Zack Snyder: Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021)

Zack Snyder’s Justice League is the best superhero team epic—and the last one I’ll need to see, at least for a good while. Marrying Snyder and screenwriter Chris Terrio’s lofty ambitions to muscular production and direction, the so-called “Snyder Cut” of Justice League achieves the grandeur, the visual and aural spectacle, the emotional investment and action excitement, and both the story-world and real-world significance that these kinds of superhero epics often promise but, until now, have never fully achieved. Unlike most superhero movies, Snyder’s Justice League performs and succeeds on every scale, from the intimate to the cosmic, satisfying in a range of ways—emotionally, viscerally, and even intellectually. At the same time, Justice League also reveals a dead end for the genre as it is currently conceived by Hollywood, so unless someone drastically reimagines superhero teams engaging in cosmic drama, Justice League is likely to remain the supreme achievement of this mode of cinematic storytelling.

This review aims to unpack that achievement. I’m going to limit comparisons to 2017’s version of Justice League, as well as reading the film through the lens of its turbulent and now storied production history. I’m chiefly interested here in what we have on screen in 2021, as well as in assessing Justice League as the third entry in what I consider Zack Snyder’s Superman trilogy, preceded by Man of Steel (2013) and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (BvS) (2016).

Obviously, Justice League has significant narrative, formal, and thematic links to both Man of Steel and BvS. Although I doubt that Snyder or anyone else involved in the initial production of Man of Steel conceived the film as the first part in a Superman trilogy, I nevertheless came away from my first viewing of the Snyder Cut (but not 2017’s Justice League) thinking that the three films benefited from their interrelations and should be read in unity. In other words, they are not just three films among many in the DC Extended Universe. I believe it’s useful to read them as a trilogy.

First of all, each film closely builds on narrative events in the previous entries, to the point of sometimes revisiting scenes from earlier films, such as the destruction of Metropolis (from the climax of Man of Steel) early in BvS, or the death of Superman (from the climax of BvS) that opens Justice League. The three films don’t just contain the same characters, while having a few narrative connections; rather, they tell a common story, with a defined beginning, interconnected narrative and character development, rising action, and substantial resolution and closure in the third part, Justice League. Although Batman (Ben Affleck) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) feature prominently in two of the films, all three truly centre around the character of Superman (Henry Cavill). In fact, from an overarching view, the trilogy tells the story of his birth and arrival on earth, his trial and death, and his resurrection and victory over the cosmic forces of darkness. 

Birth, death, and resurrection. These are the essential events of the Christ story, as I mentioned on our podcast episode discussing Zack Snyder’s Justice League. What is more, the connections are reinforced by Snyder’s deployment of religious imagery, which is constant throughout all three films. In Justice League, after Superman’s resurrection, when he dawns the black suit, he ascends into orbit around the Earth, which recalls not only an earlier revival of Superman in BvS, but also the Christus Victor image in Christian art, the triumphant Christ after his victory over the grave. 

Similar to the final chapters of the Gospels, particularly events after the resurrection but before Christ fully reveals himself to all the disciples, the first half of Justice League is about a scattered group of people coming together. Batman tells Alfred that his new motivation is faith. The community is bound by their faith in and loyalty to one particular individual, who gave himself for the community and for the world. Although Batman puts in the legwork to gather the team together, Superman is the one who, through his personhood and sacrifices, actually binds the disparate members of the league together. As Jonathan Kent predicted in Man of Steel (and as I discussed in my review), Superman inspires the hero within others, encouraging humanity to become better. Superman’s relationship with humankind changes individuals as well as the dynamics of the world on a grand scale. All that said, I believe that Snyder’s interest in Superman-Christ connections is primarily due to the Christ story’s distillation of key elements of the widespread hero myth that pervades virtually all cultures, rather than any particular evangelizing motive. The trilogy’s connections to the hero’s journey and the Christ story continue Snyder’s film project of investigating the nature of heroism and sacrifice.

The subtitle for Snyder’s black-and-white version of the film is “Justice Is Gray.” Released a few weeks after the colour version, “Justice Is Gray” was crafted to reflect the early cut that Snyder kept on his laptop and showed to select friends and acquaintances after he parted ways with Warner Bros. and their production of Justice League. I watched it for my second viewing of the film. While the subtitle indicates a universe of clouded and complicated moral judgements, it is clear that Snyder still adores his superhero team, an adoration on display in the admiring tableaux of the Justice League featured at different points in the film. At the same time, as my brothers and I have dug into in our retrospective, Snyder’s heroes always have to sacrifice something and they often weigh means against ends in ways that point to the special edition’s title as illuminating a guiding theme of the film.

At the same time, Zack Snyder’s Justice League is also, in part, an extension and redirection of the trilogy and larger DCEU, away from the novel, somber approach to Superman of Man of Steel, and towards an emulation of the Marvel mode. It’s worth remembering that Man of Steel is formally and tonally in debt to Christopher Nolan’s Batman adaptations set in a realistic Gotham City (although Man of Steel’s lengthy prologue scenes on Krypton already establish cosmic concerns). Batman v. Superman (in many ways the real launchpad for the DCEU, as Anders has argued) pushes the trilogy further away from Nolan’s The Dark Knight trilogy model, bringing in connections with other superhero character stories, as well as prominent allusions to specific comic book works, namely The Dark Knight Returns (1986) and The Death of Superman (1992–93). In BvS, the tone is darker, even dystopian, but also campy and unhinged at times, giving it a singular, madcap energy lacking in any Marvel movie. In comparison to the somber, serious first part, and the fever-dream second, Justice League is refined, elegant, and grandiose—a true Hollywood epic. The black-and-white version only accentuates the visual command and control Snyder displays.

Putting out a “Justice Is Gray” cut isn’t the only way that Zack Snyder’s Justice League is supremely ambitious and self-consciously artful, however. As a production, the film is impeccable, with top-notch special effects supporting refined compositions (which I will discuss further below). We get big vistas and big battles, as well as thoughtful self-contained vignettes, such as a scene focused on Lois Lane’s (Amy Adams) grieving. The film runs four hours and two minutes, clocking in as one of the longest big Hollywood productions, up there with Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet (1996) and Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra (1963).

In my view, the extensive run time, daunting to some, is hugely significant in determining the film’s high quality. Unlike any other superhero movie, the immense, classical-epic length of the feature allows for fully fleshed-out realizations of all of the core characters: Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash (Ezra Miller), Cyborg (Ray Fisher), Aquaman (Jason Momoa), Superman, and even the main villain, Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds). Characters who were previously unformed, confusing, and not very likeable, become wonderful personalities, with understandable motivations and goals. For example, Steppenwolf becomes somewhat more sympathetic, since he’s fighting for his redemption, and his actual plans for domination are clearly indicated. More importantly, Flash is given a real background and a more significant role, cutting a visually stunning figure. And, most impressively, Cyborg, who I barely understood as a character in the original theatrical cut, becomes arguably the beating emotional heart of the film.

With six comic book-like, cleverly-titled chapters plus an epilogue, and with the four hour runtime, the film feels, more than even Snyder’s Watchman or any other movie I’ve seen, like a superhero comic book miniseries a la Mark Waid and Alex Ross’s Kingdom Come (1996), and the visuals clearly draw on such works, emphasizing the godlike, mythic dimension of the heroes. The chapters, with nice narrative arcs and built in pauses, also evoke the comic book miniseries. (Note: for those daunted or inconvenienced by the length, I would encourage breaking up the viewing according to chapter divisions; I’ve done so myself, and it still works great.)

The film is also an important example of how Snyder continually modifies his craft to reflect exterior concerns. This isn’t to say that he’s an artist who bends to the wind; his creative concerns came to a head with studio concerns, as is now well known. But, he’s both an open collaborator and a populist filmmaker, someone genuinely interested in finding a sweet spot between executing his vision and delivering popular entertainment. Snyder’s also a filmmaker who, although we have argued shows clear auteurist marks on his filmography, nonetheless also engages seriously with a wide body of influences (not that referentialism precludes the auteur, as the pop-art legacies of Jean-Luc Godard and Quentin Tarantino obviously demonstrate). Most of Snyder’s works are adaptations, afterall. Perhaps the highest praise I can give Snyder for Justice League is that it reveals a filmmaker at his peak, in the sense that he’s in total control of his forms and influences while at the same time willing to risk some of his wildest excesses.

Visually, Justice League contains many of Snyder’s standout features, with some new characteristics. One thing I noted was, especially early on in the film, Snyder’s reliance on close-ups of his heroes’ faces, with slightly to the left framing and a gentle tilt up. It retains the hero's status as hero, but sets them off-kilter, as if the world’s axis has been thrown off by the death of Superman and the awakening of the Mother Boxes. Perhaps it also suggests Snyder’s interest in greying his hero’s luster, in spite of his admiration. In fact, Snyder might appreciate his heroes most for their working through (in his view) a morally-grey universe.

With all the different heroes on screen, Snyder here is the supreme master of slow-mo action. I did not admire Snyder’s play with superspeed visualized in Man of Steel, which tended towards viewing Kryptonian speed from a normal human point of view. The Kryptonians zip around and hurl people in a way that was startling, but quickly became repetitive and could be difficult to follow. In Justice League, Snyder invites us to align with the hero’s perceptions of time and space. Snyder’s penchant for slow-mo is best realized here in the character of the Flash, who, when moving at superspeed, generally perceives the world in varying degrees of slow-motion. This is a character no director is better suited to portray on screen than Snyder, the king of modulated action speeds. The Flash’s powers are used in the film for both comic and serious effects. For instance, it’s humorous to see Flash take the time to grab a hot dog and stuff it in his pocket, or be startled by realizing that Superman can move at his own speed, when the Man of Steel locks eyes with the racing Flash. 

There are two standout scenes with the Flash. The first introduces us to his powers, when he saves a girl he has a slight crush on from an auto accident, all the while interviewing at the puppy store. The second is Flash having to race faster than he has ever gone before, such that by passing the speed of light, he actually reverses time and goes back to just seconds before the Mother Boxes destroy the world, allowing for evil’s plans to be reversed. In both cases, Snyder’s interest in Renaissance and Baroque visual art inspires the dynamic compositions. The style of Flash’s outfit, with the helmet and tights, suggests an Olympic speed-skater more than a runner (as well as Hermes/Mercury of classical myth), and the way that Snyder has the limbs move and then hold in order to view the body’s strength and change recalls the delight in the human form of artists such as Michelangelo. 

With the Flash, Snyder’s interest is in the body in motion, whereas with Superman, Snyder’s camera adores the extremely muscular body in statuesque positions. With Justice League, Snyder’s comments about art history are made so obvious that we have to set aside the critical scoffs and take his visual interests seriously. The visual concern for enhanced physical status and abilities (already present back in 300) accents the thematic interest in heroism as discovering, developing, measuring, and testing the best within oneself. As far as I can tell, Snyder is the only filmmaker in the superhero genre who is taking seriously and artistically his visual renderings of the human body as an additional way to explore his thematic concerns. 

This continues Snyder’s ambitions in Justice League to fully explore, exploit, and play out aspects of the superhero genre. It’s the culmination of the past two decades’ work in the genre. There’s a competitive element in Snyder’s filmmaking that interestingly relates to his already discussed adaptability. For instance, the time-travel reversal is actually just one way that the film seems like an in-your-face one-upmanship of Marvel’s biggest films. Snyder does Endgame in just a few minutes. This somewhat measured yet supremely engaging climax shows that you don’t have to have a gigantic clash of armies to convey significance and dramatic weight. In fact, having a sequence that’s not just fist-slugging can be more visually spectacular and exciting.

The massive Epilogue also acts as a one-up to Marvel, notorious for their post or mid-credits teasers of future storylines. In the Epilogue, which is as long as some of the chapters, Snyder unleashes more of his “Knightmare” future for the DCEU, with a post-apocalyptic landscape and an evil Superman, even throwing in a fun moment with the Joker (Jared Leto) for basically no reason at all other than because he can. It’s gratuitous, goofy, and a bit deranged, but awesome. It allows Snyder to return to the scene that blew my and many other viewers’ minds in BvS, but it also says, “OK Marvel, here’s a whole possible future world, and it’s way more developed and fascinating than anything you’ve hinted at in 30-second teases.”

Justice League continually extends and pushes beyond the rest of the DCEU, in spite of my argued trilogy. In particular, the film extends the cosmic interests further. The film opens with Superman’s death cry activating the Mother Boxes guarded by Earth’s different ancient races: humans, the Amazons, and the Atlanteans. From The Avengers onwards, Marvel films have largely engaged in cosmic scale drama, even on a smaller level, as each film worked towards the culmination in Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame. While Justice League is certainly cosmic, it is also functioning and visualized in the style of 21st-century Hollywood fantasy. The battle from the past, with the Amazons, humans, gods, and Atlanteans, clearly recalls the Last Alliance of Elves and Men from the prologue to Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. Jackson’s trilogy clearly inspires the visuals for the large-scale battle featuring different fantasy races in flashback as well as the Amazonian fight with Steppenwolf when the Mother Box wakes up.

The superhero team epic is essentially the dominant mode within superhero films now. All superhero films are essentially episodes in a larger, universe-scale narrative. In order to defeat the big cosmic baddie, the heroes must come together as a team. While Marvel’s cosmic apocalyptic war god, Thanos, is nicely fleshed out as a character and is genuinely intriguing in Infinity War, his aura diminishes as the events play out in Endgame and he is sidelined. In contrast, Justice League’s Darkseid has such power as an apocalyptic figure here precisely because we only see him in snippets. We forever anticipate and dread Darkseid’s arrival, which means he remains the villain of doom, ever coming to signal the end of the world, rather than just another bad guy to be fought with fists who is eventually eliminated. Snyder is once again showing his ability to draw on other genre films, in this case, The Terminator, a series which is always at its best when it shows the snippets of the future apocalypse. It’s the movie chronology equivalent of hiding the monster.

As I’ve argued elsewhere, I believe DC’s top heroes hold a mythic significance in our culture, so there is plenty more to say about Superman and Batman and Wonder Woman. But I’m not sure there’s much more to be done in the superhero mode that currently dominates Hollywood. If this were the final product, I would be satisfied.

As much as I admire the Snyder Cut, I’m not sure it is Snyder’s best film or my personal favourite. Dawn of the Dead has a raw energy along its ragged edges that really excites me, and 300, less admirable thematically, is formally close to perfection. But I’m so happy Zack Snyder was able to finally construct Justice League according to his design, and, regardless of his past and future achievements, it could stand as a formidable magnum opus for any film director.

9 out of 10

Zack Snyder’s Justice League (2021, USA)

Directed by Zack Snyder; written by Chris Terrio; starring Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Gal Gadot, Ray Fisher, Jason Momoa, Ezra Miller, and Ciarán Hinds.  

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