Film Carew: Man Of Steel

“Evolution always wins!” sneers Antje Traue's evil, black-clid vixen, with a snide smirk that shows that, even though Kryptonians apparently have no sense of morality, they sure have a fine line in ironic smiles. In the fundamentalist Christian realm of Man Of Steel, this makes Traue a clear villainess, sure to inevitably get beaten-down by that most square-jawed, dentally-flawless, hair-gelled, roided-up, god-fearin' of superheroes. “I'm about as American as it gets,” pronounces Henry Cavill, on cape-fluttering close, and sure enough he is: when confronted with the Theory of Evolution, he punches it in the face.

In this reimagining of the Superman origin story - written by Batman overseers Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer, and directed by Zack Snyder - Cavill is so turned into a Christ figure that you expect him to die for our sins at the end. “He'll be a God to them!” pronounces pops Rusty Crowe, in a toffee Shakespeare-in-the-park accent, when pointing that famed interplanetary-baby-carriage Kansasward. And, lo, shall he be. Or, if not a God, at least the Son of God.

When we meet Clark Kent, he's 33 years old(!), bearded, buff, and soon benevolently floating in the ocean in a crucified pose. Like the Littlest Hobo or Kane in Kung-Fu, he's a drifter going from town to town, working working-class jobs - washing dishes, fishing, hauling crates - whilst doing acts of good (like flipping a schoolbus crash from being some Sweet Hereafter sequel; described, no less, as an “act of God”). His seen-in-flashbacks dad - Kevin Costner, forever peering over the engine of his pickup truck - and pseudo-psychologist mum - Diane Lane, actin'- have long counselled him on keeping his true identity a secret. And the scenes in which they debate their son's 'coming out' hint at a delicious queerness - “the truth about you is beautiful!” momma says; “you have to be proud of who you are,” says pops - that is loaded, but ultimately empty. The Fabulous Clark Kent, replete with lycra-clad drag persona, is not to be; sadly, these are just the End Days, and Our Saviour has come to rescue us.

When Michael Shannon's whispering-snake General Zod lands on Earth - pronouncing his arrival with a garbled-digital, staticky, Ringu-rip-off video that shows trans-galaxial marauders totally just want to go Viral, and are happy to also make simultaneous Spanish-Audio-Presentation pronouncements-of-imminent-doom for the Latino market - Clark turns to his local preacher for counsel. And, confessing his great burden, weighing up his all-too-human morality, Budding Supes is shown lit as if a devotional painting, framed next to a stained-glass window of the original Jesus himself; Snyder perhaps figuring the many allusions of the script weren't ridiculously explicit enough. The priest advises him to take a “leap of faith”, no less; which means admitting who he is - so out! - and meeting face-to-face with Zod, who's spent the last 33 years growing a goatee just waiting for this day. The humans know not what they do, and sacrifice our hero up to this devil. Still, Clark Rubber knows “there's a chance [he] can save Earth”. And all our souls.

If all this sounds like simple enough Christ symbolism, woah, it gets deeper. On an extended opening-James-Bond-sting on Krypton - a high-fantasy vision of Dark Crystalised planet that is, without doubt, far-and-away the most interesting thing about Man Of Steel - we're shown the crumbling Kryptonian empire, which has depleted its natural resources and now runs as an Orwellian totalitarian state. Here, babies are no longer born, but raised in test-tubes uterine underwater farms; with artificial population controls imposed and each foetus farmed only to fulfil its functional, role-filling purpose. Careful, 'mericans: it's an Abortions-For-All Nanny State nightmare! As virtuous resistance, Rusty and his wife, Ayelet Zurer, have gone rogue and covertly copulated conception of Klingon's first 'Natural Birth' in centuries. With their planet on the brink of a bona fide biblical apocalypse - fire raining from the heavens, et al - the Naturalists send an escape hatch to Earth; the most telling line coming when Shannon yells “abort the launch!”

We'd look pretty bored too if we were getting 'coming out' speeches off Kevin Costner and Diane Lane...

Reproductive-fascism is the provenance of Shannon's evil military junta, who harbour not just Traue's überfräulein, but a bona fide Nazi eugenicist (Mackenzie Gray), who wants to extract the pure DNA of Kent's Kryptonian bloodline, before he sullies it by mating with Lois Lane. After their failed coup d'état, this pseudo-SS - in a sequence of unintentionally hilarious babymakin' imagery - are sentenced to “300 cycles” imprisoned in giant black dildos, which are shot into the sky, encased in electric sperm, then housed inside a crypto-mystical vagina. Of course, when Krypton, like, blows up, their prison-womb is freed from its Phantom Zone lockdown, and there's no doubt we'll be seeing these villains again... on Earth!

Up until the point when Shannon touches down, Man Of Steel - even in all its questionable religious politics - is an enjoyable-enough blockbuster: the opening Krypton sequence breathlessly soundtracked by non-stop, Timpani-thumping, oh-so-Zimmer fanfare, with Crowe flipping from pacifist scientist to gun-toting action-hero with comical swiftness. The middle-act finds Amy Adams bursting into frame as Lois Lane, a flurry of go-getter girl-reporter panache: all power-heels, high-waisted pants, and means-business waistcoat; cutesy enough to use the word “tinkle” but not to be kept from the scoop by any mere man. The underwear-on-the-outside-ness of the superhero costume is thoroughly reworked: that's not an S, but a symbol of Hope! And the Great Caesar's Ghost of Rusty Crowe is constantly exhumed as a sort of Professor In The Machine, posthumously lecturing son, Zod, and audience, leading us through all the necessary exposition to spell out the Superman mythos.

But, then, Shannon is revealed as Evil Incarnate, and Man Of Steel becomes a joyless procession of endless fist-fights, explosions, cities laid to CGI waste, and product-placement-amidst-the-destruction; the popcorn blockbuster turned depressing formula. For someone out to save Earth, Cavill happily plays a part in ensuring copious collateral casualties; his hand-to-hand combat taking out helicopters, cars, civilians, whole buildings. There's a needless sequence in which the staff of The Daily Planet try to rescue each other from the rubble, but the idea that we're supposed to care that these two-dimensional characters who've said barely a line each live or die - when estimates of the dead in Man Of Steel would surely reach millions - is a huge misjudgement.

These scenes borrow liberally from the imagery of September 11: planes crashing into buildings, citizens running scared from the falling skyscrapers, ash coating everything, Lois Lane as The Falling Man. Yet if America's greatest televised tragedy was two towers tumbling, how are we supposed to take the casual way Snyder cinematically knocks down New York's - sorry, Metropolis's - entire skyline? How are we supposed to take seriously a film that plays out Team America: World Police's gag of 911 x 100? Not to mention the most troubling question of all: if Wooden Hank Cavill is the Son of God; does that mean that God is... the lead singer of 30 Odd Foot Of Grunts?