What is that we hear, from deep within the digital ocean? Is it the protracted bubbling whinge of superheroes in their death agonies? Are we witnessing a Götterdämmerung of the superhero movie, as a bunch of B- to A-listers, dressed sheepishly in their tattered spandex, crouch on the green screen sound stage, furtively making calls to their agents between takes and wondering if they shouldn’t have held out against superhero films, like Julia Roberts and Leonardo DiCaprio?
I have often enjoyed superhero films with all their surrealism, melodrama and comedy and I actually liked The Marvels with Brie Larson. But there is no doubt about it: where the first Aquaman movie was in enough trouble, with Jason Momoa smirking his way through the story of Aquaman’s undersea travails as if guesting on a lager ad, now we have a terrible sequel, again directed by James Wan, reportedly the final film in the DC Extended Universe. The Aquaman franchise is just flatlining, floating through the dreary depths like the kind of discarded plastic bag which is going to choke the last remaining vaquita porpoise.
