Grade: C

After having Zack Snyder reboot its Superman franchise with modest success in 2013 with “Man of Steel”—a far noisier, cruder take on the character than that offered by Bryan Singer in his graceful, elegant “Superman Returns” of 2006 (largely spurned by audiences precisely because of its more sophisticated qualities)—the Warner-owned DC Comics Corporation has given him the job of rejuvenating its entire superhero stable, emulating the Disney/Marvel model of single-character pictures alternating with team efforts (the Justice League of America, instead of the Avengers).

This first installment of his vision takes on a question that fanboys have argued about for years: who would win a fight between Batman and Superman? His answer is predictable, so long as kryptonite is part of the equation, and also rather tedious, since Snyder has opted to load down the plot with hunks of various comic arcs, a plethora of overblown action sequences, entirely too many “damsel-in-distress” plot twists and nightmarish recollections (frequently in the form of hackneyed “waking-from-a-dream” scenes), supposedly moving but prosaic moments of introspection and the obligatory introduction of the other DC superhero characters intended to become part of the “Justice” stable. The result is a loud, cluttered, joyless muddle that might be described as Snyderissimo—which might please DC and diehard fans but will probably put off those accustomed to the breezier tone of the Marvel universe.

The movie begins with Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) responding with as much disgust to the mindless mayhem at the close of “Man of Steel” as many viewers did. It makes Gotham’s masked vigilante—a figure older and emotionally darker than even Christopher Nolan’s knight—deeply suspicious of the powerful alien. He thus becomes obsessed not just with taking down Gotham’s villains but with preparing himself to take on Superman as well.

That’s a goal also embraced by Lex Luthor, here played as a scraggly-haired, wild-eyed young industrialist by Jesse Eisenberg in full “Social Network” mode. Luthor not only hates Superman for reasons he attempts unsuccessfully to articulate in rambling screeds about gods and men, but wants to bring about his downfall using Batman as his instrument—setting in motion a twisty succession of tactical moves designed to force them to fight one another to the death. (He insures the Man of Steel’s participation not only by turning public opinion against him to stoke Wayne’s hostility, but also via kidnapping people Superman cares about.) Luthor’s machinations ultimately lead to the titular beat-down between the two heroes, a prolonged and brutal affair that, one might be crushed to learn around the two-hour mark, is but a prelude to an even bigger brawl with a monstrous figure from Kal-El’s Kryptonian heritage. It goes on interminably, awash in the kind of murky, grim CGI overkill that’s characteristic of The Snyder Style.

There’s some consolation in that this final section of the movie brings Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), into the mix. She slinks about in civilian garb earlier in the movie, serving as an attractive femme fatale whom Wayne encounters during his efforts to find out what Luthor is up to (it involves kryptonite, of course). But in the last half-hour she emerges in full Amazonian glory, which is something to see even in the muck of Snyder’s gloppy CGI. It makes one look forward to a Wonder Woman stand-alone feature—provided that it comes with a different director.

Otherwise matters are less sanguine for the future. Cavill remains pretty much of a stick as Superman, and his Clark Kent is almost equally stolid, with none of the amiability that Christopher Reeve or Brandon Routh brought to the role. Amy Adams is a lightweight Lois Lane, and her romantic moments with Cavill are sappy—the fault, however, as much of Harlequin-level writing as the actors. Eisenberg’s Luthor is a miscalculation, a departure from the comic myth so radical—and ill-conceived—that it comes off as a bad joke, especially in Eisenberg’s frantically ill-judged performance. There’s a bit of compensation in the work of Diane Lane (as Ma Kent) and Holly Hunter (as a principled senator), but they’re just two more women who suffer in this mostly macho world. Laurence Fishburne makes a pallid Perry White, and Michael Shannon literally sleeps through his return as the nefarious General Zod.

Then there’s Ben Affleck. Fans castigated Snyder’s choice of him to play Bruce Wayne/Batman, and in truth he doesn’t bring much that’s special to the part apart from a generalized haunting quality. He certainly has the chin for the role, though—Batman’s most important attribute—and he gets by well enough, despite a couple of soul-searching monologues that demonstrate the purplish inclinations of Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer’s writing. (Cavill has to deal with some of those ponderous moments as well, and the attempt to give Luthor’s diatribes a semblance of quirkiness by including some odd quotations in them falls flat.) The worst example of the script’s tendency to slip into snicker-inducing pretension, however, occurs in a ludicrous morale-boosting oration given by a ghostly figure that shows up late in the game. It comes literally out of nowhere, and has to be heard to be disbelieved. On the other hand, Jeremy Irons gets in a few good licks as the Wayne butler Alfred, who’s developed a decidedly cynical streak in dealing with an employer who doesn’t much take his advice. His waspish, almost disconnected delivery has a tongue-in-cheek quality the movie could use more of; humor, except of the unintentional variety, is in small supply.

As befits an effort to start up a multi-character franchise, “Batman v Superman” is an expensive production, and looks it, especially in terms of the elaborate, if not always convincing, effects. But the dank, gloomy cinematography by Larry Fong—even in the IMAX format—is visually depressing, and the action sequences never manage to wow us as they’re meant to do. The score by Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL is thunderous and boringly generic.

“Dawn of Justice” may well serve its corporate function—to open the door to a bevy of DC superhero features that will rival the Marvel avalanche from Disney. As a piece of entertainment, however, it doesn’t deliver the goods any more than Snyder’s misguided “Watchmen” did.

In “Krampus,” writer-director Michael Dougherty is obviously aiming for the sweet spot merging dark humor with Christmas joy and snarky horror that Joe Dante managed so memorably in “Gremlins,” and if he doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye, he at least comes within range. His transposition of a Germanic legend about an horned anti-Santa who punishes naughty children—or in this case, invades homes with a maliciously destructive crew to punish those who’ve lost the holiday spirit—to an American suburban setting may not work overall, but it boasts some grimly clever yuletide ghoulishness along the way, even if it’s nowhere near as scary as dreck like “Christmas With the Kranks”–a family that really deserved a visit from him.

It opens with a nifty credits sequence that announces Dougherty’s subversive intentions by juxtaposing Bing Crosby’s perennial “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” with slow-mo footage of what appears to be Black Friday mayhem at a big-box department store. It then switches to the home of adolescent Max (adorable Emjay Anthony), who might have just gotten into an on-stage brawl at his school’s Christmas pageant but still believes in Santa Claus and wants an old-fashioned family celebration although his parents Tom (Adam Scott) and Sarah (Toni Collette) are on edge, with him still making business calls and her obsessing over dinner preparations, while older sis Beth (Stefania LaVie Owen) would prefer spending time with her boyfriend. Only Tom’s cookie-baking, German-speaking mother Omi (Krista Stadler) appears to be in the proper mood.

The arrival of Max’s obnoxious cousins (Maverick Flack, Lolo Owen and Queenie Samuel), along with their buffoonish right-wing father Howard (David Koechner) and Sarah’s sister, his nervous wife Linda (Allison Tolman), makes matters even worse. Not only do the kids belittle Max (and Howard disparage Tom), but unexpectedly tagging along with them is Sarah and Linda’s hard-drinking, mean-tongued Aunt Dorothy (Conchata Ferrell). When one of Max’s cousins reads his embarrassing letter to Santa in front of everybody, he rips it up and angrily denounces them all, apparently inviting Krampus to take action.

What follows is a terrible blizzard that knocks out the power and brings terror to the town as the monster and its minions apparently trash house after house and leave them vacant. It’s not long before Max’s family comes under siege even as Tom and Howard venture outdoors to search for Beth, who’s gone missing on a trek to visit her boyfriend—and become the first of the bunch to encounter Krampus. The initial intrusions, in fact, target the kids before moving on to the adults. Within the cascade of confrontations that occur, most are just raucous and visually rather muddled (the fact that they mostly happen in the dark, whether inside or out, doesn’t help), but some are wittily nasty, like an attack on blowhard Howard by some cackling gingerbread men armed with a nail gun. There’s also an evocative animated sequence in which Omi recalls how Krampus invaded her Alpine village one year—an episode that has a touch of the magic of “Coraline.”

As the Krampus crew’s malevolent antics escalate, matters grow not only more violent (though never gory), but also more arbitrary; and the increasingly explicit depiction of the supernatural characters undermines the effect. Having Krampus’ army of elves portrayed by what appear to be kids in porcelain masks doubtlessly kept down the special effects costs, for instance, but even with the efforts of cinematographer Jules O’Loughlin and editor John Axelrad to muddy the images, the result is blurrily unimpressive. And when Krampus is shown in his full form toward the close, it proves a far less chilling sight than when he makes his first appearance as a barely-glimpsed figure leaping from housetop to housetop in pursuit of Beth. In this instance, more is actually less.

Nonetheless “Krampus” remains head and shoulders above most genre entries on the technical side. Jules Cook’s production design exhibits some painterly qualities, especially in the outdoor scenes, and the art direction, supervised by Alistair Kay, is first-rate. The film’s look is nicely complemented by Douglas Pipes’ score, and the cast certainly give their all to the proceedings. Scott, Collette and Tolman are hardly challenged by anything demanded of them here, but Ferrell is obviously having a ball playing a boozy hag, Owen makes Beth genuinely likable, and Stadler hits the right mark as an old lady with a secret in her past. Surprisingly young Anthony, who was so charming in “Chef,” comes across a mite pallid here, but Koechner, who’s usually just insufferable, manages to add some touches of humanity top a character who might have been a mere buffoon.

The nerviness of the opening credits sequences returns at the movie’s close, which undercuts what appears to be a typically sugary holiday movie finale with some welcome sourness. If only the entirety of “Krampus” had managed a similar degree of inventiveness, it could have become a perennial. As it is, this more-naughty-than-nice bit of skewered holiday horror offers at most a sporadically amusing, but utterly ephemeral, dose of Christmas cheer.