For those of who you are interested,
the fic in question. The rot doesn't really begin to set in until Page 123, so proceed with caution.
Usually, I’m the kind of person who values confrontation over passive-aggressive bitchiness (because really, is there anything worse than “You know what sucks? That guy who does X. No, I’m not saying which one… but you know the one I mean”?). If I think – if it’s my
opinion -- that a story could accomplish what its set out to accomplish more effectively, I’ll say so and how to the author’s face. Now, there are exceptions. If I think that the problem is at my end, if I know the author wouldn’t like concrit, or whatever… I’ll hold my tongue. I’ll feel like a coward, but I’ll do it.
That said, the Journ-El has not only jumped the shark, but pole-vaulted over it. It has paved over the shark and turned it into a speed bump so that every day on the way to work, the Journ-El can “jump” the shark.
Let me pause for a moment to explain to you what the Journ-El is. After the release of Superman Returns, and the unlikelihood of a sequel in the near-future, one fan wrote a satire based on the premise of Clark’s blog thoughts during the events of the movie. It struck a chord with fandom, and over time the satire grew to include more conventional drama elements instead of just remaining whacky parody.
Incredibly, this worked. In retrospect, it was something like throwing a chainsaw at a juggler and then them catching the chainsaw and incorporating it into the act. The story went beyond Superman Returns to resolve the quasi-cliffhanger ending, including a climactic battle between Luthor and Superman, the revelation of Clark’s secret identity, and generally all the things you would want to see in a sequel. And they were all handled very well, with a literally astounding balance of angst, comedy, and heartwarming triumph.
And now that I’ve praised Caesar, I suppose it’s time to bury him.
( Cut for spoilers to said story, with squicky details not for the faint-hearted. )R.I.P. Journ-El. I will remember you for the story you were, rather than the travesty you became.