Some Warner Bros. Execs Reportedly Blocking Henry Cavill DCEU Return

Superman Man of Steel

According to the most recent batch of rumors, Henry Cavill is no longer under contract as the DCEU’s Superman, despite reports making the rounds last summer that he’d inked an extension. Regardless of his current status, three big screen appearances in ten and a half years is a very poor return given the actor’s clear love for the character and desire to leave a much bigger impact than the one he was afforded the chance to make.

Warner Bros. and DC Films are still struggling to come up with a unified direction for the upcoming slate of comic book adaptations, leaving continuity in tatters once again. For example, James Gunn’s The Suicide Squad doesn’t reference its predecessor despite several returning faces, the boardroom keep reiterating the SnyderVerse is no longer a concern despite J.K. Simmons’ potential return in HBO Max’s Batgirl tying it directly to the Justice League era, while Shazam! Fury of the Gods is a sequel to a blockbuster set in a universe where Cavill is the Man of Steel.

It’s a clusterf*ck to put it lightly, and we’re now hearing from our sources – the same ones who told us Ben Affleck would be returning as Batman in The Flash long before it was confirmed – that several high-level people at Warner Bros. are purportedly keen on the idea of drawing a line under The Witcher star’s tenure as the Man of Steel for good.

J.J. Abrams and Ta-Nehisi Coates are rebooting Superman for the big screen, with Michael B. Jordan producing a Val-Zod project for streaming, so perhaps the top brass feel as though three Kryptonian superheroes is one too many, four if you include Sasha Calle’s Supergirl. One thing you can bank on, though, is that the fans will let it be known in no uncertain terms that they’ll never give up on the Cavill comeback.

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  1. barry elfuegosays:

    A problem of being a self-appointed culture critic is that the longer you hang around the planet breathing the air, the faster it seems your heroes seem to die. That’s a generational thing, your elders and your peers start to pass on, and your tribe is just a little smaller every few weeks. Of course, the cure for that sort of minor depression is getting new heroes, reading new artists, listening to music by younger musicians, and, most obviously, making more friends. Iggy Pop is over 69 years old, and it’s an irony upon an irony that he enters the last year of his 6th decade of life on the same day we find out that Prince has passed away at the age of 57. Iggy survived the morbid predictions that insisted that he would be the next major edgy rock star to go, joining Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix, Jones, and others as having a bad end to an edgy life lived in the spotlight. Nihilism was at the core of his act, both as Stooges frontman and as a solo artist. It seemed that the fabled mixtures of teenage impulse and fantastic amounts of methamphetamines and heroin were willful tools he was using to describe life not just at the edge of existence but also, if he were lucky, a will to narrate the passage through the thick shroud of unbeing. It’s a classic conceit in modern arts that an artist’s demise confirms their greatness/genius/cutie-pie factor; what have you. It’s a species of pornographic thinking, and shame on us for egging it onward in the culture.However, something intervened in that cliche, and Pop has been one of the more interesting elder statesmen for some time, always worth a listen. We benefit from his persistence to remain creative, not to be too terribly sentimental about it. Still, Pop’s longevity improves the quality of my life by his example that you can continue to respond creatively, with imagination, to the short existence we’re allowed to have. Like Bowie, Prince was one of those people you assumed would be around for the final mile of the long haul, a genuinely gifted polymath who would make music into his dimmest twilight. From this fan’s view, what hurts the most is that we won’t get to hear the grander, more experimental adventures Prince would have had as a musician. A straight-ahead jazz album. A record of guitar blitzing? Serious classical endeavors? Movie soundtracks? Big Band Music? A blues thing? Reggae? A stage turn as Othello?His androgyny/sex fiend persona aside, I marveled at the chameleon nature of his music, the jumping around from style to style. Unlike Bowie, equally eclectic in taste and output, there was a substantial musical virtuosity to Prince’s switching up and mashing up and fusing the elements of rock, fusion, Philly/Motown/Memphis/ soul, jazz, and the occasional bits of classical allusion. Though he never spoke much of his training, self-taught or schooled, he had as solid a grasp of the mechanics of music and controlled his virtuosity like it were a tool to be used judiciously, in service to the music. There was little that was excessive in his music, and I rather liked his singing, which was far from your traditional rock or soul voice; thin, reedy, nasal, limited in range and color, he still molded it convincingly over his melodies and lyrics, sounding wise, insinuating, dangerous, alluring, nearly any persona he wanted to get across. Anything seemed possible for him because he was spectacularly good at the varied projects he’d already finished and released.Alas, but no. This makes you want to pause a few moments and consider the breath you are taking at that instant and recognize that life is a gift we are given but don’t own. Embrace the days we have and do something with the hours while we have them.

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