D

British filmmakers have prospered for years making pictures—and television shows—about members of the older generation engaging in life-affirming actions that often take a slightly naughty turn. Now there’s an American version of the premise that one’s twilight years can be golden ones in “Book Club,” about four ladies of a certain age, friends who have long discussed books every week. Together they read “Fifty Shades of Grey” and decide that its steamy message doesn’t apply only to the young. The movie proves that while the Brits have a knack for pulling off this sort of elder fantasy, we colonials lack the touch. It’s so bad that you might think that Garry Marshall had come back to life to direct it.

But no: the culprit is Bill Holderman, who not only helmed this misfire but co-wrote it with Erin Simms. For some reason a good cast signed up for their sitcom fluff. Diane Keaton plays Diane, a recently widowed woman whose helicopter daughters (Alicia Silverstone and Katie Aselton) are pressuring her to move out to Los Angeles to be close to them. Then there’s Vivian (Jane Fonda), a haughty, well-to-do hotelier who rejoices in her freedom to enjoy a stream of one-night stands without commitment. Carol (Mary Steenburgen) is happily married to just-retired Bruce (Craig T. Nelson), but is worried about their lack of intimacy. The last of the foursome is Sharon (Candice Bergen), a long-divorced federal judge who claims to be uninterested in any relationship but gets annoyed when her ex, Tom (Ed Begley, Jr.), takes up with a much younger woman (Mircea Monroe), and her son gets engaged.

So what’s the plot? Each of the four, inspired by “Shades” to do anything but the right choice—which would be to throw the book into a fire—finds romance. Even at seventy, it appears, every woman needs a man to make her life complete. For Diane, he’s Mitchell (Andy Garcia), whom she meets on a flight to L.A.; he immediately becomes an insistent suitor, and she ditches her daughters to spend time with him. Vivian finds her Romeo in Arthur (Don Johnson), an old flame from back in the day who shows up at her hotel; soon their passion is rekindled. Carol works on renewing her marriage, and ultimately succeeds. And Sharon goes on a dating site to check out candidates, eventually linking up with two (Richard Dreyfuss and Wallace Shawn). Eventually she chooses one.

As the screenplay jumps from one of these romantic threads to another, it shamelessly resorts to sitcom cliché after sitcom cliché, willing even to descend to a sequence based on the unanticipated effects of Viagra. There are, of course, obstacles to happiness to be overcome by each of the women, and they all do so in ways more likely to evoke grimaces than smiles. One has to feel sorry for the actresses as they go through the paces demanded of them; they’re all talented pros, after all, and you feel a degree of embarrassment for what they endure here. The slapstick is bad enough—Keaton and Fonda suffer most in that regard—but even worse are the serious speeches they must eventually give about the life lessons their experience has taught them. Bergen, and poor Keaton again, are the primary victims in that respect. As for Steenburgen, she’s lucky enough to get by with just a goofy dance routine at a local charity fundraiser.

There is some consolation, however, in the fact that the movie isn’t misogynist: it treats most of the male stars as badly it does the female leads. Dreyfuss gets the worst of it, especially in a scene where he appears in a state of undress, but Nelson is stuck with the Viagra sequence—and you can predict what that involves. By contrast Garcia and Johnson are allowed to slide by on their dubious charms.

“Book Club” is no visual treat, either. As shot by Andrew Dunn, the settings are attractive enough (though some of the outdoor shots have a doctored feel), and Shay Cunliffe’s costumes are designed to flatter the leading ladies; but overall the film has a flat, stagey look. Peter Nashel’s bubbly score doesn’t help matters, either.

One final point about “Book Club”: it’s hard to recall another recent film in which alcohol plays so major a role. These women constantly have a glass of wine in their hands, and they guzzle it with relish. Apparently a man isn’t all they need. But this quirk may be a useful hint to potential viewers: if you want to get through this movie, it would help to down a few stiff drinks beforehand.

Grade: B-

After some early missteps in its attempt to challenge the Marvel Comics cinematic juggernaut, the so-called DC Universe finally scored big with its last entry “Wonder Woman,” and with “Justice League,” its answer to Marvel’s “Avengers” series, it can boast another modest success. The picture is still visually too dark, and it’s hobbled by a villain who’s a crashing bore, but it adds a welcome dose of humor to what had been pervasive grimness, and some promising new characters as well. Whether responsibility for the lightening of tone should primarily go to Zack Snyder, who’s overseeing the DC franchise and is credited as director, or to Joss Whedon, who is listed as co-writer and supposedly did reshoots after Snyder left to deal with a domestic tragedy, will probably be a matter of continuing debate. But the important thing is that the result is surprisingly enjoyable, and as edited to under two hours by David Brenner, Richard Pearson and Martin Walsh, mercifully short as far as superhero movies go, too.

In the aftermath of the disappointing “Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice,” the Man of Steel is dead, and his demise has cast a pall on humanity that invites the return of an ancient enemy of earth, gruesome destroyer Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds, as unrecognizable as the equally heavily made-up Oscar Isaac was as Apocalypse in the last “X-Men” movie). He’s a figure from DC mythology about the realm of the evil Darkseid, and returns to terra not-so-firma seeking three all-powerful boxes that apparently can gobble up planets when linked together. He lost them on his first invasion many millions of years ago, when mankind, the Amazons and the inhabitants of watery Atlantis banded together to defeat him. Each group took one of the boxes to guard.

Now Steppenwolf is coming back with an army of flying parademons that feed on fear, and Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) senses an impending invasion. To deal with it, he recruits a league of people with special powers. The first is, of course, Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), whose number he has from “Dawn of Justice.” He is, on the other hand, initially rebuffed by Arthur Curry/Aquaman (Jason Momoa), who prefers remaining a gruff loner, and Diana also gets the cold shoulder at first from Victor Stone (Ray Fisher), an injured young athlete whom his scientist father (Joe Morton) has saved by turning him into surly Cyborg—using, it turns out, the human-held box that Star Labs, where he works, has somehow gotten hold of. By contrast young Barry Allen/Flash (Ezra Miller) gleefully accepts the offer to enlist; he’s a guy who longs for cool friends.

A good deal of the movie is devoted to these recruitment efforts, which are amusingly depicted in the cases of Aquaman and Flash. (The Cyborg thread, at least in the early stages, is presented rather glumly, in the fashion of the pre-“Wonder Woman” installments in this DC series.) But eventually all five unite after the boxes held by the Amazons and the Atlanteans are taken by Steppenwolf, though not without occasional bursts of dissension among them. Unfortunately their first encounter with Steppenwolf does not go well, and they find themselves in need of additional power if they are to have any chance of saving earth. That’s why they decide to put the human-held box to use in order to…well, we shall leave that for you to discover for yourself. (Just check the cast credits for a clue.)

One of the particular pleasures of “Justice League” is that when the final confrontation comes, it’s in a nearly deserted area of Russia, a place left desolate by a nuclear accident obviously modeled on Chernobyl. That means that we don’t have to put up with the tired cliché of collapsing buildings and bridges as cities are reduced to rubble in an overly-familiar climax. To be sure, there is still plenty of CGI work on display here, and the culminating battle between heroes and villains is done in typically dank style (cinematographer Fabian Wagner and production designer Patrick Tatopoulos really lay on the gloom). But the number of potential human victims that require saving is relatively small (basically a few families that have been squatting in some condemned buildings), and the smaller scale in that respect acts to, rather than detracting from, the sense of human involvement.

As to the cast, even Affleck and Gadot crack occasional smiles this time around, and Jeremy Irons makes a reliable Alfred, with Amy Adams reprising her Lois Lane and Diane Ladd her Ma Kent. In his scenes as Superman, Cavill seems to be mellowing as well. But one has to feel for Hinds, stuck in some of the most unattractive costuming this side of gargoyles and barking out lines that would be absurdly overwrought even in a fifties comic.

On the other hand, Fisher, after opening scenes in which he tries to outdo Affleck for dourness, opens up nicely in the picture’s latter stages despite his heavy makeup and costuming. And Momoa and Miller are both winners. The big fellow portrays Aquaman as a lumbering, slightly dim guy in the manner of Chris Hemsworth’s Thor, with a scene involving Wonder Woman’s lasso that’s a great bit. Miller uses his comic chops to the hilt, not only delivering his quippy dialogue with cheerful new-kid-on-the-block enthusiasm but putting some welcome goofiness into his action scenes as well—including one of the extras inserted into the final credits (an addition that fanboys will especially appreciate as a salute to a frequently recycled DC topos). You can compare his Flash to the similarly upbeat take that Tom Holland gave Spider-Man in the last “Avengers” flick, as well as look forward to the solo movies promised for both Aquaman and Flash.

“Justice League” closes with nice summing-up moments for its various characters, as well as a closing blurb pointing to what’s planned for a JL follow-up. If this movie is any indication, one can anticipate that continuation with a lot more hopefulness than you possibly have for a second helping of something like “Suicide Squad.”