Ultimate edition (finally). An existential horror film, and the most politically complex film, mainstream or otherwise, since Revenge of the Sith, and potentially even surpassing it on that front. (Arthouse cinema is wank for liberals. Truly artful, non-propaganda films for the masses require more nuance). Perhaps our era's defining statement on good and evil.

I must specifically remark this time on the much maligned (what wasn't, fuck nerds) mud cgi climax, which is in fact a vision of hell aligned aesthetically with Goya and the textually Doré. The true counterbalance isn't the sparse and crackling light, sparse as the hope the film offers narratively, but the magnificently tactile intercut sequence of Lois Lane searching for the spear. She stumbles and the camera with her, the folly of man against the grace of gods. Superman dives to retrieve the lance: a volley of real, practically achieved bubbles arises from the descent of a God fashioned in the machine. God made flesh and man made holy, both through cinema.