The villains are vivid illustrations of Jean Renoir’s observation that “The real hell of life is everyone has his reasons.”
A hodgepodge of horny-old-man clichés writ large, staged as a gleeful affirmation of its male lead’s ego and entitlement.
The series is primarily occupied with providing the viewer with a collection of future super-villain Easter eggs.
The tetchy band of thirtysomethings’ interpersonal problems are infinitely less compelling than the mysterious and original global disaster the filmmakers have devised.
It’s unclear if it can work on stage, stripped of TV-star casting and distancing cine-frills, but the script’s cuts seem skittishly hedged.