Dear DC Extended Universe,
I saw Suicide Squad this past weekend, and I just want to say, I can’t do it anymore. The movie, like the sum of all of your parts, is lacking. You’re a Frankenstein’s monster stuffed with malformed chunks of ideas (some good, some bad) hastily stapled, sewn and taped together, and though your arms are open and eager to hug moviegoers, the stench of hollow storytelling is too pungent to embrace. It leaves me heartbroken. As a comic book geek, as a fan of DC and as a lover of cinema, I — we — can’t be seen together any longer.
We’re just too different. I’m a living, breathing person, and you’re, well, dead. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I think you were deceased before we had even been properly introduced. Your friend, Zack, must have diluted the smell with body spray while he distracted me with flashy movements. I thought it was erratic and bizarre at first. Even the second time around, I gave Zack the benefit of the doubt when he said your body was sagging and coming undone because you needed an extra 30 minutes to recuperate after a long day at the office. But this?
I drew the line when your buddy Jared came over and used my favorite Batman comic books for toilet paper. His friends, Will, Margot, Viola, Cara and even Jai, were okay, but that Trailer Park outfit you were dressed in when you all walked in was too unbecoming. Too much jewelry and not enough substance. It didn’t hide the lacerations in your flesh. When your innards slid through the stitching and crumpled to the floor within the first ten minutes, that’s when it dawned on me. I glanced at Jared, who had drawn a mouth over his mouth for some reason, and I knew we didn’t belong together. You weren’t simply in need of “more time” to recuperate. You needed something only an undertaker could provide — everlasting peace.
I’m not saying this is good-bye forever. As any self-respecting comic book fan knows, death isn’t a permanent state. I’ll also still be over for family gatherings, and I still plan on visiting your brother, DC Comics, every Wednesday for our usual hangout. But us? This weird relationship we’ve gotten ourselves into?
It’s too painful. I didn’t mind you rummaging into my wallet every couple of months for a few bucks, but each time we’ve hung out, the cuts have been slicing deeper and deeper. It’s only a matter of time before you kill me. Suicide Squad was too close to the heart, and I have to call it quits. I’m sorry. I really wish it could have worked out. For a while, I was even willing to let the whole “Martha” thing go. Not anymore.