3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang
Seeing director Zack Snyder’s
name attached to this film was not happy news, given the degree to which he
ruined both 2013’s Man of Steel and
last year’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.
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| Having responded to the bat-signal illuminated by Police Commissioner Gordon (J.K. Simmons, far left), the newly formed Justice League — from left, Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), Cyborg (Ray Fisher), Batman (Ben Affleck) and The Flash (Ezra Miller) — learn that Gotham City is, once again, in serious trouble. |
Snyder has much in common with
director Michael Bay, similarly notorious for the Transformers franchise. Both favor bloated, soulless, humorless
slugfests that wreak havoc on landscapes and cityscapes, while casually
snuffing hundreds (thousands?) of civilian bystanders. Their films are the very
definition of mindless product over art.
On the other hand, I was cheered
to note Joss Whedon as co-scripter on Justice
League. As the writer/director of 2012’s The Avengers, Whedon established the template for solid, successful superhero epics. Fans have
recognized Whedon’s gift since television’s Buffy slayed her first vampire,
back in 1996: He has an unerring talent for blending action fantasy with a
(frequently droll) human element, which eases our suspension of disbelief.
And is a helluva lot more fun.
It’s easy to spot Whedon’s touch
in Justice League, which is most
successful during its first and second acts, as the stage is set, and the
players assembled. It’s equally easy to see that the third act belongs to
Snyder ... but not entirely. Even here, we get the vicarious relief of the
unmistakable Whedon touch.
Justice League picks up in the immediate wake
of Batman v Superman. The latter is
dead, having perished at the hands of a Kryptonian monster genetically
engineered by the villainous Lex Luthor. The country (the world?) is sliding
quickly into anarchy, humanity apparently having abandoned hope after losing
its gallant symbol for truth, justice and the American way.
(Ah ... but is Big Blue really, truly dead?)
Bruce Wayne (Batman) and Diana
Prince (the Amazon Wonder Woman) are doing their best to stem the lawless tide,
but they operate in the shadows; they’re not “living symbols” in the manner of
Superman. Worse yet, Batman has been encountering winged “parademons” — very
hard to kill — that seem to be seeking something.
Mindful of the need for
additional super-powered allies, in order to hold off whatever comes next,
Bruce and Diana reach out to three promising individuals: Barry Allen (Ezra
Miller), a twentysomething nerd transformed by a lightning strike into The
Flash; Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa), dubbed Aquaman, and heir to the underwater
kingdom of Atlantis; and Victor Stone (Ray Fisher), a once-promising college
football player nearly killed in a horrific accident, and “saved” when his
scientist father Silas (Joe Morton) employed alien tech to transform his son
into the biomechanical Cyborg.
Each is a misfit. Barry is a
geeky kid completely new to his super-speed powers, and obsessed with criminal
justice, in the hopes of freeing his incarcerated father. Miller plays him as
endearing and overly enthusiastic: awed by the meta-powered company in which he
now finds himself, and uncertain of his ability to help in any meaningful way.
Arthur is the exact opposite: a
loner somewhat embittered by his inability to fit into either the surface or
ocean realms, who prefers to act as a reclusive, benevolent guardian in the
remote Icelandic village where he hangs out. But his talents are many: Aside
from enormous strength and resilience, he also can telepathically command all
sea life, from the tiniest minnow to the mightiest whale.
That’s quite a gift, and one rich
with visual possibility, in this age of CGI magic. Too bad this film fails to
exploit it in any manner (which,
frankly, is just daft).
That lapse notwithstanding, Momoa
is quite cool in the role: a powerful, self-assured presence who smirks at the
“toys” with which Batman fights crime, and who has little love for the surface
dwellers who continue to pollute their planet. (Sadly, the nobility fueling
Aquaman’s character becomes more relevant every year.)
Fisher has a tougher assignment,
and not merely because he’s able to emote solely with his face and one eye, the
rest of his human body having been replaced by hardware. Cyborg is an emotional
wild card: not entirely trusted by the others, because he’s powered by what we
discover is the very alien tech that soon threatens Earth. As a result, Victor
constantly is at war with himself, his human soul trying to overcome the
seductive evil that powers his biomechanical abilities.
Abilities that conveniently
shift, morph and expand as a given crisis demands, which — it could be argued —
is cheating.
The story’s “big bad” is
Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds), an axe-waving, 8-foot-tall warrior from the
nightmare world of Apokolips, who — along with his parademons — travels between
worlds via a “boom tube” cross-dimensional portal powered by a “mother box.”
(Note for non-comic book fans: If
that seems a lot of exposition to swallow ... it is. This film does a very poor job of supplying essential
back-story details, under the apparent belief that the numerous little hints
sprinkled throughout Batman v Superman
were sufficient. They weren’t — aren’t — and all but longtime DC Comics readers
are apt to wonder just what the hell
is going on.)
Anyway...
Much in the manner of J.R.R.
Tolkien’s rings of power, three mother boxes were the focus of Steppenwolf’s
previous, eons-ago attempt to conquer Earth; he was stopped by a collaborative army
of Amazons, Atlanteans and humans. The mother boxes were separated, each
secured by one of the triumphant factions. The newly awakened Steppenwolf
intends to reclaim and unite the mother boxes, at which point ...
... well, this film doesn’t
really make that clear.
(Comic book fans know the answer:
It’ll open the way for Darkseid, dread ruler of the aforementioned Apokolips.
Who, we can assume, is waiting in the wings for the inevitable sequel.)
Anyway...
Hinds, all but unrecognized
beneath pasty-grey makeup — although his voice is unmistakable — is suitably
malevolent as the horned Steppenwolf. He’s haughty and supremely confident:
genuinely amused by the antics of these mortals who dare oppose him. Hinds
doesn’t have quite the superior smirk that Tom Hiddleston gives Loki, in that
other superhero franchise, but he comes close.
Affleck gets considerable screen
time as both Bruce Wayne and Batman, and does a solid job as this story’s
anchor. Affleck remains a bit too stoic, but traces of humor do emerge at
times; we also see flashes of apprehension beneath Batman’s grim features. This
is a Dark Knight 20 years into his campaign against crime, and he’s
understandably tired.
Gadot remains just as charming,
capable and commanding here, as she was a few months ago, in Wonder Woman’s own film. She brings welcome heart to these proceedings.
Whedon and co-scripter Chris
Terrio also make room for the familiar, continuity-demanding supporting faces:
no small feat, in a film that clocks in at a (thankfully) economical 121
minutes. Amy Adams and Diane Lane supply plenty of poignant warmth as,
respectively, Lois Lane and Martha Kent: those for whom the loss of Superman is
most deeply felt.
Jeremy Irons gets plenty of
snarky, bone-dry one-liners as Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s loyal and tech-savvy
butler; J.K. Simmons is appropriately grave as Gotham City’s Police
Commissioner Gordon. Dr. Silas Stone now has had time to consider the
consequences of what he did to his son, and Morton delivers an intriguing blend
of regret and pride. Connie Nielsen makes the most of her brief but telling
action sequence, as the Amazonian Queen Hippolyta.
On the other hand, Billy Crudup’s
presence as Barry Allen’s father is intriguingly open-ended: pointless in this
film, suggesting more later. Amber Heard is completely wasted in a fleeting
appearance as Aquaman’s consort, Mera, on hand primarily for an elevator pitch
that quickly encapsulates her lover’s back-story.
The core characters come alive
thanks to engaging, Whedon-esque chats that take place during quieter moments:
Bruce and Diana contemplating the best way to augment their team; Bruce
attempting to persuade Arthur to join the embryonic band, during a stroll along
an Icelandic beach; Barry attempting to fist-bump and bond with Victor, having
recognized that they’re the team’s two “accidental” superheroes.
Along with another warm and
deeply touching sequence, set in the corn fields of Smallville, Kansas.
Even the (ahem) apocalyptic final
battle, which takes place in the remnants of an Eastern European village
hunkered in the shadow of a failed nuclear reactor silo, benefits strongly from
an identifiable human element: repeated cuts to a terrified family that has
sheltered in their barricaded home over the course of several days, while
Steppenwolf and his parademons have destroyed nearly everything else.
The tech credits are terrific,
with a particular shout-out to the clever manner in which visual effects
supervisor John “DJ” DesJardin stops motion in order to convey The Flash’s
ultra-quick movement: not a novel effect, but entertaining nonetheless.
Danny Elfman’s underscore too
frequently drowns beneath bombastic sound effects and Snyder’s fondness for
shrieking, techno-rock power anthems.
Justice League is by no means perfect, but it’s
a welcome improvement over Snyder’s other superhero efforts. Fingers crossed,
that it’s a harbinger of even better things to come.
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