That beautiful, demented puppet master actually fucking did it.
The new Superman movie?
Its felt like a religious experience.
I mean it was basically Metropolis or whatever you want to call it getting turned into abstract art.
Side note: Why is movie popcorn twelve dollars? Did they harvest it from the moon? Are the kernels individually blessed by monks?
Gunn gets it. He gets what Superman is supposed to be.
Also;
RIP to Terence Stamp aka General Zod.
Getting back to Gunn getting it…
The action sequences? Chef’s kiss. Like watching a ballet performed by freight trains.
The emotional core? Devastating. Made me think about…
Wait.
Hold up.
You know what really made this movie work?
They gave him a dog.
I’m serious. Krypto the Superdog. That’s it. That’s the secret sauce. That’s the whole shebang. You can have all the Christ metaphors and immigrant narratives and battles for the soul of humanity you want, but at the end of the day?
Dog.
Good boy from space.
Cape wearing canine.
That magnificent bastard carried this entire film on his four furry legs like he was Atlas holding up the world, except the world is made of tennis balls and belly rubs.
Did I learn anything about storytelling? Did I gain insights into the human condition? Did this movie teach me profound truths about narrative structure?
Big fat NOPE.
I learned that if you add a dog to literally anything, it becomes 1000% better. Superman? Add dog. Shakespeare? Add dog. Tax forms? Definitely add dog.
That’s it. That’s the lesson. James Gunn spent 200 million dollars to remind us that dogs are perfect and we don’t deserve them.
And honestly? Worth every goddamn penny.
I don’t go to the cinema often but this was decent.
Now I’m hoping Jurassic World: Rebirth has a dino-dog to carry it.
I mean they’ve got Scarlett Johansson in it, so it can’t be that bad…
Stephen Walker.