Big superhero comic mega events are a little bit like Michael Bay movies. Sometimes they’re sharply cut, high-octane spectacles that feature indelible performances; other times, they’re utter and incomprehensible dreck that substitutes volume for quality and mistakes misogynistic machismo for character development. In all cases, however, they’re big, over-the-top, shiny action fests that suggest subtlety is something other people do and those people are not welcome here.
(Note: I get that some of you are going, “Michael Bay has movies that feature indelible performances?” Well, yeah—I submit Bad Boys as the first example, and, for my money, the chemistry between Nic Cage and Sean Connery in The Rock makes Cagney and Lacey look like peanut butter and dried boogers. You can disagree, but you’d be wrong.)
Whether or not a particular mega event lands well for an individual reader is a function of a variety of factors, including their personal feelings about the characters and creators involved, obviously. But, one of the most important of those factors, at least for me, is the point in life at which you encounter a given event.
The first such event I read was Infinity Gauntlet at the tender age of 10. Ever since, it’s been the standard by which I judge all others, and I’ve never been able to figure out if it’s because it’s particularly good or if it’s just because it was my first bite at the apple (insert virgin joke here, though I’m like the Wilt Chamberlain of comics reading even if I’m like the A.C. green of sex having).
Look, there’s no way to do an event comic that’s not a giant, sprawling mess of excess. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though—as long as you go in being okay with that, they can be delightful good fun when well executed (see, for examples, the X-Men Age of Apocalypse series, though, again, I’m not sure if that’s because of the age at which I originally read it or the quality and surprisingly high degree of creativity and coherence it evinces despite approximately 7,439,823 creators being involved). Sometimes, though, they’re such utter, contrived messes of horse feces that all you can do is curse them out for getting stuck to your shoe and mucking with the continuity of the regular books they disrupted for no apparent narrative reason and every apparent mercenary reason.
And, finally, I get to the point—where does Metal land on that spectrum? Squarely in the middle.
Snyder completely leans into and owns the absurdity, freely acknowledging that the goal is to be over the top and doing everything he can to get this tale of Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and other Justice League luminaries questing for mysterious, physics-defying metals in order to stave off not only the end of the world, but the end of existence universally, to that point. As a result, the action, emotion, and pathos are dialed up to 11, and there’s more corn here than at an Iowa county fair and more cheese than at a Wisconsin wedding.
It’s undoubtedly fun; it’s also occasionally baffling. On the Bay scale, it’s Transformers—kind of a hot mess, but when you hear the dramatic tones of Peter Cullen giving life to Optimus Prime, well, you can’t help but get a chill here and there.
We’ll round up from 3.5 based on Snyder’s high degree of self-awareness and unselfconscious embrace of event excess.