Dear friends, acquaintances, neighbors, classmates, former teachers, frosty but civil nemeses, somewhat distant relatives, local and state representatives, nuclear family members, and other ardent attendees of last night’s showing of Justice League who glared and made condescending comments upon overhearing me say I would “treat Superman right” as we exited the theater,
I am truly sorry you had to hear my vulgar girl feelings during such a special moment.
Moviegoers, you were probably pondering the great mysteries the film encouraged us to examine in order to truly know our place in this universe. Things like, “What was that weird thing between Gal Gadot and Ben Affleck– er, Wonder Woman and Batman?” and “Cyclops’ dad is the same guy who plays Papa Pope on Scandal!! I wonder if Cyclops and Olivia Pope are siblings, because that is not out of the realm of possibility,” and “Why wasn’t Tony Stark in this? Is he Marvel? Yeah, I think he’s Marvel.” However, I interrupted your post-film theorizing by mentioning to a friend that I would treat the “Superman” of the movie, played with stoicism yet sincerity by “Man of Steel” actor Henry Cavill, 34, “right as all hell” (is that a phrase? I was out of control).
For you, fellow impassioned viewers, I ruined that utterly unique viewing experience with my whispered exclamation while exiting the mall in which we were all transformed.
Devoted students of super-phenomena with whom I shared the sentiment that I would treat the hell out of Superman for the rest of our time together on Earth, we all know the movie Justice League is no mere gun show, nor is it your average, run of the mill, predictable, deus-ex-machina-obsessed, “unlikely ensemble of misfits whose alpha members share unexplained and unresolved belligerent sexual tension throughout their journeys across the world to collect individual pieces of a magic object with the capacity to catalyze an apocalypse if given to the wrong hands, who, speak of the devil, are on their way from another galaxy to collect said magic objects and combine their powers to destroy the universe” flick.
To say so would be blasphemous.
No, Justice League is no Avengers, Transformers, second Avengers, Percy Jackson, or every Harry Potter; it is completely different. And for you, fellow impassioned viewers, I ruined that utterly unique viewing experience with my whispered exclamation while exiting the mall in which we were all transformed from the people we were before we saw Justice League, to the ones we were afterwards. The exclamation in which I detailed how I would like to run Kryptonian-American Clark Kent a warm bath, put on some of his favorite music, and help him unwind after a stressful day, perhaps with my three-ingredient homemade biscuits, which I know he would like because of his humble-farmboy upbringing.
I truly understand if you’re upset at me, dedicated observers of the doctrines of the DC Universe. Justice League broke new ground in the superhero and action genres in that the characters frequently broke whatever ground they fought on, sending shards of concrete flying through the air, none of them hitting any of our protagonists obviously as a result of the lowering of the field of gravity due to the presence of so many powerful “supers,” as we say in the fan base (that phenomenon never being mentioned or alluded to at all in the movie makes it all the more impressive in its contributions to the construction of a realistic and vivid world in which magical phenomena need not be explained, ever, unless that magical phenomenon is the aforementioned magical object that is different from the other magical events constantly happening, somehow, and for some reason more important).
I neglected to acknowledge that level of artistry in the 90-minute journey we all went on when I said at the close of the film that I would decorate Superman and my shared apartment with hardwood floors and succulents, because the color green relieves stress and he deserves stress relief after carrying humanity on his shoulders all day long, and that in addition to pampering him I would also challenge him journalistically and morally because he deserves not only a loving romantic partner but also an equal with whom he could learn and grow, because he seems like the kind of man who always strives for self-betterment.
To the young man who as a fellow diehard Justice League fan was present at last night’s screening, I truly appreciate you reminding me—after I stated that if Superman wants an investigative journalist babe with a penchant for truth, justice, and treating her romantic partner with admiration and understanding that he knows where to find me—that “these movies are actually really complicated” and “hormone-crazed girls who only watch it to see Superman’s abs” could “never understand them if they tried.”
You are absolutely right, my fellow amateur analyst of media.
My estrogen-filled woman brain was so busy on the drive home from the theater thinking about how in the mornings Clark and I would stand side-by-side in our bathroom getting ready, me finishing up first and then helping him shave using the razor blades I ordered for him from Italy—just forcefully enough to wipe away the shaving cream but also leave a thin layer of stubble to accentuate his marble-like cheekbones, and then tousling his hair with my fingers as he brushed his teeth to help him reach the perfect swooped look—that I didn’t even remember how totally sick the final fight scene was, or how refreshingly monochromatic it was, or how baller it was when the Justice League fought off the big gross monsters and restored order to humanity, which was quite honestly a last-minute twist neither of us could have expected. Shyamalan who?!
You, my fanfic-writing, chatboard-commenting, cosplaying brother, are a true student of the art of cinema. Therefore, I apologize most of all to you.
I waited until after the movie’s end to state perhaps a bit zealously and publicly how very, very right I would treat Clark Kent. You knew all along what I didn’t: TRUE fans don’t save their comments and emotions until the end of a movie in an effort to absorb every moment of the film. They, like you, authentically respond to the film by yelling out “WOULD SMASH!!!!!” each time Wonder Woman actress, IDF fighter, and likely Academy Award nominee Gal Gadot’s skirt lifts up to expose her upper thighs.