Zack Snyder's Justice League Shines but Remains Hollow

There will forever be a sweetness in walking back down traveled paths, whether indulging with an old flame or finishing a project clamored for a collective of unrelenting fans. For Zack Snyder, it is obviously the latter, but for myself, it is the former as I partake in my first film critique in what feels like a lifetime. It was my start, the tethering connection between discussing another's work before beginning the reckless endeavor of manifesting my own. For Zack, in his redemptive outing with his conveyance of the intended vision of the unsuccessful and harshly critiqued 2017 feature Justice League (directed by Joss Whedon), it is similar. I rediscovered what I love about his commitment to his craft, a style like no other, but I couldn't help but notice what I could grow to love if it was placed in another's hands. 

When initially released, my critique of Whedon's version was primarily centered around the same dilemma I found in Snyder's initial feature, Man of Steel and his 2016 follow-up Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice: I did not care about these characters. More precisely, I did not care about these versions of DC's mythic titular icons. While there's much more to complain about regarding Whedon's version of a brightly colored, absent-minded, and occasionally distasteful work of superhero mediocrity, the crux of how Snyder drew these characters was the quintessential flaw. 

I was not alone in berating Whedon's hacking of a disliked but somewhat coherent vision. Both critics and fans alike were quick to rebuke Whedon's mechanized assembly print of heroic theatrics. Publicly, the cast and everyone close to the movie practiced hoped to perform a miracle, but the film left theaters earning $657 million globally. While it rings like the number of uber wealth, once you consider the nearly $300 million budget, including the reported $25 million for Whedon's reworking, plus a conservative estimate of $100 million to $150 million in marketing costs, that number quickly begins to shrink. Simultaneously factoring in the sizable cut theaters take from the box office and the noticeable comparison that Justice League's box office would be dwarfed six months later by Marvel's own all-star showcase Avengers: Infinity War, which flexed its muscles at $2 billion.

Snyder enthusiasts and devoted followers were quick to begin the campaign: #ReleasetheSnyderCut. They beat the drum on social media for years since, pleading, demanding, and even order Warner Bros. to return Justice League to its "rightful" owner and allow him to bring his pure and pristine vision to life. Last May, they finally got their wish with the announcement of a four-hour, uninterrupted stream of Snyder's cut exclusively on HBO Max. While it's not uncommon for a director to lose creative control of a big-budget tentpole project, it is unheard of for a studio to usher in an exiled filmmaker and fork over the money to provide the resources for him to finish his vision in its uncut entirety, and Snyder's baronial and often majestic rendering is a noticeable improvement. 

Benefitting from the fortune of no restraints, Snyder's vision brings with it a grand perception of these characters by featuring momentary halts in narrative momentum for these glorious vignettes of our idolized heroes and heroines saving people from gun-toting terrorist organizations, thunderous storms in isolated waters, and unforeseen car accidents. In this, there is, at least, the unspoken nod to the audience that these characters care about our well-being. They are willing to step in front of danger to save us from one another. The fact that this needs to be said is part of the problem, however.

The story bears a resemblance to what we saw before. A disgruntled Batman/Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck), embattled with grief, wrangling a team of misfits together — Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), Aquaman (Jason Momoa), Flash (Ezra Miller), Cyborg (Ray Fisher), and eventually Superman (Henry Cavill) — to battle Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds) and his legions of parademons. His mission is to gather the three mother boxes, ancient relics that, when conjoined, allow a being to terraform a planet and control the planet's civilization as he wishes. However, this time around, there is context afforded to Steppenwolf, a character whose purpose is to please Darkseid (Ray Porter) after failing him previously. He was ousted from his side and now hopes to prove his worthiness again with a world as weak as ours as he says, "no protectors, no lanterns, no Kryptonian, this world will fall." 

The first two hours are devoted to contextualizing those new to this saga, providing ample story for both Cyborg and Flash, and to a lesser degree Aquaman. The plot devices are eventually explained by Diana to Bruce, and conversely, to us. Her journey grazes past different avenues but bears a substantial similarity to what already came before, but Snyder's conveyance of her is not as centered around her beauty. 

While Whedon was rightfully faulted for the unnecessary camera glimpses of her rear and legs, hoping to sexualize her presence instead of allowing her to maintain that same feminine strength presented by Patty Jenkins months prior (Whedon has since been accused of unprofessional and abusive behavior onset), Snyder does his best to maintain that feminine potency. He makes the wise decision to convey her as a warrior, a soldier who wasn't there to help those she once fought alongside. There is still a recognized response of her beauty by her male counterparts, specifically Flash. Still, it remains more tasteful and more in tune with the character created by Jenkins and Gadot years earlier. 

The general glossing over trivial mistakes and juvenile humor is welcomed, and the contextualizing of these characters' reasoning and plot maneuvering was needed, but only those who worshipped at the feet of his high-octane, brawn-fest, murals of fictional iconography will be pleased by Snyder's work. Those who loved the crux of Snyder's intentions but needed nudging to invest into his ideas fully; they will find themselves relishing the repairing Snyder's achieved here. But those, like myself, who never found themselves resonating with a Superman often unemotive and unnecessarily dour and a Batman who's so disheveled from his identity to not only kill his enemies but to use guns while doing so will only find themselves as disgruntled as before.

Much like the roots of the Marvel comics, Marvel Studios chose to echo the genius of the bullpen by focusing on the person behind the mask, asking the question: How can this person balance the tumbles of everyday life and become a hero? DC, much like Snyder's universe, approached from an opposite direction by depicting their heroes as gods struggling to be human. This eventually evolved through the ages, with writers challenging these gods and traveling down the cul-de-sac's of character to discover more empathetic expressions. Such as what it means to be an alien capable of defeating almost any foe but unable to save everyone, or a boy so desperately committed to a mission as to ignore the life he could’ve lived with bliss, but these are not fitting of Snyder’s taste. While Snyder's operatic, tragic, and occasionally more challenging type of comic book storytelling is for some, it is not for me.

For the director's devotees, it's a Hollywood ending for a Hollywood story. For the truly devastating event that Snyder and his family endured with the loss of their 20-year old daughter, who took her own life after a long struggle with depression, the film itself serves as another avenue for Snyder and his fans to continue raising money for suicide prevention programs. As someone who's attempted to take their own life more than once, this ultimate goal intended by Snyder and company makes every minute of the four-hour runtime worth it. 

As the film ends, after an engaging but wonky epilogue, it reads "For Autumn." And when watching this film, it is crucial to cognize this idea. This film was not intended for me to indulge within; it was not constructed and rebuilt for those tossing stones outside Snyder's glasshouse. It was for those inspired by his craft, who adore his vision, and the daughter he lost to a disease without a vaccine.

I may not cherish Justice League, but I continue to revere the man who lives behind it.