kryptonite for both of them is a combination of Snyder’s

Those who complained about Thor’s left-field watery dip during last year’s Avengers: Age of Ultron will likely roll their eyes at the number of superfluous scenes that flutter around Snyder’s DC Comics Cinematic Universe Scrapbook. Should anyone be surprised? Probably not. The marketing behind this film has forever been transparent about how overloaded this story was always going to be. Unlike Marvel and Disney, DC and Warner Bros. refused to take things slow and opted instead to work off the big bang theory wherein a giant explosion of ideas will eventually spread out to create some sort of functioning universe. Did it work? It’s too early to tell, but things don’t bode too well if Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is any indication.

The problem isn’t Affleck, Cavill, or any of the actors. In fact, Affleck brilliantly captures the ethos and primal rage of Batman in a way that’s only been exhibited by Kevin Conroy in the Arkham games. This is a big ol’ grump who tortures his body in his own Batgym like a roided out Ryan Steven Lochte. He brands his prey. He stares at his costume like he wants to eat it. He’s visited by Freddy Krueger in his dreams. No, this is the Batman fans deserved. Cavill, on the other hand, continues to embellish the imperfections of the always-perfect Supes. He’s a far cry from the ray of sunshine that Christopher Reeve — or his many imitators, from Tom Welling to Brandon Routh — shed off, but he’s also stuck in a far more cynical world.

What proves to be kryptonite for both of them is a combination of Snyder’s senseless direction and the godawful, clumsy, and hellish script by Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer. Look, it’s not easy adapting Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns while also making a sequel to Man of Steel while also building towards the conceptualization of a Justice League while also maintaining a singular identity, but … well, that’s the whole problem now, isn’t it? Although David Brenner did his damndest to edit this doomsday of a cash grab together, the whole thing still ricochets around at the manic pace of a cocaine smuggler who’s been addicted to his supplier’s stuff for over a decade. Very rarely do scenes ever last more than a minute, which may cause drowsiness.

That’s not the only thing that’ll have you reaching for the doggie bag. The sound mixing alone will leave viewers in a daze like Roger Daltrey at the end of The Who’s Tommy. This thing is loud — from Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL’s punishing score to the brutal effects that zip back and forth — and since Snyder’s so obsessed with topping Roland Emmerich with regards to destroying the world time and time again, it’s also unnecessarily relentless. We get it, man: Superman is an out-of-this-world titan whose pummeling should cause a sonic boom, but even a drunk carny knows when it’s time to stop the ferris wheel. Once the film reaches maximum “v,” you’re all but a lifeless corpse, clinging to your eyes, your ears, and your sanity.

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