Superman never seemed so badass here, written as a quiet notetaker whose superpowers have yet to be fully documented (and who eventually reveals, oh, wait, nevermindthat), and which remain hidden under tuxedoes and charm. Bruce remains as grumpy as ever, but rewritten as an agent in the field unable to trust his cooperatives dumbfounded by superpowers, and his neuroses seem a little more palpable.

Every other golden age character gets recast under dim lamplight, revised with the same police report level of minimalism. Tony Harris, of Ex Machina and Starman fame, gets his lumpy charm on all of these characters, a gothic noir style pervading everything (and a particularly effective visual rendering of snow), and it’s tough not to enjoy the thick, heady brew of world war II mystery men pulp. It’s just daring enough to thrill and realistic enough to make superheroes seem extraordinary.

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