Sometimes, less is more. This is true with most things, but it’s especially true with writing. While there are definitely times when it’s fun to get fancy or even downright purple with your prose, the real masters know that when you want a piece of writing that cuts a reader right to the bone and leaves them wondering what the hell you just did to them, you keep it simple. Take, for example, the opening monologue of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse.
Let’s do things differently this time… SO differently.
His name is Miles Morales.
He was bitten by a radioactive spider.
And he’s not the only one.
He hasn’t always had it easy.
And he’s not the only one.
Now he’s on his own.
And he’s not the only one.
You think you know the rest.
You don’t.
I thought I knew the rest.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to hurt him.
But I did.
And he’s not the only one
On paper the prose seems incredibly basic. But there is a cadence to it, and a power that comes from the constant repetition. It’s like a drum beat, growing in intensity. And, when given to an actor like Hailee Steinfeld who absolutely knows how to wring every ounce of emotion out of it?
Which is a weird point to start a review of this film with, because while less is sometimes more, more is also sometimes more. And Across the Spider-Verse is one of the greatest arguments for cinematic maximalism since Ben Hur.
This movie is HUGE. It boasts the largest animation team of any cartoon in history. It has a cast of hundreds of characters and stretches across six universe each with their own distinct artistic style. It is a truly epic work, one of the most ambitious projects in the history of animation as a medium.
And, fittingly, even its production problems were epic in scope. A writer’s strike. A global pandemic. Whatever the hell happened to Shameik Moore. And, of course, the now notorious levels of crunch and overwork that the animators were subjected to. I won’t say Spider-Verse 2’s doctrine of “biggest of all time” extended to the suffering meted out to those who worked on it because North Korea produces animation and they probably have that particular category locked up but STILL. It’s definitely something that shouldn’t be forgotten.
I mean, I’ll still watch it but I still watch The Shining and that movie damn near killed Shelley Duvall, you come to me for movie reviews, not moral guidance.
Jesus, I hope you don’t come to me for moral guidance.
Considering the character kickstarted the comic-book superhero genre (asterisk, asterisk) Superman has always been the comic book character least beholden to that medium. In 2025, while it is accurate to call Superman a “comic book character”, it’s also incredibly reductive. Superman is more like Santa Claus. He doesn’t belong to one medium, he simply is. And, unlike almost every other comic book character, I would argue that virtually all of his most important and iconic stories took place outside of the medium of comics. Very early on, Superman expanded beyond the panels of the comic book page and appeared in radio dramas, newspaper strips, novels, cartoons, movie serials and TV shows, to the point that a vast majority of Superman fans aren’t even regular comic book readers.
Consider this: The years between the end of the second world war and the start of the sixties was marked by the near collapse of the superhero genre in comics. And yet Superman not only survived the implosion of the genre he’d birthed, in the fifties he was bigger than he’d ever been, as The Adventures of Superman became one of the first major hits of the television era. But we’re not there yet.
Before he get to George Reeves, we must see out the Kirk Alyn era in style. I won’t lie, I was a little apprehensive approaching 1950’s Atom Man versus Superman. Superman1948 was a very pleasant surprise but crappy sequels aren’t a recent Hollywood invention and the very few reviews I was able to find (this is, almost certainly, the most obscure Superman movie to ever be put on the big screen) agreed that it was inferior to the first one. There was also the fact that serials from the fifties, the last dying gasp of the medium, are notoriously cheap and ropy.
So colour me shocked that I actually prefer Atom Man versus Superman to its predecessor.
I saw a Stan Lee interview a long time ago where he was recounting the creation of Spider-Man, where halfway through he mischeviously winked at the camera and said “I’ve told this story so many times that for all I know it’s true”.
That caveat pretty much applies to any story Lee told about the birth of Marvel’s second wave of superheroes in the nineteen sixties. Even if we discount Stan’s (well earned) legendary reputation for self promotion and myth-making, he was an old man with a failing memory. But, screw it. That’s pretty much all of human history. A story we’ve told ourselves so many times, that for all we know it’s true.
There are conflicting versions of how the Fantastic Four came to be. Stan Lee said that he conceived the idea after publisher Martin Goodman asked him to come up with a superhero team to compete with DC’s then-new Justice League of America. Jack Kirby disputed this, claiming that the team was principally his idea and functioned as a continuation of his work on Challengers of the Unknown for DC. My opinion is…it really doesn’t matter. The book is credited as the co-creation of Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, and if you read it, it becomes immediately clear that it is a co-creation of Jack Kirby and Stan Lee. If you replaced either Kirby’s art or Lee’s writing, it wouldn’t be the same thing. Both men put their stamp on it, and hard. What is, I think, un-contestable is that The Fantastic Four #1 is the single most influential comic book issue since Action Comics debuted in 1938.
While Superman’s debut launched the comic book superhero genre, it had peaked and waned in the years after World War 2. The Fantastic Four not only re-kindled interest in the genre, it set it on the path to near total conquest of the American comic book landscape. This one book acted as a cauldron for concepts that shaped the entire industry, both in a fictional and technical sense. It was working on this book where Kirby and Lee pioneered the “Marvel Method”, where instead of a full script, the writer contributed a broad outline, leaving the artist discretion to shape individual story beats, with the writer then returning at the end of the process to craft dialogue. This was the method that allowed Stan Lee to be so insanely prolific throughout the sixties and much of the seventies. The book also introduced more psychological and narrative complexity than was typical of comic books of the era, when they were still seen as a medium for children. And, of course, I could spend all day listing the iconic characters that were introduced in the pages of this one book and how it acted as the Big Bang for the nascent Marvel comics universe. Fantastic Four was the book where Stan Lee became STAN LEE and Jack Kirby became JACK KIRBY. Although they were both seasoned industry veterans, it was here that Lee honed his trademark mix of action, medodrama and wise-acre comedy. And Kirby? Kirby underwent a transformation from a talented artist to a one-of-a-kind icon of the medium.
As for adaptation to other media, the Four has been well represented with numerous animated series and a radio show in the seventies starring NO FUCKING WAY THAT IS TRUE! BILL MURRAY?! BILL MURRAY PLAYED THE HUMAN TORCH!!!?!
“No one will ever believe you.”
But for such an important property, the jump to live action took a lot longer. This is just a difficult property to adapt. It’s one thing to stick a stuntman in a Spider-man costume and have him punch a few goons. It’s quite another to set him on fire and launch him into space to battle world-devouring space gods (the union will fucking eat you alive). So it wasn’t until the late eighties when special effects driven science fiction was having a moment that the rights were finally sold. That resulted in a movie so good that Roger Corman hid it under the floorboards to ensure it was never tainted by the eyes of a sinful world. Come the 2000s the rights were picked up by Fox and we got the Time Story duology which, while undergoing something of a positive reappraisal these days, were deeply compromised.
Then there was JESUS CHRIST WHAT EVEN IS THIS?
But, at last, here we are. The Fantastic Four, in the MCU, as God and Kevin Feige intended, coming back to rekindle interest in a superhero genre that had almost died due to lack of interest.
Yeah, I’m sure you’re all shocked. After watching James Gunn’s Superman I decided it was high time that the big blue boy scout got the same treatment as a certain pointy eared co-worker of his.
So yes, we’re going to be looking at every live action Superman movie while we wait for Matt Reeves to finish the script for The Batman 2 roughly around the time of the heat death of the universe (I am not bitter, I am passionate.)
Let’s begin at the beginning. It’s 1948, a mere decade after Superman’s debut in Action Comics and the character is already a bona fide cultural icon with a radio series, newspaper strips, some of the greatest cartoon shorts ever made and a metric shit ton of merchandise. But, weirdly, despite kicking off the entire superhero genre (asterisk asterisk) Superman was actually pretty late to the party when it came to being adapted into live action.
The nineties, as we’ve discussed previously, were a pretty damn bad time to be a Marvel comics fan but there were still bright spots here and there. One of these was TheThunderbolts, a new superhero team that was introduced in The Incredible Hulk. They were presented as a new team stepping up to replace the Avengers who were all believed dead after the events of Onslaught (in actuality, they were all in a parallell universe being drawn by Rob Liefeld).
Sometimes dead’s better.
Anyway, the Thunderbolts then returned for their own series written by Kurt Busiek. It’s a pretty standard superhero team story right up until the shocking twist at the end of the first issue.
The Thunderbolts were actually villains, a team put together by Captain America’s enemy Baron Zemo to pose as superheroes while he consolidated his grip on the underworld. Of course, they eventually decide they actually like being superheroes and turn face, and since then the Thunderbolts team has basically been, well, Marvel’s Suicide Squad let’s not dance around the issue. It’s a team for former supervillains to try and reform and be good guys. The version of the team that today’s movie is based on comes from the mid-2000s Dark Reign…
” Mouse stop the review right now!”
“What? Why?
“Me and the other maps are boycotting this movie! Artie Rosen created the Sentry, and yet his estate hasn’t been paid a cent in royalties!”
“Artie…oh crap. Guys I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Artie Rosen doesn’t exist. He never did.”
“What? But then who delivers gifts to good little maps on Rosenmas?”
Okay, okay. Detour. Let’s talk about the Sentry, one of the first original Marvel superheroes of the new millennium and the subject of one of the most ingenious pieces of guerilla marketing I can recall. If you want a full breakdown of the history of the Sentry hoax, this has got you covered but here’s the cliffnotes version: Marvel basically fooled the comic reading public into believing that there was an artist named Artie Rosen who worked with Stan Lee back in the late fifties who had recently passed away. And in Rosen’s possessions his wife found sketches for a lost superhero that he had supposedly been working on with Stan Lee. This, of course, would be the comic book equivalent of the finding of the Lost Caravaggio. They even got Stan Lee himself in on the scam. In reality, this was all marketing to build up hype for the release of The Sentry by Paul Jenkins and Jae Lee, a mini-series about a superhero who was erased from the history of the Marvel universe and who no one remembers. It’s a good story, not an all time classic, but it’s a fun read. We get to see Bob Reynolds interacting with different Marvel heroes in different eras, drawn and written in the style of the time. But here’s the thing. The series ends with Reynolds realising why everyone forgot him: he and his arch-enemy The Void are the same person and every act he does as the Sentry is balanced with an evil act committed by the Void. Therefore, the only way to protect the world from the Void is for the Sentry to go away again. So the series ends with Bob once again wiping the world’s collective memory of his existence and going back to his normal humdrum life. All well and good. But then…
Brian Michael Bendis reintroduced the Sentry as a member of his New Avengers team. And this is where Bob Reynold’s troubles really began, and how he began his journey to become one of the most mishandled characters in Marvel’s eighty year history.
Here was the problem. You may have heard Sentry described as “Marvel’s Superman”.
No. No no no. The Sentry makes Superman look like a coughing baby. The Sentry makes PRE-CRISIS SUPERMAN look like a coughing baby. The Sentry is so powerful I have to break up the list of his powers into two separate screencaps:
Also, he plays the ‘cello.
Like, fucking LOOK at that list. This guy is the physical embodiment of “fuck you I win”. You put him on any team and he renders every other member instantly useless. He should be able to solo the entire rogue’s gallery of the Marvel universe in a single afternoon. Bendis got around this by establishing that Bob was suffering from severe depression and agoraphobia and would only come out of his room to save the world if everyone was super nice to him. This admittedly, led to some pretty awesome moments, like Sentry’s iconic battle with the Hulk during the World War Hulk storyline.
Over the years, Bob’s mental problems got worse and worse and it was an admittedly effective source of tension; what happens if God stops taking his meds and snaps? But that just reduced the character to a ticking bomb and that’s not really sustainable over the long haul. Either the bomb has to go off or the audience realises that the bomb is never going to go off. What the character needed was a stable status quo, a default baseline. And every attempt to give him one failed. Everything about Bob was constantly being re-written every time a new writer got his hands on him, particularly his relationship with the Void. Writer A says the Void never existed and was all in Bob’s head. Writer B says the Void was the angel of death from Exodus. Writer C says he was a loving family man. Writer D says he was an abuser who cheated on his wife. Was he once a lab assistant, a junkie, or made the Sentry as part of the Weapon X programme? Flip a three-sided coin, bucko.
Within an impressively short period of time the character had been reduced to an unsalvageable mess and was killed off, only to be periodically brought back as a super-powered threat that needs to be killed off again. But, as someone who always had a soft spot for the character, I was happy to hear that the Sentry was going to be making his debut in the MCU. Surely they’ve learned from past mistakes and are finally ready to do this character right?
The Moomins are a topic that I feel I understand less the more I try to get my head around them. I tackled another Moomin film, Moomin and Midsummer Madness, around ten years ago so I should have been ready for this. And yet, here I am, looking at this film all…
A brief refresher, the Moomins are a multimedia franchise created by Finnish author Tove Jansson that encompasses picture books, novels, short stories, TV shows, movies, theme parks and a comic strip written and illustrated by Jansson herself. The comic strip that inspired today’s film, Moomins on the Riviera, began in 1954 and ran until 1975. This was actually the second Moomins comic strip, the first having appeared in a left wing newspaper but which failed because the readership considered the Moomins to be “too bourgeois”, because even in the late forties there were people who needed to touch some fucking grass.
So what’s it all about?
The series features things called Moomins doing stuff.
I can’t really get more specific than that.
Sometimes they don’t do stuff. Sometimes they just chill.
In 1984, two broke young illustrators named Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird were trying to break into comics. Eastman randomly doodled a turtle in ninja attire and the pair decided that it was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, essentially a madlib of everything that was popular in comics at the time (except for turtles).
They then wrote a silly little issue parodying Frank Miller’s Daredevil run and that, of course, was that.
This one weird joke concept riffing on an incredibly specific moment in comic book history in a black and white indie vanished without a trace, the very definition of a flash in the pan.
Wait, no. *checks notes*
It went on to conquer the goddamn world. To this day, TMNT is quite possibly the most lucrative Western comic book property not published by either DC or Marvel. Third most successful toyline of all time. Seven TV series, seven films, multiple videogames, hundreds and hundreds of comic issues and a metric shit-ton of merch. Which, on the one hand, is crazy.
How did a concept so ridiculous, and so seemingly instantly dated become one of the most successful and enduring pop culture phenomena of the past half century? Well, success has many fathers. Firstly, I think the franchise’s longevity was sealed with this:
A theme tune that catchy only comes around once in a blue moon. Play it over NINE SEASONS and it’s practically brainwashing.
Then there’s the fact that TMNT relies on a template that has proven to be amazingly durable over the last 180 years.
Hothead. Stoic Leader. Smart Guy. Big fun doofus.
The Musketeer Archetypes are like the Four Chords of character writing. They’re bloody everywhere, but they’re there for a reason. They work, dammit. And these character traits (Leads, Does Machines, Cool but Rude, Party Dude) hold true across virtually all interpretations of the characters which gives continuity across the franchise. But, and this is crucial, with that stability and continuity there also comes incredible plasticity. The Turtles fandom is fantastically diverse in terms of its age range and that’s because TMNT can be this:
Or it can be THIS:
Once you get past the initially (very, very, very) silly premise, the Brothers Turtle can grow with their audience. There’s stuff for kids and there’s also stuff for adults. So, class, where have we heard that before? A character that has a rock solid core that’s also surprisingly adaptable and can tell stories for any and all ages?
So before we go any further, I owe you all an apology. I know I said I’d be reviewing Turtles Forever but you need to know three things:
My DVD of Turtles Forever didn’t arrive in time (that’ll teach me to support physical media).
There’s a Turtles movie with Batman in it, how am I NOT going to review that?
So let’s unpack this joke. Here is everything you, the viewer, need to know for this gag to land.
This is Elektra, played by Jennifer Garner.
Garner first played this role over twenty years ago, in the critically reviled Daredevil, and then again in the practically unseen spin-off Elektra.
In Daredevil, she was the love interest of the title character.
Daredevil was played by Ben Affleck.
Garner and Affleck married shortly after making that film.
They subsequently underwent an extremely public and acrimonious divorce.
Hence, Elektra is not particularly cut up about Daredevil dying.
And virtually every joke in this thing is that kind of inside baseball uber-specific nerd bullshit that seems positively tailormade to appeal to me, a 40 something male who had comics instead of friends growing up. And yet…this thing made €1.8 billion dollars. This is as mainstream as movies get now.
Super niche nerd culture is no longer niche. The war is over. Everyone is a massive nerd now.
Total domination.
And I now find myself in a very difficult position as a movie critic.
I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. I laughed my ass off from start to finish.
While I know it isn’t true, I like to imagine there’s one guy in Warner Bros who was put in charge of the Batman films in 1989 despite knowing nothing about comics in general or Batman in particular and who spends every day banging his head against a desk and screaming “what the FUCK do you people even WANT?!”
Because to a casual observer, there really is no rhyme or reason to which Batman movies succeed and which fail. Why was Batman Forever a massive hit and Batman and Robina franchise-killer? Why did audiences love Batmanand largely steer clear of Batman Returns? Why is a grim and gritty Batman great with Christopher Nolan but not with Zach Snyder?
And there’s no one answer, really. Audience expectations. The marketing. The directing. The acting. The writing. The music. There are hundreds of factors that decide whether a Batman movie will succeed, same as any other movie. And added to that there is a very specific problem with adapting this character to screen: nailing the tone.
Getting the tone of a Batman story right is a damnably tricky thing, and it’s something that writers have struggled with ever since the character was introduced 85 years ago. Let’s take a moment, firstly, to acknowledge that Batman has often been campy and fun and played for laughs. And often, as in the sixties Adam West series, or Batman: The Brave and the Bold, it’s been done to great effect. But, fundamentally, this is a character rooted in a mashup of crime fiction and the horror genre. Batman stories, from their very beginning, deal with murder, corruption and violence. A child witnesses his parents’ brutal slaying and devotes his life to waging violent nocturnal war against the criminal element. It ain’t baby-town frolics. And I think what trips up a lot of Batman writers is that they succumb to the temptation to wallow in miserabilism. They lean into the violence and the horror and the awfulness of the setting to a degree that it stops being in any way enjoyable.
The best Batman stories have stakes and drama and darkness, but it’s a certain kind of darkness. A darkness that takes itself seriously, but not too seriously. There is a dusting of pulpy camp that stops the darkness becoming overwhelming. It’s a very, very tricky tone to capture and, if I’m perfectly honest, no single live action director has ever managed to capture it perfectly.
That is, until Matt Reeves knocked it out of the fucking park in 2022.
Here’s the big problem with writing a character like Superman: he can’t change the world.
The superhero genre is about taking our world, the recognisable world we live in, and adding a few discreet fantastical elements. That’s the appeal. Ordinary people, trudging to their ordinary jobs look up and see a brightly coloured figure streaking through the air. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It’s Superman!
That’s the magic that the entire genre runs on. Which can create problems when, say, certain real world events have to be incorporated into the fictional reality of the universe.
Yeah Spider-man. You should have used your…webs…to stop 9/11.
And that can throw up all kinds of logical head-scratchers. Like (and I’m really, really not trying to be offensive here) ask yourself; would 9/11 even be that big a deal in the Marvel universe? Given that this is the same world where Kang the Conqueror once wiped out the entire population of DC or New York is under constant attack from Galactus, Symbiotes and God knows what else?
This is not a new problem. In 1940, Siegel and Schuster wrote a non-canon Superman story for Look magazine called “How Superman would End the War”, where Supes abducts Hitler and Stalin and drags them before a tribunal to stand trial.
The League of Nations being useful. There’s some comic book logic for you.
But in the main Action Comics and Superman titles the war went largely unmentioned apart from some now deeply uncomfortable covers schilling war bonds.
Out of universe, the reason for that is obvious. If Superman takes a more active role in world affairs and gets rid of Hitler (or Stalin. Or Saddam Hussein. Or Putin) then his world diverges too far from our own and the story loses that central appeal. It stops being our world and becomes an almost alien alternate reality.
But in-universe, you need to explain why Superman doesn’t just stop every dictator and despot around the world. It’s a problem that a lot of great Superman media has grappled with, and a lot of shitty media too.
Oh fuck, the Problem of Evil. What a radical new concept.
So in 1999, Warren Ellis and Bryan Hitch launched The Authority, a series about a Justice League pastiche that actually does take out dictators and get its hands dirty in global geo-politics. While Ellis intended the Authority to be seen as villain protagonists, when Mark Millar (OF FUCKING COURSE) took over as writer the team’s extreme and violent tactics were portrayed much more positively. The incredible popularity of this run prompted some fans and critics to claim that the nice old status-quo reliant heroes like Superman were strictly squares-ville, daddio, and that political assassinations and low-key fascism were what the cool kids were into. This prompted Superman writer Joe Kelly to pen What’s so Funny about Truth, Justice and the American Way?, where Supes comes face to face with a very thinly veiled pastiche of the Authority and demonstrates that wanting Big Daddy Strongman to come in and fix all our problems and punish our enemies is the cause of, like, 90% of the bad shit in our history as a species.
And…here’s where I have to confess to being a fraud and a coward. I haven’t actually read it. Yeah, I know. Even though I self righteously quoted it in the Dawn of Justice review I haven’t actually read the entire story. But, I have seen the 2012 animated adaptation Superman versus The Elite. And I am going to review it. And that is the thing you are reading now. If you’re a long time reader, you probably knew that, but I try to keep things accessible for the newbies.
unshavedmouse 