Vincent Prince’s review published on Letterboxd:
Having not seen a single superhero film since the original Avengers, hell of a whiplash for me.
Switches between gorgeous images that one can't believe made it into such a mainstream property, Fordian images of lonely men staring into skylines and doorways framing perfect sunsets. The eroticism of the photography is understated even by the hyperbole of Armond White, bodies in violent ecstasy spasming with power.
Even in its more abstract sense, the film is a psychoanalytic playground, with trips into deep gaping caverns to activate the "mother's box", violent ejaculations of objects once activated — hard to think of a more phallically-fixated film in recent memory.
When it doesn't work — it becomes a dumpster fire. It's hard to call most of its action sequences even close to cinema, QTEs devoid of button presses, resembling the stage demo Ubisoft would deceitfully give before shipping out a chintzy product two years down the line. Action sequences are almost indecipherable to my eye, the distinction of bodies so present before now completely gone, specks zapping across the screen in what is so obviously an empty soundstage with flimsy structures meant to stand in for the environment.
I would be much more interested in Snyder's The Searchers with Superman as Ethan, but instead we get this mess.