It looks good and is populated by fine actors (and we get a peek at trucks belonging to a bald man this movie could have used but doesn’t have), but the clunky Superman-as-Jesus imagery running through it all symptomises the problem with this narrative: too much steel, not enough man.

What is the most disconcerting part about Man of Steel though is its uneven pacing, unsure of whether it wants to be a blockbuster or a film about a man finding himself, or a boy growing up with scary powers, or a man finding his feet. It achieves none of the above credibly, being too loud (in all senses of the word) when it comes to the bang and too obvious when it comes to the pangs, and being always very, very solemn, trying very, very hard.

The movie springs into belated flight during the ferocious finale. The body count would turn mayhem-meisters Roland Emmerich and Michael Bay green with envy. Besides some blatant product placements, there are none-too-subtle allusions to the 9/11 devastation. A curiously empty exercise in blockbuster filmmaking, Man Of Steel is full of sound and fury signifying… you know what.