BLERD AT THE MOVIES
Curiosity got the best of me, I'm afraid. Ezra Miller reprises their role as Barry Allen/The Flash, playing both the present and past versions of the iconic DC superhero, in this year's The Flash -- and, this time, they're joined by newcomer Sasha Calle, the second actress to bring Supergirl/Kara Zor-El to the big screen. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) AUTHOR'S NOTEThis post was written, edited, and published during the 2023 Writers' Guild of America (WGA) and Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA) Strikes. Without the hard work of the writers and actors currently on strike, the works we all consume and, in the case of myself and various independent content creators/ influencers, covered on all of our platforms -- from social media to blog pages like this one -- would not exist. Although this blog is a one-human show and the reach I may (or may not) have on all my digital platforms, from this site to my Instagram page, is practically non-existent, I want to explicitly state my full support for the WGA and SAG-AFTRA in their fight for fair compensation, improved working conditions, and a safeguarded future against a system that continually exploits their labor and denies them the treatment they deserve. While a full boycott has not been called by either union, SAG-AFTRA has requested that everyone who creates content about film and TV refrain from promoting struck content during this time. Out of respect for the union and solidarity with the industry workers on the picket line, I will begin ceasing coverage of new movies and TV shows on all my platforms, including this site. There are a few more pieces regarding media distributed from the studios in question that will be published, but it will take some time so please bear with me. I hope you respect and support this decision. As always, thank you for reading. How do we to talk about The Flash? Of course, this question applies to multiple aspects regarding this long-gestating standalone film for DC's Scarlet Speedster. First and foremost, there's Ezra Miller. Arguably one of the industry's most well-known nonbinary actors, Miller -- who uses they/them pronouns -- spent the last three years bouncing from one disturbing controversy to the next, eventually becoming the subject of a lengthy, detailed and unsettling Vanity Fair report in September of last year that offered a glimpse into the actor's mental turmoil and distressing behaviors, ranging from drug benders and viral videos of physical assaulting female fans to partner abuse allegations and grooming accusations. It wasn't until August of last year that the actor finally issued a vague statement, revealing that they were seeking treatment for "complex mental health issues" and apologizing to Warner Bros.-Discovery for their string of terrifying and threatening behavior. This, however, hasn't stopped rightful concerns -- and morbid meme comedy -- about how Hollywood was continuing to shield a white, nonbinary actor from facing consequences for the harm they have caused, nor has this stopped prominent celebs and media personalities such as Issa Rae from calling out the PR-manufactured redemption arc that's currently in motion for Miller, who is being positioned as a troubled but talented star on the road to recovery. No matter how hard Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC tries to mitigate the PR damage (with some help from Tom Cruise and Stephen King), there is no way to extricate The Flash from its star. To talk about The Flash means reckoning with uncomfortable but necessary truths regarding the way the industry continues to function in a post-#MeToo era. Then, there's The Flash's unique status within the current DC cinematic game plan. The Flash is the third movie crafted within the context of the now-defunct DCEU (a.k.a. "DC Extended Universe"), which plays a large role in the story-world of this film more than previous releases Black Adam and Shazam!: Fury of the Gods. By this point, it's evident that DC Studios co-heads James Gunn and Peter Safran are off-loading the remaining vestiges of the embattled franchise, hoping to fully wipe the slate clean and reboot the DC Universe proper. In fact, as of writing this post, Gunn has finally found his new Superman (a casting that has made headlines for the importance of finally realizing the Jewishness inherent in the character), so a new Batman is likely around the corner -- making that yet-to-be-found actor and Robert Pattinson another pair of actors portraying two different versions of the Caped Crusader concurrently. As /Film writer Ryan Scott aptly put it, "The big red reset button is about to be smashed. For hardcore fans, it may then feel a little bit like "What's the point?" when it comes to these final films from the so-called Snyderverse." The Flash may be a standalone movie in terms of the character who's getting the focus, but it's fully connected to the Snyder era of live-action DC movies, and people have largely moved on from that. And, finally, there's the increasingly annoying trend of multiverses. Inspired by writer Geoff Johns' 2011 game-changing crossover event Flashpoint, The Flash is the fifth multiverse movie to come out within a span of five years, forcing Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC to try and find ways to sell this as a "not like other multiverse movies" movie. I call the multiverse trend 'increasingly annoying' because we've officially reached the drain-circling phrase of the concept as various films like Spider-Man: No Way Home and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness seem to be sharing story tips and tricks with each other and failing to conceal the fact. Even this year's Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse falls victim to the multiverse trap, the fascination of multiverse lore -- which seems to be lifted from key plot mechanics and story beats found in the likes of Doctor Who -- replacing the rich character design and thematic focus that made 2018's Into the Spider-Verse a compelling love letter to and examination of Spider-Man's impact on pop culture history. Considering that Michelle Yeoh already won her overdue Oscar for her stunning performance in A24's weird and wonderful multiverse action-comedy Everything Everywhere All at Once, multiverse movies are now left to run in place. What was once a unique narrative concept is now shorthand for a lack of genuine creative inspiration, just like the "dark and gritty" descriptor has become for comic book/superhero movies desperate to be seen as prestige in the eyes of disapproving awards institutions and film critic circles. Again, it begs the question: how do we talk about The Flash? Ezra Miller as Barry Allen/The Flash in DC's The Flash. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) Truthfully, I'm not sure how the conversation about The Flash will evolve after its theatrical run. All I can offer is my way of talking about The Flash. Despite my knowledge of Miller's laundry list of controversies and my bewilderment over the over-hype surrounding the movie, I chose to see The Flash in theaters, largely because I was bored, but I'd be lying if I said morbid curiosity wasn't a factor, too. As a superhero media geek, I would like to be excited for every single superhero thing that comes out, just like I used to when I was younger, but that's not feasible anymore. I've been burned by my fair share of mediocre and awful superhero movies and shows, so I'm very careful when it comes to choosing which superhero things to invest time, money, and energy into. With DC, however, I've learned to not develop any expectations for anything that comes out on their side of the content farm. To put it bluntly, I don't expect any DC movie or TV show, live-action or animated, to be good. I've found it's better to expect the worst; it saves me from being disappointed. As a result, I wind up getting surprised by genuinely good DC content, whether it be movies like The Batman and The Suicide Squad or TV shows like Superman & Lois and Doom Patrol. Although a number of formative stories I devoured as a youngster came from DC (e.g. Superman: The Animated Series, Smallville, Batman: The Animated Series, and Batman '89, to name a few), the company's current output hasn't really done much to entice my interest. Often, I remain blissfully ignorant of most DC media; I didn't even know Harley Quinn had been running for four seasons until I signed onto (Just) Max recently to hunt for some documentaries that had been recommended to me. Save for maybe a few things here and there, there's just nothing here for me on the DC side of things -- but that's fine; I've got my comics to help me scratch that itch. This is a long-winded way of saying that I did not watch The Flash with the hopes of uncovering the fantastic superhero movie the Warner Bros. and DC brass touted it as (in lieu of Miller doing the expected wall-to-wall press coverage). Again, boredom and morbid curiosity got the best of me, so I used one of my free tickets. But, to say that The Flash is awful is an understatement. In all my years of watching superhero/comic book media, I've never seen a superhero/comic book movie as bad as The Flash. Of course, Miller's numerous scandals and Warner Bros.' insistence that DC Studios get rid of any movie with ties to the now-defunct DCEU don't do this movie any favors, but, even if you were to put those issues off to the side, there's nothing about the movie to justify Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC Studios' choice to continue with releasing The Flash and protecting Miller from any sort of necessary accountability. Somehow, this movie was allowed to be released to the public while Batgirl was unfairly banished to the annals of the unreleased movie archives, and that acute sense of unfairness and disrespect resonated deep within my bones as this movie droned on. The Flash is not "so bad, it's good" levels of bad. It's "one of the worst superhero movies ever made" levels of bad. The Elephant in the Room (or, We Need to Talk About Ezra Miller) Ezra Miller as Barry Allen/The Flash in DC's The Flash. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) CONTENT WARNINGThe following section contains mentions of/references to assault, abuse, harassment, substance usage, endangerment, and grooming. If any of these topics prove triggering for you, please take the appropriate precautions before reading on. Feel free to skip to the next section if you wish to do so. I'd like to start this section off by saying that I'm genuinely glad that Ezra Miller is getting the help they need. I do not know if their erratic and disturbing behavior was part of a severe mental breakdown, but it seems to me they may have been in the throes of a serious mental health crisis as they racked up the serious offenses and allegations against them. I can only hope that Miller not only remains committed to getting the treatment necessary to help them get healthy and process whatever complex emotional and psychological obstacles they have had to face over the years in the public eye and private, but also that they are committed to learning healthier, less dangerous coping mechanisms/skills when it comes to facing judgment, pressure, and the harm that comes with extra visibility as a queer, nonbinary actor who is (for the time being) still part of one of the biggest multimedia franchises of our time. Having said that, a mental health crisis -- no matter how severe -- does not mean Miller shouldn't take accountability for their actions. Miller's actions caused harm towards several people, including women, teenage girls, and young nonbinary people. The actor has been accused of child endangerment, partner abuse, and grooming -- the latter of which landed Miller a protective order issued by the teenager's parents (As of writing, the order has been lifted, and Miller has issued a public statement regarding the matter). Furthermore, the aforementioned Vanity Fair report details the actor's terrifying mental struggles, substance abuse, and well-publicized arrests for burglary, harassment, and assault. Mental health should not be used as an excuse for these severe and horrifying allegations and scandals. It's not surprising that DC, Warner Bros.-Discovery, and Miller's team have launched the actor's public rehabilitation/comeback arc just as The Flash was set to be released into theaters. There's a long history of Hollywood stars disappearing from the public eye following very public breakdowns, crimes, and accusations of predatory or violent behavior -- only to comeback some time later, often as an even bigger asshole than they were before. (After all, the "anti-woke" brigade loves a celebrity fully committed to being a a loud, confident douchebag with no sense of basic respect and decency for other human beings.) But, the push to reframe Miller as a talented but troubled star struggling under the immense pressures of the spotlight feels more cynical and shameless than any other "comeback" arc that's occurred within our "post"-#MeToo climate. By making no efforts to truly hide their intentions, Miller's redemption arc is essentially a Hollywood studio and powerful people within that studio doing their damndest to shield an actor who has done some really heinous shit... and is, by all PR-approved accounts, a joy to work with, gives an incredible performance in The Flash, and may even come back to the DCU should the film be a hit with audiences. What this kind of predictably short-sighted and disrespectful line of thinking does is reinforce Hollywood's status as an interconnected, uber-capitalist system of abuse, predatory behavior, violence, and imbalanced power that is more invested in protecting the people who commit heinous acts of abuse and violence at the expense of victims and survivors. As we've seen play out again and again and again, the abusers who come out of the entertainment industry are not just protected by their influence over certain communities (including their stans) and the industry as a whole (including film critics), but also their marketability, their personal charisma, their connection to other powerful people (remember, Tom Cruise and Stephen King?) who've also got considerable sway on audiences and the industry. For the most part, a majority of avid media consumers are aware of the machinations, as are folks who have been working in the industry and been reporting extensively on these stories for some time (i.e. Burn It Down: Power, Complicity, and a Call for Change in Hollywood by Maureen Ryan), so attempting to accept Miller with open arms once more understandably creates ethical concerns and typical exasperation. Ethically speaking, I'm over these cynical and contrived public rehabilitation arcs we keep giving to Tinseltown "darlings" -- largely because they transparently prioritize whatever movie, TV show, book, or podcast that's about to come out involving them. The Flash is no different, but it is definitely the first I've seen where the comeback story soured long before the press tour even began -- and, perhaps, that's for the best. It does not matter if an actor shows up to set on time, gets along with everyone, and gives the performance of a lifetime. If that actor is accused of something as heinous as partner abuse, child endangerment, and/or grooming, we should treat these allegations seriously. If we don't then all we're doing is being complicit and inflicting more pain on the victims and those in proximity of who have been harmed. Believe it or not, terrible people can indeed create good art. Joss Whedon, Dave Chappelle, J.K. Rowling, Chris Rock, Ricky Gervais, Russell Brand, Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Roman Polanski are proof positive of this fact... yet, we still find this truth hard to grasp. Until we start, we will continue to be complicit in a system that shields violent offenders from rightly being held accountable -- all because they star in our favorite media. Also, artistically speaking: there is nothing about Miller's performance in The Flash that screams "performance of a lifetime," and I'd like to discuss that next. Evaluating the Movie Based On Its Artistic Merits Ezra Miller as Barry Allen/The Flash in DC's The Flash. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) It's getting harder and harder to enjoy superhero media in peace these days. Between the incessant rambling of mediocre cis-straight white male filmmakers desperate to stay relevant, the near-endless barrage of wall-to-wall content that forces audiences to sift through years of media just to remember when and where a character or plot point first appeared, and the ongoing abuse of VFX artists that's contributing to the degradation of modern cinema, I've discovered that I'm no longer the ardent superhero media lover that I used to be. I'm much more picky about what superhero movies I spend my hard-earned cash on, as well as what TV shows to put in my streaming queues. Furthermore, I'm no longer unwilling to hold back on the criticisms that I have of the genre, especially as more and more projects exacerbate ongoing issues (e.g. CG-heavy, climatic third act battles; painfully awful needle drops in the middle of action sequences; and SNL-style comedy) while creating new ones (e.g. the multiverse -- more on this later). Enjoying a piece of superhero media on its own is steadily becoming rarity these days, but being exhausted by them isn't. Nowadays, watching a superhero movie or TV show is a chore, and The Flash is no different. Despite the high-speed hype train Warner Bros. and DC begged audiences to board (despite Miller's extensive list of criminal offenses and distressing allegations), the only thing The Flash accomplishes is showcasing how hard said studios played themselves with this movie. As I mentioned in the introduction, The Flash is one of the worst superhero movies I've seen thus far. Director Andy Muschietti, best known for his horror films Mama and the IT duology, is supposed to be touted as yet another franchise rags-to-riches tale, a familiar story involving a major IP-driven franchise scooping up an indie filmmaker and handing them the keys to their massive playground. I say 'familiar,' because Marvel essentially perfected the fairy tale, recruiting numerous indie filmmakers -- from DC co-head Gunn (Guardians of the Galaxy) and Ryan Coogler (Black Panther and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) to Nia DeCosta (The Marvels) and Destin Daniel Cretton (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings) -- to handle some of their most well-known or obscure characters and storylines and bringing them to the big screen, often times making waves in the process. (For example, Coogler's Black Panther movies renewed conversations about Black representation in mainstream film franchises, likely paving the way for characters like Miles Morales, Sam Wilson, and James "Rhodey" Rhodes to get expanded roles in their respective franchises and to begin having conversations regarding the Black -- or, in Miles' case, Afro-Latine -- American experience within these massive stories.) As a result, a number of IP-driven films and franchises have been looking for their own 'indie filmmaker goes large' success stories, but, compared to Marvel's success rate, they've yet to achieve such heights. It can be argued that the closest DC came was with Patty Jenkins and David F. Sandberg, the directors of the Wonder Woman and Shazam! films, respectively, but their sequels -- Wonder Woman 1984 and Shazam! Fury of the Gods -- illustrate their shortcomings, creatively and/or morally. Muschietti's work on The Flash won't merit him such a sparkling chapter in the DC mythology. While I wouldn't say he's out of his depth, Muschietti lacks the ability to craft a compelling and singular universe for the Scarlet Speedster. Barry's world looks and feels lifeless; there's no real effort to creatively engage with the established Snyder aesthetic. I imagine Barry's world is supposed to be grounded in the real world Snyder tried to painstakingly ground his heroes in, but the underdeveloped elements of super-speed, time travel, the multiverse, and multiple metahumans undermines the dramatic edge the film aims for. Much has already been said about the film's tacky, PS1 cutscene-like visual effects so I'll just say this: Muschietti was definitely trying to save face when he argued that the VFX of The Flash was supposed to look weird, and that only serves as a major spit in the face to the overworked and poorly compensated VFX artists who have to endure crunch culture conditions and unrealistic studio demands. Moreover, once Michael Keaton's Batman joins the party, Muschietti is tasked with trying to blend the Snyder aesthetic with director Tim Burton's gothic, theatrical, and campy designs for the Caped Crusader back in the late 80s and early 90s, but never engages with that aesthetic or Keaton's version meaningfully. Instead, Keaton is stuffed into The Flash's bland universe for the sake of cynical, nostalgic fan service. Keaton's unique Bruce Wayne is watered down to an eccentric genius who aged out of the cape and cowl a long time ago, with Muschietti and writers Christina Hodson, John Francis Daley, and Jonathan Goldstein (all of whom are credited with creating the script and the screen story, respectively) never fully exploring with what it means to live in a world without a Batman, a world where Bruce is somehow far lonelier than he's ever been and appears to be lacking a purpose now living as just Bruce Wayne. We just get vague lines about reduced crime being the cause for Bruce retiring but there's nothing else really concrete. Even a throwaway line about Bruce's feelings about honoring his parents -- and the possible feeling that he may have failed them -- through his one-man war on crime in Gotham City doesn't merit depth from the writers or the directors. What results is a waste of a talented actor and a terrible use of an iconic character this side of Multiverse of Madness. As for the Snyder aesthetic, The Flash's plot situates itself right in the thick of 2013's Man of Steel, with Michael Shannon returning as General Zod, who has arrived to Earth looking for a certain Kryptonian: Kara Zor-El (Sasha Calle), Kal-El's cousin who made it to our planet years earlier, only to be imprisoned and experimented on by Russian scientists and military. Like Snyder with The Dark Knight Returns homages in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, The Flash is comfortable with evoking memories of , as well as iconic graphic novels such as Flashpoint, Superman: Red Son, and, of course, The Dark Knight Returns (to an extent), but never engages with what these significant tweaks mean to the altered timeline Barry speeds into. The end result is a shameless, cynical ploy at nostalgia that aims for empty-calorie fan service. Not only are Bruce and Zod -- it's obvious that Shannon was only here for the check -- wasted in this film, but so is Kara, who's reimagining in this film is pretty significant despite the bland end result. Yet, for all that's squandered with Kara, Calle's performance is the most watchable out of the entire cast; her approach to Kara makes Calle the most obvious choice for that future Supergirl movie DC Studios is cooking up. Give her a great script and an innovative director and Calle could become the icon that Henry Cavill was robbed of becoming in the hands of Snyder, David S. Goyer, and other members of the previous DC and Warner Bros.-Discovery brass. Calle has more potential as a DC superstar compared to the actor we're stuck with following for the entire two-hour-plus ordeal. Speaking of Miller, I've never seen a leading superhero movie performance as bad as theirs. While I'm willing to concede that superhero media in general isn't exactly home to award-winning acting, the genre does has its share of compelling performances. Consider the following: Robert Downey, Jr. as Iron Man, Chris Evans as Captain America, Robert Pattinson as Bruce Wayne, Michael B. Jordan as Kilmonger, Elizabeth Olsen as the Scarlet Witch, Letitia Wright as Shuri, or Angela Bassett as Queen Ramonda. Unfortunately, they're almost outnumbered by (or 1:1 with) the amount of awful performances in the genre -- whether it be Jared Leto as Morbius, Famke Janssen as Jean Grey, or Shaquille O'Neal (yes, that Shaquille O'Neal) as Steel. You never really know what to expect from the casts assembled for these movies and shows, but, as with the case all movies and shows, casting can definitely make or break a project. If you've got the wrong leading actor, it will take you out of the experience; it becomes hard to suspend your disbelief and attempt to tolerate a bad performance for the sake of finding something else to like about what you're watching. It's clear that what worked about Miller's Flash was the fact that they were being delivered in small doses. For example, both cuts of Justice League made Barry a supporting player but gave him opportunities to be comic relief or pull off a CGI-heavy visual spectacle. And, if that wasn't the case, you might get lucky and see Barry pop up in a cameo in another DC project. In retrospect, making this version of Barry Allen the lead of his own standalone film feels like a bit of a lost cause. Partly because there's already been an actor -- Grant Gustin -- who capably brought Barry Allen to life for nine seasons of television, and, partly because the DCEU never truly fleshed out the litany of characters it was hellbent on introducing in their breakneck attempt to outdo Marvel. (Again, Wonder Woman and Shazam might be the only two characters who got lucky, even though it fell apart in the end.) The DCEU's Barry Allen never felt pronounced enough to merit an entire standalone feature to himself, especially one that boasts the scope and scale of this one. Couple this lack of dimension with poor acting and you get one of the worst protagonists to ever lead a superhero movie. Miller's Barry Allen is obviously cut from the same plucky, super-genius cloth as Tom Holland's iteration of Marvel's beloved web-slinger Peter Parker, but the biggest differences between the two lie in the skill level of the actors portraying them and the quality of the material said actors are working with. Over three movies, Holland has moved Peter past the slightly awkward, highly intelligent, always pop culture-referencing Gen Z'er Marvel Studios introduced him as in Captain America: Civil War, whereas DC and Warner Bros. only double-down on this annoying archetype with Miller in The Flash. Despite their past track record of charismatic performances in the likes of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and We Need to Talk About Kevin, all that Miller seems capable of producing here is high-pitched squeak-speak and melodramatic outbursts meant to communicate that what audiences are seeing is "A Dramatic Moment" (think: all that vein-popping screaming and crying Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver did in Marriage Story). Couple that with the development of Present-Day Barry meeting an alternate (?) Past Barry, who is always surprised, shocked, and delighted by the smallest of things and is supposed to exude a stoner/mama's boy vibe all the time, and we're stuck with two uninspired and irritating performances. Given what is public knowledge about Miller, it is worth considering whether these dual performances are truly the result of poor direction, poor acting, highly publicized real-life circumstances affecting Miller's acting abilities, or a combination of all these things. Of course, we may never know the truth regarding whether Miller's public controversies and dangerous behaviors truly impeded their acting skills -- all we know is just what the PR redemption story is trying to sell us on -- and production on The Flash as a whole, but what we get on screen is far from an entertaining performance from an actor who is likely looking to rebuild their reputation by banking on a major franchise movie to be their comeback vehicle. It's a smattering of archetypes and overblown acting thrown together in a blender by a trio of writers with different visions, a director who cannot create something singular out of said visions, and an actor who feels so out of step with their co-stars that you can't help but feel they don't know what movie they're in. In its own unfortunate way, Miller's performance represents what The Flash was never going to be able to accomplish, regardless of the extenuating circumstances surrounding both the filmmaking process and its lead star: justifying the existence of a massive comic book film with a multiverse story that was already skillfully realized over multiple seasons of television. I Hate Multiverses Sasha Calle as Kara Zor-El/Supergirl and Ezra Miller as Barry Allen/The Flash in DC's The Flash. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) The Multiverse might be the worst thing to ever happen to cinema. Or, at least, superhero/comic book cinema. (Again, Everything Everywhere All at Once got it right the first time.) What started off as a legitimate science and philosophy-based concept regarding the possible existence of an infinite amount of universes outside of our observable one transformed into a common comic book storytelling device that typically helped explained why some characters come back from the dead, why other characters are occupying the mantle of popular superheroes and villains, why one version of a hero is able to meet another version themselves, and why the latest earth-shattering comics event will have lasting complications for heroes for years to come. (And, of course, to paper over possible plot holes that may arise from changing creative teams on a title.) Now, in superhero/comic book cinema, the multiverse has become a multi-purpose storytelling device that seeks to accomplish everything, from introducing variants of fan-favorite characters to setting up future massive, universe-shattering crossover movies. For example, Spider-Man: No Way Home helped bring three generations of live-action Spider-Men together, all while redeeming the two most critically lambasted performances in Sony's main Spider-Man movies: Andrew Garfield's Peter 3 and Jamie Foxx's Electro. In another example, Multiverse of Madness used the multiverse concept to pull off cynical fan service: Hayley Atwell's What If...? version of Peggy Carter, the super-soldier Captain Carter, made the leap from animation to live-action, a move that ultimately frustrated the actress upon reflection; Anson Mount's Black Bolt, the protagonist of the maligned and forgotten Inhumans TV show, made an unexpected return... only to get a brutal death scene one could only get out of a horror filmmaker like Sam Raimi; and Sir Patrick Stewart's Professor Charles Xavier appeared in a suit and wheelchair aesthetically similar to the Professor X of the beloved 1990s X-Men animated series, just to offer some exposition and a trite reference to 20th Century Studios' defunct X-Universe. In short, when it comes to the multiverse, for every Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, there's a Multiverse of Madness right around the corner to remind us that adept hands and creative minds are what's needed for a great multiverse story. And, just like Multiverse of Madness, The Flash has none of this -- but it has plenty of shameless nostalgia bait, empty-calorie fan service, and nonsensical but somehow convenient explanations for how the plot was able to progress the way it did for over two hours. To be honest, I couldn't tell for sure if The Flash was a multiverse movie as I was watching. I knew that it was touted as such in the media and in fan circles, so I just accepted it as such. This isn't to say that the movie is not totally divorced from the multiverse concept; it plays a heavy role in the narrative of The Flash, but time travel is the true major element of the film. (Don't take my word for it, though; thank the good geeks of Reddit who broke it down.) Just like the Flashpoint comic event, The Flash plays with time travel, even implicitly referencing better time travel flicks like Back to the Future (the original "mess with the past, you mess up the future"), The Terminator (the major -- albeit silent -- antagonist both Barrys face off against is a menacing, superpowered being who will stop at nothing to make sure neither Barry derails its mission), and The Butterfly Effect (all it takes is for one small detail to be altered to cause enormous consequences, and that's exactly what this film visualizes in the major sequence that sees Barry travel to the past to prevent his mother (Maribel Verdu)'s death). However, much like Aquaman and its heavy-handed referencing of better adventure films like Indiana Jones and The Mummy '99, just because The Flash implicitly evokes better time travel and chaos theory-centric films doesn't automatically make it a better film. The fact that Reddit users were able to better visualize the time travel elements than a six-minute scene where Keaton's Bruce Wayne uses -- and I'm not even joking -- spaghetti to explain time travel and take a cheap shot at Avengers: Endgame's time heist just highlights how poorly constructed The Flash is. This movie doesn't know if it wants to be a time travel movie, a multiverse movie, a multiverse movie where time travel can affect the multiverse's existence, a time travel movie that lets the multiverse loom in the shadows before revealing it as the vastly interconnected spheres of existence that The Butterfly Effect better explored almost twenty years earlier, or a combination of all these things. The Flash's handling of DC's multiverse on the big screen makes the MCU's recent multiverse moves look like a masterpiece -- and that's saying something. It's hilarious how this movie really thought it could make a crack at Endgame -- a movie I don't like as much as others do -- while being as bad as it was. Despite my issues with that movie, I'm at least willing to admit that Endgame did do something creative with its approach to time travel; the time heist remains one of the better parts of the movie, largely because it has what The Flash and its approach to time travel -- and, by extension, the multiverse -- lacks: stakes. Although the Avengers would go on to disregard the Ancient One's warnings about going on a time travel-spree, at least Endgame makes each Avenger's trip to the past significant to both the plot and character development. For instance, Endgame's Nebula encountering the past version of herself plays out like Nebula exorcising long-held demons, finally opening the door for her to move forward and start trusting the Guardians of the Galaxy in the aftermath of Thanos's defeat. Another example is the present-day Avengers accidentally setting the stage for 2012's Loki to escape capture and wreak havoc with the Tesseract, a moment that highlights the genuine consequences that the Avengers choose to ignore -- and proof that, in at least one aspect, Thanos was right about something: the Avengers do not know how to live with failure, just like him. The Flash taking a pot shot at Endgame was probably meant to bolster its own time travel elements, but it had the opposite effect. The Flash does not know how to approach time travel in an accessible and creative way that enforces the stakes of the narrative and the importance of Barry's journey throughout the film. And, on top of all that, The Flash sets up yet another underdeveloped multiverse scheme that purely exists to justify a forthcoming universe reboot Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC likely can't afford. The tease of, as Reddit users describe it, a new "universe sphere" being the focus in the future is not that exciting. It feels like yet another test of the audience's endurance, much less yet another test of the relevance of the increasingly stale superhero multiverse trope. I can only speak for myself when I say that with every superhero multiverse story that's heading to the big screen, my hatred of the multiverse only increases twofold. The superhero multiverse trend continues to show that the concept is being quickly diluted by a lack of creativity and a shameless interest in financial gains. By choosing to adapt Flashpoint as the first major story for a standalone Flash movie, Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC already kneecapped a creative team that has a lot on its plate and stretches itself so thin to give audiences a reason to see their film. While I don't think the writers and director shouldn't be let off the hook for how this movie came to be, but a huge percentage of the blame lies squarely on the feet of the studio execs that approved this movie. If you're looking for a grotesque avatar for corporate greed and a dearth of innovation, look no further than the superhero multiverse concept. The Flash basically shows it in action. DC Should Just Take Its Ball and Go Home (or, In Conclusion) Key Poster Art for DC's The Flash. (Warner Bros.-Discovery Pictures/DC Studios | 2023) Congratulations to Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC. Y'all played yourselves. I've seen a number of bad superhero movies and TV in my day, but I've never seen a movie as bad as The Flash. No PR-approved, immaculately constructed hype train could have done anything to mitigate the amount of damage this movie did to not just both studios' bank account but also to whatever goodwill is left between DC co-heads James Gunn and Peter Safran and the fandom. (As for Miller, they'll be fine. If a video showing them attacking a female fan, a publicized arrest involving burglary and physical assault charges, and ongoing accusations of grooming and partner abuse isn't enough cause for concern, then nothing will be.) It's hard for me to visualize a future where people will be interested in whatever reboot DC plans on trotting out following the end of the WGA and SAG strikes. In addition to serving as the visual representation for DC's continued self-imposed implosion, The Flash also exemplifies the systemic corporate greed, denigration of artists and industry workers, and complicity in continuing to safeguard influential people who commit serious harm towards others on and off-set. It's difficult to see this movie as anything but an example of most of the things actors and writers are striking against right now. While I have no patience for so-called "virtuoso" and "visionary" filmmakers pulling up in droves to criticize the superhero genre (especially since they don't have that same energy for the systemic abuses and exploitation that's rampant in the entertainment industry), I can't entirely say they're just being haters when films like The Flash are taking up screens that could be given to better, more deserving films and filmmakers. With all that money, talent, and years of iconic comics stories, there's no excuse for studios like Warner Bros.-Discovery and DC to continue to put out mediocre product like this and expect audiences to accept it until the good stuff comes. That's disrespectful to the writers, artists, and audiences who are invested in this kind of content, whether as fans or as industry workers. There's likely more superhero media to come out this year, but The Flash is an early contender for one of the worst. Thank you for reading this post! If you're still looking for more (hopefully) witty, honest, and incisive pop culture analysis, ramblings, and discussions, here's a few ways to connect with this Blerd online:
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