sense that only the actors put any effort into this movie. When Captain Kirk (Chris Pine) investigates a mysterious signal in deep space, his ship is attacked (surprisingly!), and evil aliens capture his crew. From there, Kirk and the rest of the (main) crew of the Starship enterprise must figure a way off the planet and stop the villainous Krall (Idris Elba, his talent buried beneath pounds of sci-fi makeup.)

While not nearly as messy as the previous film in the series, “Star Trek Into Darkness,” “Beyond” is simply bland from start to finish. The charismatic cast gets little to do, the action is uninspired, and it all ends up feeling rather inconsequential. The best idea in the film was its plot twist in which it’s revealed that (spoiler alert!) Krall is actually a soldier who, after the creation of the “Federation” (a planetary, diplomatic equivalent of the United Nations), lost his sense of purpose because he was forced into diplomacy and bureaucracy instead of living at home in the battlefield. It would have been a touching, tragic, and timely idea to explore, but what should have been the best part of the movie was reduced to nothing more than a few lines.

Of course, there were several other blockbusters released this summer, and I’ll admit that I didn’t see them all. I won’t bother to review here all the movies I did see. It should be immediately clear from the films I’ve discussed here, however, that something is going horribly, horribly wrong with Hollywood. It seems that as films have become increasingly expensive, creativity, originality, and thought have fallen by the wayside.

Consider the scripts for all of the above films. Did any of them feature engaging stories? No. Their plot lines are spectacularly simple to the point where one spends the entire movie waiting for it to start being interesting. Did any of them push the boundaries of what good action looks like? Again, no. Unlike the blockbusters of old (such as “Indiana Jones” and “Star Wars”), special effects were bright and colorful but never used creatively or originally, instead opting to give audiences more of what they’ve probably already seen. Were any of them even memorable? No, not at all.

So, what does this say about the future of the Hollywood blockbuster? In an ideal world, nothing: This was simply a bad year, and future films will be better. But this is likely nonsense. For years, the number of reboots and sequels has been increasing, while there have been fewer and fewer original franchises. This trend seems unlikely to be bucked in the future with even more sequels and reboots coming in 2017.

Really, though, the biggest thing to worry about isn’t that the next few years could be filled with bad movies; it’s what happens when blockbusters start failing. The kings of the Hollywood blockbuster, George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg, best articulated the problems with a Hollywood meltdown in 2013. Spielberg argued that if several “mega-budget” movies flop, Hollywood would be forced to focus all its efforts on a few big-budget films with no room for smaller projects. Lucas predicted that the end result of this would be that movie prices would skyrocket with movie theaters functioning like Broadway theaters: expensive ticket prices for movies that would be screened for a year or so.

This artistic dystopia is definitely something to worry about. While ticket prices haven’t suddenly or dramatically increased yet, several big-budget films have already flopped and it seems likely that this trend could continue given the current state of Hollywood.

Ah, well. At least we’ll always get to watch multi-million dollar explosions. Who really needs good art, anyways?

 

One of the greatest TV sitcoms of all time, “30 Rock” also had one of the strangest evolutions of any show ever. Most great shows peak mid-way through their run, with later seasons becoming increasingly dull and distanced from what made the show great in the first place. While later seasons of “30 Rock” are dramatically different from earlier ones, the series manages to retain its remarkable quality throughout. It begins as a semi-serious behind-the-scenes look at TV production, but it ends as one of the most absurd shows on television. What keeps it so strong throughout, aside from the comedy chops of Fey and her cast, is its commitment to exploring the difficulty of finding, and keeping, happiness.

The show’s first season is both its weakest and most grounded. Its pilot episode revolves around the struggles of sketch comedy writer Liz Lemon (Fey), whose life is turned upside down when her new boss, Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin) forces her to work with celebrity comedian Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan, parodying himself). The first episode is a disappointment: The jokes don’t land as hard as they should, the characters are poorly defined, and there is very little reason to care about any of them.

Unfortunately, these problems plague the first few episodes of “30 Rock.” It isn’t until episode 7, entitled “Tracy Does Conan,” that the show finally becomes willing to experiment with ridiculousness. Tracy, selected by Jack to appear on “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” begins acting bizarrely after not taking his medication correctly. Liz calls on Tracy’s doctor, Leo Spaceman (Chris Parnell in his first appearance as one of the best characters on “30 Rock”). Tracy’s odd behavior provides the basis for later insanity on the show, while the plot provides a structural grounding for future episodes. Liz runs around helping out nearly all of her co-workers, all while trying to eat something to compensate for donating her blood earlier in the day. Sub-plots intersect with each other to provide creative and clever punch lines. At the same time, Liz struggles with the idea of breaking up with her boyfriend, who makes her miserable. The stage is set for “30 Rock’s” transformation.

As the ridiculousness increases, the show’s characters become more defined, nuanced, and goofy. Jack develops into a caricature of business executives and an endlessly quotable scene-stealer. Tracy evolves from an egotistical nuisance to a puppy-like, idiotic charmer. Jenna Maroney (Jane Krakowski), who the show initially uses as nothing more than Liz’s friend, becomes a brilliant send-up of self-centered and talentless actresses. NBC page Kenneth (Jack McBrayer) becomes a perpetually mockable and well-intentioned sidekick to Tracy. Liz remains fundamentally the same, caught in an endless cycle of bad relationships, absurd work problems, and more. Yet, now that she is offset by her eccentric cohorts, her character works.

Alongside the development and deepening of the characters, the plot lines grow increasingly ridiculous, all underpinned with the unending quest for happiness. This is perhaps best exemplified by the Season 3 episode “Apollo, Apollo.” Jack, upon turning 50 and having achieved everything in life that he wanted to as a child, still feels incomplete and unhappy. So he tries to recreate the extreme joy he felt as a child upon receiving a model spaceship, a moment that made him so happy he vomited. (“What? As a kid you never got so excited you vomited?”). He finds the old gift, but quickly gives it away, as it no longer makes him happy.

But Jack’s “Mad Men”-esque contemplation is too depressing on its own, so the writers throw in a subplot in which the cast and crew of “The Girlie Show” (the show within the show that Liz Lemon runs, an un-subtle parody of “Saturday Night Live”) fake a space launch on the set of their show for Tracy, so they can fulfill his childhood dreams. One of the show’s best episodes, “Apollo, Apollo” is able to deftly balance tragic, complex conflicts with goofy comedy. It also grants its characters brief moments of happiness. Jack, in the end, does get to relive his childhood joy, vomiting of laughter after watching an ad for a phone sex line that features a young and incredibly awkward Liz Lemon.

Eventually, by the fifth season, the struggle to find happiness becomes a problem for even Tracy, the least serious character on the show. After earning his EGOT (an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony) by winning an Oscar for his dramatic film about poverty, “Hard to Watch,” Tracy becomes overwhelmed by the responsibility and maturity people now expect of him. So, he claims to run off to Africa (really, he hides in the undeveloped part of Liz’s apartment), and when he returns, everyone refuses to treat him like the offensive, idiotic comedian he is. Every absurd comment of his is treated like the musings of a method actor (“It’s because you didn’t feel like your authentic self, that you walked away from success,” Matt Lauer tells Tracy. “That’s actually very brave, don’t you think?” Tracy’s response: “No! It’s unbrave! You should hate me.”) Of course, Tracy’s industry friends tell him that if he wants to be disrespected, he simply has to do television again.

The show, from there, finds ways to get even more absurd: Jack’s wife is kidnapped by North Korea; Tracy stages a protest demanding that idiots be taken seriously; Jack considers running for mayor of New York (not unlike Baldwin himself); Jack commissions a TV-movie about his wife’s kidnapping; Jenna is placed in a position in which she can potentially determine the next president of the U.S.; Dotcom reveals he performed in “The Seagull” at Wesleyan; etcetera. And underneath it all, everyone’s still struggling to be happy.

Whereas most shows fail to deliver finales that capitalize on everything that made them great to begin with, “30 Rock” accomplishes this to a T. The two-part finale, entitled “Hogcock!/Last Lunch,” is ridiculous, funny, quotable, and delicately sentimental. Jack, having achieved all his career goals (and then some), feels oddly depressed about his life (sound familiar?). Liz is contractually obligated to do one last “TGS,” even though Tracy tries to stop the show from happening at any cost. Liz’s writing staff attempts to prevent one of its members from forcing them to all eat Blimpies sandwiches for their last lunch. Liz confronts the possibility that Jack’s mentorship has wasted her life, leading her to believe that she could find happiness purely from her job.

Much of the finale is about the difficulty of saying goodbye, with all the complex emotions that come with it. Tracy tries to stop the last “TGS” because everyone in his life tends to leave him forever, and he cannot bear the idea of leaving his friends, so Liz confronts him about his evasion at Tracy’s favorite strip club, naturally, in a brief throwback reference to the show’s pilot. Liz has always been exhausted and frustrated by Tracy’s insanity, yet she doesn’t hate him. “Because the human heart is not properly connected to the human brain,” she tells Tracy, “I love you, and I’m gonna miss you.” It’s the kind of heartbreakingly honest sentiment that many sitcom finales go for but never achieve.

But the core of the finale is about what, really, the entire show was about: the relationship between Jack and Liz, and the hardships of pursuing happiness. Liz realizes that her job as a comedy writer, for all its downsides, is what makes her happy. Jack, after a fight with Liz, decides to make her believe that he’s about to commit suicide in order to convince her that the two truly care about each other. He lures Liz to the Manhattan Bay, where he reveals he’s about to go on a boat trip to discover who he is. They finally admit their mutual (platonic) love for each other. And Jack sails off, to find out who he truly is…

Until he turns around quickly, having come up with a brilliant idea. “Clear dishwashers!” Jack shouts to Liz. “Clear dishwashers, so you can see what’s going on inside it! It’s the best idea I’ve ever had. Thank God I took that boat trip.”

As per usual, “30 Rock” finishes by taking the goofy route rather than the realistic one. But it’s all the better for it.

The Wesleyan Comedy Committee announced last week that comedian Judah Friedlander will be performing at the University on Wednesday, May 4 as part of the inaugural Sprung Flung set.

The goal of Sprung Flung is to create the equivalent of a Spring Fling for comedy, hence the Committee’s choice of the satirical title for their event. The Committee, broadly, hopes to serve a pivotal role in the way comedy functions on campus.

“We aim to serve as Wesleyan University’s primary programming board for outside comedic talent,” reads the group’s mission statement. “Our goal is to find comedians who will appeal to the student body and book them for shows on campus.”

The Comedy Committee is led by comedy-veteran Willie Zabar ’16, who hopes that this year will mark the start of a new tradition, rather than serve as a single event.

“Hopefully, we can work with the WSA [Wesleyan Student Assembly] and any other institutions in order to cement Sprung Flung in the Wesleyan calendar in much the same way that Spring Fling is a guaranteed event,” he said.

Sprung Flung’s strong start may aid in the Committee’s goal of raising enthusiasm for and continuing the annual event. Sprung Flung’s headlining comedian will have a face you’ve most likely seen under an epically-sloganed trucker hat on NBC’s “30 Rock,” where he plays the repulsive yet somehow lovable writer Frank Rossitano.

“We wanted to bring someone for Sprung Flung that would appeal to a majority of the campus’ sense of humor, who the members on Comedy Committee respected and knew would give a great performance, and who was excited about performing at Wes,” wrote Committee member Hannah Levin ’19 in an email to The Argus.

Zabar concurred, further speaking to the importance of bringing in such a performer.

“For me personally, and a few other people on Comedy Committee…[Friedlander] is a one of a kind performer; no two of his acts are the same,” Zabar said. “I think a lot of people will know him best from his work on ‘30 Rock,’ but he is first and foremost a stand-up comedian.”

In fact, Friedlander continued performing stand-up in New York throughout his time at “30 Rock,” maintaining his signature humor that involves deadpan tones and looks paired with outrageously pompous speech.

During the spring semester of his sophomore year, Zabar established the Comedy Committee with the express intent of inviting more professional comedians to campus.

“When I came here as a freshmen, there was a lot of money going towards outside musicians, but not a lot of outside comedians,” Zabar said.

Over the past two years, the group has hosted a variety of comedy acts. Performances have been primarily stand-up, including Adam Conover of TruTV’s “Adam Ruins Everything” and Aparna Nancherla, one of Time Out’s “Top 10 Funniest Women in NYC,” among others. The Committee has also welcomed improv from the Upright Citizens Brigade TourCo and, most recently, a web series screening hosted by DJ Douggpound and Brent Weinbach. The group has also embraced the idea of increasing education and awareness about comedy, with several of its events involving Q&A sessions or writing workshops with the performers.

While the recent focus has primarily been on Sprung Flung, members of the committee have additional goals moving forward.

“We also hope to bring a couple comedians to perform in the fall semester [and] make Comedy Committee produced stand-up shows more consistent,” Levin wrote. “Additionally, we are [adamant] about bringing underrepresented voices to campus. We want to bring comedians from diverse backgrounds to share their material and perspectives.”

Zabar agreed that he looks forward to seeing the Committee’s roster of events expand again following his graduation.

“Hopefully, [in the future] we’ll be able to do a large event with some smaller acts over the school year,” he said.

Judah Friedlander will be bringing his notable style to the Wesleyan stage at Crowell Hall, where he will perform after two student comedian openers. The Comedy Committee has partnered with the Center for Arts (CFA) and the Student Budgetary Committee (SBC) to ensure that the cost of the performance is low enough that all tickets can be free for students and their guests. For more information, contact Zabar at wzabar@wesleyan.edu.

UPDATE: Tickets will be available at the box office to Wesleyan students beginning April 26, with a limit of two tickets per student.

 

The first season of “Daredevil” was flawed but exhilarating: it featured thrilling action, compelling themes, and one of the most terrifying villains to ever hit screens in the form of Vincent d’Onofrio’s Wilson Fisk. It was rough around the edges, with a sharp decline in quality towards the end of the season and several underdeveloped characters, but this was forgivable. After all, it was quickly renewed for a second season during which it would be able—and was expected—to fix many of these issues. Well, the second season has arrived, and there is no evidence of improvement. Tragically, this season is actually a huge step backwards on nearly every front, with its infuriating insistence on teasing future plotlines rather than telling a good story.

The plot of this second season picks up sometime after the events of “Jessica Jones,” a show set within the same universe as “Daredevil.” Blind attorney Matt Murdock (Charlie Cox) still spends his nights dressed in red, fighting Manhattan criminals as “the Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen.” He and his best friend Foggy Nelson (Elden Henson) run their financially troubled law firm with the help of Karen Page (Deborah Ann Woll.) Their woes increase after a string of violent assassinations of New York gang members performed by the mysterious and angst-ridden Frank Castle (Jon Bernthal). On top of that, Murdock’s college ex-girlfriend, Elektra (Elodie Yung) shows up in town for her own dubious reasons.

You have already picked up on the monotony of this plotline. While the first season had some pacing inconsistencies, the story was tense and terrifying, often fueled by Murdock and Fisk’s violent desire for justice and their surprising emotional vulnerability. But this season, new showrunners Doug Petrie and Marco Ramirez don’t concern themselves with character development, thematic nuance, or even complex conflict. Instead, they drag out dull plot points and throw in arbitrary twists, ignore potentially interesting character development, and relentlessly set up future seasons with little to no concern with the state of the present one.

Petrie and Ramirez certainly don’t concern themselves with giving their excellent cast anything good to work with. Cox brings the same angst and weariness to the role that he did last season, but Murdock is more of a plot mover than a full character. Hanson improves from last season, offering more realistic comic relief than in the past, only to be given tons of cheesy lines to deliver. Bernthal’s performance as Frank Castle, a.k.a. The Punisher, is spectacular, bringing emotional depth and blazing intensity to every scene he’s in. So it’s a shame that he’s essentially an inactive character for a good chunk of the season. Woll is a fantastic actress, but like last season, Karen languishes as a potential love interest, conducting bits of investigative journalism into tremendously dull conspiracies.

Really, that’s the oddest but most pervasive problem with this season: it mostly repeats plot threads from the previous one, sometimes improving on past themes and other times rendering them more monotonous. The main trio of friends break up, again. Mystical plot points are teased in vague terms, again. Murdock and Nelson go to court, again. Characters have intense moral debates, again. The bad guy and the good guy aren’t so different after all, again. The show rarely improves its execution of these plot points, and ignores the chance to further develop side characters. Here, everyone is presented as a recycled plot or thematic point, with few opportunities to flesh out their existing roles.

With a show as violent as “Daredevil,” however, the audience isn’t in a constant state of boredom. The titular character spends plenty of time brutally beating thugs and criminals while simultaneously being attacked himself. This was one of the best surprises of the first season of “Daredevil.” Murdock is not invulnerable; he’ll take a beating as much as he’ll give one, which adds a layer of tension to every fight scene. Even if it’s obvious that Murdock will come out on top, he won’t get there easily, and the brutality he endures makes the action thrilling. Matched with fantastic fight choreography, “Daredevil” was, and still is, great to watch when fights break out. Episode four, in particular, features a spectacular fight down a flight of stairs.

But a 13-episode show cannot be built purely on fight scenes, and, sadly, “Daredevil” is for the most part tedious when fists aren’t flying through the air. Long, drawn-out scenes exist primarily for the sake of plot, as do characters, who speak as if their entire existence hinges on their ability to move the plot forward. The overall story is dull and full of clichés; a courtroom scene literally involves a character putting aside his written speech, improvising on his feet, and inspiring everyone with the power of his words (yes, that was definitely a cliché we needed to bring back in style). Plot twists aren’t shocking because the buildup to them was never captivating in the first place. The main villains aren’t developed at all, so major plot points are uninteresting. Much of the plot isn’t even about telling a good story: it’s entirely focused on setting up mysteries to be explored in future seasons, as though there were no lessons to be learned from “Lost.”

The entire season, it seems, exists as an advertisement for future seasons. Want to see a romance blossom between Karen and Matt? Next season. Want to understand what all that mythical mumbo-jumbo meant? Tune in next time. Want to see actual character development, or an engaging plot? They’ll get to that, at some point. Instead, you can marvel at the things this show could be, even though it appeared as though this season was going to meet the potential that last season teased audiences with. No, you’ll just have to keep watching for another season. Or two. Or three. Or seven.

There’s no real point to keep watching, of course. Especially not after the infuriating climax, in which zero plotlines are tied up, the final action scene involves a completely non-compelling villain, and a meaningless sacrifice occurs, culminating in the dumbest voice over and cliffhanger that television may have ever seen. “What is it, to be a hero?” Karen writes in her article, which is clearly intended to summarize the chaotic events of the season (note the comma in the middle, for added stupidity). “Look into your own eyes, and you’ll know. Look into your own eyes and tell me you are not heroic…”

Well, that seems like the smart way to end a season that featured violent prison riots, ninjas being stabbed in the eye, gang shootouts with civilian casualties, and more. Then, Matt reveals to Karen that he’s Daredevil, and the screen fades to black. Certainly, it would have been too much to ask for a solid conclusion to this long and weary season.

Yes, Petrie and Ramirez are playing the long game, setting up threads and ideas that they can play with in future seasons while teasing and intriguing audiences in the meantime. Then again, it’s hard to see why setting up a story is more important than actually telling one in the present tense. But, silly me, I’ll just have to watch season three! I’ll care about everything then!

“God is tribal,” proclaims a certain character in a certain newly-released film. “If God is all powerful, he cannot be good. If God is good, he cannot be all powerful.” It’s an intriguing statement. Concepts of good and evil vary across cultures and nationalities, so which does God prefer? And if God prefers one belief system to the other, how could anyone be a force of absolute good? Why would God even allow for the existence of such divides? Why would God allow for war?

These are questions that could perhaps best be explored through some form of storytelling, such as a movie. It could be a retelling of the classic story of David and Goliath, or a similar epic. It could draw new meaning from the ancient conflict and confront modern political issues, such as global security and the fears of terrorism. It could deal with corrupt corporations unjustly controlling and manipulating the world in the place of God. It could address all of the above, leaving audiences questioning what they truly hold dear.

Or, maybe, just maybe, Hollywood executives, and the anti-intellectual directors they hire, would squander all the potential a film that addresses these concepts could have, in favor of two hours of pseudo-philosophical and pseudo-theological questioning coupled with fifteen minutes of mediocre action scenes. With another fifteen minutes to set up sequels. Which also happen to be set-ups for other sequels—what a wonderful time to be a movie lover!

Yes, “Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice” has finally hit theaters after several delays. Unfortunately, it seems like the filmmakers needed a few more years in order to grasp the basic tenets of storytelling. It’s a tragedy that they didn’t take them.

“Batman vs. Superman” is not simply a bad movie; it has set the new standard of what it means to waste a storyline brimming with potential. Also, it’s a terrible movie.

So, what is this disaster even about? Beyond setting up a new thread of comic book movies (about DC Comics, not Marvel comics), the movie is comprised of several fragmented plots that barely come together in the end. Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg, unexpectedly) is scheming, bribing and plotting against the U.S. government, all so he can have Batman kill Superman (Henry Cavill) for reasons that are never actually revealed (“It’s up to audience interpretation!” is something that we’ll probably be hearing in the not-so-distant future).

Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) hates Superman because he blames him for destroying Metropolis during the climax of “Man of Steel,” “Batman vs. Superman’s” precursor. Superman suffers moral conflict over whether or not to save people, given that all his actions seem to have political ramifications and because nobody’s allowed to have fun at movies anymore. Lois Lane (Amy Adams) uncovers a conspiracy! Wonder Woman (Gal Godot) appears and acts mysterious for thirty minutes! The audience regrets seeing this movie!

It’s frankly unbelievable that the screenwriters who wrote “The Dark Knight” and “Argo” could have come together to create such a horror. Unfortunately, here we are. David S. Goyer and Chris Terrio have done a dismal job in nearly every respect: The is plot is choppy and excessively slow, with dialogue full of pseudo-witty banter.

Each character’s motivation for causing the titular fight scene is hardly logical. Lex Luthor wants a lot of power because of how his father behaved toward him (or something along those lines–he barely makes any sense). Bruce Wayne is treated here like a 50 year-old manchild still upset about his parents’ deaths (thereby fueling the scorn of Internet folks who mock Batman’s eternal angst). Batman’s reason for taking down Superman is bafflingly stupid: “He has the power to wipe out the entire human race and if we believe there is even a one percent chance that he is our enemy, we have to take it as an absolute certainty.”

Sure, it’s a great introduction to Ted Cruz-ian logic, but it doesn’t make any sense that a character as smart as Batman could have such a poor understanding of statistics. Superman is tricked into having to fight Batman. In a word: boring.

With a script as poor as the one that was given, I wish I could have taken pity on the cast. But they too commit the cardinal sin of being dreadful to watch. Jesse Eisenberg is so remarkably cartoonish, so laughably over-the-top, that it’s absolutely impossible to take him seriously. He’s infuriatingly awful to the point where you’ll want to throw rotten tomatoes at the screen every time he appears. Henry Cavill is boring in a way that no amount of his inhumanely large muscles can make up for. Ben Affleck is a skilled “brooder,” but delivers his lines with the clunkiness and uncertainty of someone taking Acting 101. And the ones that were worth watching, weren’t on screen. Amy Adams deserved more to do (or, at least, better things to do). Gal Godot appears for roughly ten minutes as Wonder Woman, and from what I could glean from that, she has decent charisma.

Jeremy Irons, as Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s butler, is the only cast member in the movie who is both a good actor and one who is well incorporated. Really, he’s the sole exception to the mediocrity you’ll find in the rest of this film.

This brings us to the director, Zach Snyder, whose previous film, “300,” officially placed him in the pantheon of douchebag Hollywood directors redefining the phrase “style over substance” (Michael Bay is, and forever will be, at the head of said pantheon.) But, to be fair, Snyder seems to have learned a few lessons from his past films. His direction is sometimes (dare I say it?) subtle, once or twice capturing subtle emotion. He restrains himself (by his own standards, at least) during one of the action scenes. He even manages to make the messy plot vaguely engaging during the first hour or so. After all these years, Snyder seems to have learned how to make a movie that doesn’t nauseate his audience.

Nonetheless, Snyder’s direction is hardly worthy of much praise. He’s incapable of staging a scene between two characters that doesn’t appear incredibly awkward. He expects the audience to understand symbols and foreshadowing that simply aren’t clear. He clumsily transitions into sequel setups during the middle of the movie, in ways that are obvious and distracting. He oscillates between plot points using choppy editing. The first half of his climactic battle is undercooked—the second half overstuffed. The conclusion is neither tragic nor enticing—the polar opposite of what he clearly wanted it to be. It’s just as dull as the rest of the film, but in a sense, that makes you hate everything else you’ve already seen even more.

Overall, “Batman vs. Superman” is living proof that Frederick Nietzsche’s assertion that “God is dead” is, in fact, true. After all, what God would allow something with so much potential to become such an absolute monstrosity?

Nobody likes criticism. To criticize an artist, or the merit of a work of art, is considered one of the most vile things a person can do. To tell someone their artistry is anything less than masterful is likely to evoke an emotionally disturbed response–often something along the lines of “How dare you!” or “You don’t understand my work!”

But how can an artist grow without being criticized? Surely one can’t simply declare oneself a genius without validation, or without being able to defend one’s work. Isn’t there almost always room for improvement?

The necessity of criticism, judgment, and discussion is the foundation of New York Times chief film critic and Wesleyan professor A.O. Scott’s new book, “Better Living Through Criticism: How to Think About Art, Pleasure, Beauty, and Truth.” But the title is misleading: Scott’s book is not directly about self-help. It is about liberating his readers from narrow-minded theories about how to understand art, from methodology that suggests there are formulas to determining the greatness of art. Scott’s philosophy of criticism is much broader and universal: He claims that all art is a criticism of something (of a person, cultural idea, or otherwise), that all people are critics, that criticism enhances our understanding of art, and that being wrong is key to uncovering artistic truth.

The most immediate problem with Scott’s arguments is that they are far too vague: He is talking about ideas so incredibly broad that it is impossible for any reader to actually gain anything from them, and it would be far more helpful if Scott simply gave readers a guide which outlines what makes good art.

Yet this vagueness is precisely the point: Scott deliberately points out the logical inconsistencies in quasi-scientific methods for observing art precisely because he wants to broaden the reader’s understanding of what great art—and great criticism—is. In a lengthy takedown of the classic form versus content argument (that critics should examine the form or structure of a work of art and its relationship with its content), Scott argues that the experience of artwork is much more important than finding intellectual formulas to “help” observe it. Rather, viewers should simply engage with the art, and criticize it further from there. To have “better living through criticism” is to experience and judge art freely.

But why would anyone want to be a critic in the first place? After all, aren’t all critics failed writers who feel the need to cruelly damage the careers of other great artists? Not quite, argues Scott. For one, not all critics are failed writers: many, in fact, were successful writers who later took to criticism, such as John Ashbery, Frank O’Hara, Philip Larkin, and George Bernard Shaw. In fact, Scott employs the arguments of the great H. L. Mencken, who argued the critical impulse was a purely artistic one: The critic brings new ideas, new understandings to a work of art, and can help it flourish by guiding the audience towards understanding it. Interpreting a work of art, debating and determining its meanings, adds depth to it that the artist could not possibly have foreseen.

It is true, however, that many critics have not only been “wrong” but also harmful. Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick” was met by critics with disinterest, and he wasn’t famous until long after his death in 1891. John Keats, who had long been suffering from tuberculosis, was supposedly so crushed by a review from John Gibson Lockhart that he succumbed to his disease, prompting poet Percy Shelley to write a scathing poem that attacked Lockhart, calling him an “assassin” and arguing that critics are the natural enemy of artists.

It is true that critics can be both wrong and also harmful (my former drama teacher’s favorite anecdote was a review by New York Times theater critic Frank Rich that was supposedly so harsh it destroyed any chances of the United States having a national theater). But a few outliers do not represent the whole. And, if Shelley is right in condemning critics as the foes of artists, how does this explain the criticism Keats himself wrote through poetry? His “Ode to a Grecian Urn” details the beauty of the titular urn, essentially criticizing it (albeit in a very positive matter) by means of exposing how and why the urn is so beautiful. Criticism, it seems, is not the enemy of art, but a means of artistic enlightenment.

But rehashing and interpreting an author’s arguments is not the entirety of the critic’s job. They must also, as the title implies, critique, pointing out flaws and shortcomings. And critics themselves must not be impervious to criticism. Suffice it to say, Scott’s book is not without shortcomings. The problem with the book isn’t Scott’s philosophical ideas: they are wonderful and freeing. The fundamental problem with his argument that criticism is an art isn’t the argument itself: it’s that Scott has very little artistry present in his own writing.

Many critics have had tremendously powerful voices: Mencken was relentlessly cynical and scathing, Wilde was witty and entertaining, Roger Ebert was down to earth but incredibly passionate. Scott’s writing lacks the intensity of these great critics: He has the voice of a bearded barista from Brooklyn, whispering something about how organic his coffee beans are. He’s the type of person who goes to an art exhibit, stares at an ancient sculpture, and mutters, “ah…the technique… ah, yes…”

Scott simply doesn’t have the entertaining or engaging qualities of great critics before him. The artistic quality of his writing falters between disengaging and boring. It can, in fact, be so tremendously dull that it’s possible to be blinded by the tedium of his words, unable to see the brilliance and beauty of his ideas.

But maybe, like Lockhart and many other critics before me, I’m entirely wrong. Maybe Scott’s artistic voice is truly one of the greatest in history. Or maybe I’m complimenting his ideas too much: Maybe, in reality, they actually are far too vague to be of any help.

It’s too soon to say, though. To really get at the truth, further criticism is necessary.