TV Database Superman: The Animated Series (1996)

Superman (narrating):
“Luck. That’s what it all boils down to, doesn’t it? The smallest break one way or the other. It can save a life or destroy one. And you can’t fight it, no matter how strong you are.”

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Among all the entries in Superman: The Animated Series, this episode often comes up in defense of Bruce Timm’s take on the Man of Steel—and with good reason. The Late Mr. Kent isn’t a punch-’em-up action showcase or a bombastic alien invasion plot. It’s a slow-burning, tension-filled investigative thriller wrapped in the haunting tone of a classic noir. And for a series that sometimes struggled to give Superman emotional or thematic weight, this one cuts deeper than most.

The noir flavor is unmistakable. From the get-go, we’re dropped into a hard-boiled narration courtesy of Tim Daly's Clark Kent, styled like a post-war gumshoe unraveling a conspiracy. The rain-drenched streets, the grim tone, and the moral murkiness of the justice system—all of it echoes the sensibilities of Batman: The Animated Series, and it’s no surprise given the pedigree behind the scenes.

But what sets this episode apart isn’t just atmosphere—it’s how it elevates Clark Kent. No longer a tagalong to Lois or a cover identity for Superman, Clark here is sharp, brave, morally grounded, and thoroughly competent. He’s chasing leads, analyzing confessions, and doing actual investigative journalism—proving he’s every bit the reporter his press pass suggests, and not just Superman slouching behind a desk. The scene where he picks apart a man’s lie using intuition and observation alone? That’s the Clark Kent the comics often promise but the adaptations rarely deliver.

This is also one of the darkest stories in the series. Not "explosions and tragedy" dark—existential dark. The weight of injustice, the ticking clock of an innocent man’s fate, and the cold machinery of capital punishment add a maturity to the episode that sneaks past its Saturday morning trappings. The writers don’t sugarcoat it, and the ending—while tasteful—is surprisingly bold for a kids' show. You’ll know exactly what moment I’m talking about when it happens, and it lingers.

Of course, there are a few leaps in logic that might raise an eyebrow—certain moments that hinge on convenient timing or a bit of selective eyesight—but the overall craftsmanship of the story earns your forgiveness. It's an episode driven more by emotion, morality, and intellect than airtight logistics, and that's honestly a refreshing shift.

Also? Lana Lang returns. Briefly, but effectively. It’s a small appearance, but one that adds some layered tension in the form of jealousy and personal history. And that’s the beauty of this episode—it does a lot with very little. No grand villain. No world-ending peril. Just a case, a mystery, and a man trying to do what’s right in a system that doesn’t make that easy.

In short, The Late Mr. Kent is not just one of the best episodes of Superman: The Animated Series—it’s one of the best episodes of the DCAU, period. It dares to slow down, strip away the spectacle, and show us what kind of hero Superman really is, even without the cape. And it reminds us that sometimes, being Clark Kent takes more courage than being Superman.

Apokolips… Now! Part I kicks off a new chapter in Superman: The Animated Series, pushing the show into far bigger, stranger territory than it's tread before. While it’s more setup than payoff, it lays the groundwork for what’s clearly going to be a cosmic escalation—and it does so with style, dread, and just enough ear trauma to leave a mark.

Superman feels a little nerfed in this episode, but it’s forgivable—the point isn’t that he’s weak, it’s that the stakes just got too big for one man, even a super one. That’s the recurring theme here: everyone’s out of their league. Fighter jets are swatted away like gnats, specialized police units get flattened, and even Dan Turpin—who’s all guts and grit—starts to realize he might be in over his head. The world of Superman TAS has officially leveled up, and Earth is now on the board for something far larger, and far more terrifying.

This episode also leans hard into the alien mythology of the DC universe, with the introduction of Orion and the Fourth World. It’s a welcome shift that expands Superman’s world from Metropolis rooftops to the brink of intergalactic war. Even with the lore kept light, there’s a tangible sense that something ancient and dangerous is now watching Earth.

And of course, that screech device. It’s not just a plot tool—it’s immersive suffering. The sound is obnoxious by design, dragging the audience into the chaos and disorientation right alongside Superman. You won’t forget it, whether you want to or not.

The episode isn’t flawless—Lois is a bit too quippy considering where we left off with her emotionally, and some moments feel like they're just checking boxes to get to the big finish. But as a setup for what’s coming, it gets the job done. The pacing is tight, the visuals are solid, and the final moments end with a literal and metaphorical bang that tells you this ride’s only just begun.

“Good-bye, old friend. In the end, the world didn't really need a super man. Just a brave one.”

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When I first dipped into the two-parter Apokolips... Now!, I wasn’t exactly brimming with excitement. The tonal whiplash coming straight off the contemplative noir of The Late Mr. Kent into a cosmic slugfest with what looked like a death metal dictator felt like swapping your whiskey for a can of Monster. Part 1 had all the ingredients of a solid Saturday morning cartoon—intergalactic threats, nuclear meltdowns, brooding villains—but it didn’t quite grip me. Darkseid, despite his visual grandeur, came off like your standard-issue megalomaniac with a god complex.

But Part 2? Oh, buddy. That’s where the apocalypse finally cooks.

The action kicks into overdrive, with Superman getting dogpiled by Steppenwolf (yes, that Steppenwolf—thankfully more “background mini-boss” here than Snyder’s CGI eyesore) and his airborne pest control squad, the Parademons. While they aren’t the most visually intimidating threat, they serve their narrative function—wearing down the Man of Steel just enough to make his eventual confrontation with Darkseid feel like the climactic boss fight it needed to be.

And what a moment that was: Superman, bruised, battered, and barely standing, rejecting the ultimate Faustian bargain. It’s a classic “join me or die” temptation straight out of The Empire Strikes Back or biblical allegory, depending on your taste. Messiah metaphors are often laid on thick with Supes, but this time it works—maybe because the writers knew not to dwell too long on the speechifying and let the symbolism speak for itself.

Meanwhile, Earth’s actual defenders step up. And here’s where the episode shines: it doesn’t let Superman hog the spotlight. The human characters, particularly the gruff but gutsy Dan Turpin, aren’t just set dressing. They fight, they lead, and they matter. The parallels to real-world struggles—especially WWII resistance and Turpin’s own Jewish heritage—add layers of resonance that elevate what could have been a run-of-the-mill brawl into something more powerful.

The long-awaited arrival of Orion and the New Gods comes with all the “Gandalf-at-Helm’s-Deep” energy you could want. It’s a deus ex machina, sure—but a damn satisfying one. That said, it’s hard to ignore that Orion’s communicator from Part 1 conveniently fried itself just to keep the suspense intact. A little too tidy, but hey, we’ll allow it for the drama.

But the true heart of the episode lies in its closing moments. Without giving anything away, the final act delivers an emotional gut punch that no Omega Beam can top. It’s rare that a cartoon from the '90s dares to let grief sit quietly in the corner and speak louder than explosions—and rarer still for it to do so with such grace.

The episode ends with a tribute to Jack Kirby, the comics legend whose Fourth World mythos birthed these characters. Sadly, his widow Roz passed shortly before the episode aired—a final, tragic note that lingers like Darkseid’s shadow over the skyline.

In the end, Apokolips... Now! Part 2 proves that the best Superman stories aren’t just about feats of strength, but about the strength of conviction. About saying no to power, even when it hurts. About how the world doesn’t always need a god—it just needs someone brave enough to stand up.

And that’s a message we still need in 2025.

Every so often, a well-meaning show stumbles face-first into a pile of cultural stereotypes, and Superman: The Animated Series decided to do a full cannonball into that pit with “Heavy Metal.” This episode is what happens when the writers try to blend Boondocks energy with Iron Man aesthetics, but forget to bring any of Static Shock’s actual depth—or basic cultural tact. The result? A tone-deaf alloy of forced diversity and Saturday morning cartoon clichés.

The introduction of Steel should’ve been an opportunity to explore themes like legacy, blue-collar heroism, and community-driven justice—especially given his reverence for Superman. Instead, he's relegated to a one-note support role, suiting up in an armored cosplay and tossing out one-liners like “Not on my watch!” like he’s auditioning for the Justice League of After-School Specials. His characterization feels thin, rushed, and worse—like he’s there to tick a box rather than enrich the story.

And then there’s the villain, whose identity is painfully obvious from the first second he speaks, even if the episode pretends it’s some big reveal. His entire shtick swings between "Terminator-lite" and “Robocop’s disgruntled cousin,” but with none of the menace. He’s supposed to be threatening, but the writing undercuts him with lines like “Sorry, Steel. I’ve still got some business in the hood,” which hit with the grace of a brick lobbed through a stained-glass window. The dialogue, in general, feels like a Mad Libs of street slang and superhero buzzwords.

Visually, the episode tries its best to make the action pop, but even the animation can’t escape the feeling that this is a filler episode wearing plot-armor it didn’t earn. It wants to be important, but never earns that weight. The attempts at inner-city representation fall flat, veering into caricature so broad you could project a movie on it. The world of Metropolis suddenly turns into “Generic Urban Grit™,” complete with wise-cracking teens and tech labs hidden behind corner shops.

All in all, “Heavy Metal” isn’t offensively bad, but it is aggressively mediocre in that “We tried, okay?” kind of way. It fumbles a great opportunity to flesh out one of Superman’s most promising allies and instead settles for a glorified team-up episode with an undercooked villain and dialogue that feels like it came straight out of a PS1 cutscene.

Just because a character’s made of steel doesn’t mean the episode has to feel so hollow.

Superman: "Here on Earth, marriage isn't something you can just command. Marriage is a willing partnership where husbands and wives share the decisions and sacrifices."
Lucille: "What planet is he from?!"

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This episode swings big with its themes but hits about as hard as a wet sponge. On paper, “Warrior Queen” tries to unpack the dynamics of power, control, and mutual respect. In practice, it ends up being a clunky riff on gender politics, filtered through cartoonishly pervy thugs and a spineless power-hungry schemer, while Maxima herself is basically a muscle-bound romcom stereotype—demanding, arrogant, and completely uninterested in growth unless it gets her what she wants. Whatever nuance might’ve been possible is buried under flat portrayals of sexism from both ends. Maxima, the spoiled queen of Almerac, might have a striking design and a cool sword, but her personality’s stuck somewhere between sitcom caricature and ‘90s girlboss archetype with zero nuance.

The premise sets up a moral contrast—what Superman isn't. He’s not someone who abuses power, he’s not self-centered royalty, and he definitely doesn't believe in arranged alien marriages. But it leans too hard into that binary. I’ve always found Superman stories more compelling when they explore what he is, not just what he refuses to be.

That said, the episode isn’t a total wash. The fight with the Carnorite—basically if a Graboid from Tremors hit the gym and discovered electricity—is pretty fun. Big, monstrous, and properly destructive, it adds some welcome action in an otherwise awkwardly paced episode.

In short: a filler episode with flashes of charm, weighed down by outdated tropes and half-baked messaging. But at least Superman gets to deliver a heartfelt PSA on marriage… before getting zapped and dragged across the galaxy.

In today’s Hollywood, the gender-flipped hero is no longer an anomaly—it’s the default. From She-Hulk to Ironheart, Jane Foster’s Thor to Captain Carter, and let’s not forget Rey Skywalker, it’s become a tired formula of “PUT A CHICK IN IT AND MAKE HER GAY!” (credit to Eric Cartman for summarizing that wave of uninspired rebranding). It’s progressiveness painted on with the broadest brush—empowerment by copy-paste.

Now, female counterparts can work when done with thought and originality. X-23 in Logan had emotional depth, and Femshep stood tall as a unique presence thanks to Jennifer Hale’s all-in performance. Then there’s Batgirl, a standout example. Barbara Gordon may have filled the “sidekick” slot like Robin, but she brought her own light—more hopeful, more energetic, and less trauma-fueled. She wasn’t just “Batman but girl.” She was Batgirl.

So what did Supergirl in the DCAU bring to the table? Superman... but girl.

Same “last of her kind” sob story. Same sunny disposition. Same restless urge to fight crime and prove herself. The problem is, while Kal-El’s optimism is grounded by a boyhood on Earth, a childhood with real fears and choices, Kara's version here skips all that. She’s tossed into the story like a guest star with a backstory taped to her cape. The episode gives her the thematic flair of being “free” via a symbolic flying scene with geese, but the emotional resonance? Paper thin.

When I started the episode, I expected something with weight: a lonely survivor, suddenly reunited with the only other living member of her species. How precious, how heartbreaking, how… human. But then—twist—she’s not even Kryptonian. Just from a neighboring planet caught in Krypton’s blast radius. It strips her story of that inherent emotional bond with Superman you might find on the "Smallville" TV series or "The Flash" movie from 2023. Now she’s just a cosmic neighbor with matching DNA and shared grief outsourced to a frozen backstory.

And don’t get me started on Bruce Timm’s thirst-driven character design. Kara’s teenage costume is pure cartoon cheesecake—a barely-there crop top and skirt combo that looks less like heroic gear and more like a pervy concept sketch that somehow made it to air. It's creepy when you realize she’s clearly meant to be 17. Say what you will about Gargoyles—Timm’s sworn nemesis—but Elisa Maza looked like an actual adult woman with a wardrobe that made sense for a detective. Kara? One strong breeze away from To Catch a Predator.

That said, the episode isn’t a total wash.

Pairing Kara with Jimmy Olsen is the best move it makes. Their shared dismissal by older authority figures (Clark, Lois) gives the episode a refreshing teen rebellion vibe. Jimmy finally gets to be more than a walking punchline—he shows initiative, follows clues, and drives the plot with Kara as his wildcard partner. It’s one of the rare times he gets to be useful, and their dynamic actually works.

The villain? Enter Granny Goodness, essentially a space-age witch running a youth cult. As a threat, she’s thematically appropriate—teen protagonists, creepy adult antagonist, dark fairy tale vibes. Nothing groundbreaking, but it fits the episode’s tone and gives Kara a decent trial run for her powers.

Bottom line? "Little Girl Lost, Part I" looks good, moves fast, and introduces Supergirl with style—but not with much soul. It’s serviceable setup, but the character feels like a shallow insert rather than a fully-realized addition to the Superman mythos. If you’re a fan of the DCAU’s sleek animation and Bruce Timm’s aesthetic, there’s enough here to enjoy. But if you’re looking for a Supergirl who arrives with pathos, personality, and purpose?

Keep watching. This isn’t that episode.

What a weak introduction to Supergirl.

Even this show’s original three-part pilot for Superman gave us something weighty—his doubts, his growth, his place in the world. Supergirl? She gets dropped into a glorified beat ’em up laced with bottom-shelf puns and a half-baked reversal of the tired “damsel in distress” trope. It’s Superman in chains while Kara punches the villains, and while the role swap might sound empowering on paper, it’s done with so little introspection that it plays like a checkbox, not a breakthrough.

There are flashes of potential. Kara’s teenage recklessness is captured in a few solid beats, and there’s one genuinely compelling moment where she voices her fear of watching yet another home world be destroyed. But that thought—that raw fear—is never explored. It’s tossed out like a side dish when it should’ve been the emotional backbone of the whole two-parter.

To the episode’s credit, this is Supergirl’s showcase. She gets the spotlight. She gets the saves. She gets to throw down, and yes, some of her battle tactics were clever—using a fire pit to torch a wave of enemies was a rare bit of visual storytelling that felt earned. But those moments are the exception, not the rule. The rest of the episode plays it so flat, so safe, that even the action feels weightless.

And that’s before we get to the episode’s biggest problem: Darkseid.

You do not throw in Darkseid as just another combatant. This isn’t some muscle-bound monster-of-the-week—this is the god of tyranny, the conceptual embodiment of totalitarianism. He’s not a guy you trade punches with and call it a day. He’s a philosophical threat, a being whose very presence should shift the tone of the episode from heroic to existential. His true form doesn’t even exist in this dimension, and yet here? He’s reduced to a glorified final boss who gets sucker-punched so the new girl can prove herself.

In previous appearances, like the excellent “Apokolips… Now! Part II,” Darkseid wasn’t just an antagonist—he was a harbinger of despair. He didn’t need to dominate physically because he had already won mentally and ideologically. His victories were violating. His losses still felt like defeats, because the scars he left—whether personal or political—mattered. He killed characters. He shattered illusions. He made Superman rage and still walked away calm.

It’s not just a misuse—it’s a waste. He’s background noise to a Supergirl proving ground. His presence doesn’t elevate the story—it cheapens him, reducing a multiversal tyrant into an action beat in a teenage showcase. If the script needed a throwdown, there were better villains to use—ones that wouldn't drain the mythos just to inflate Kara’s power level. If this were anyone else—Brainiac, Jax-Ur, Toyman even—sure, whatever. But using Darkseid like this just cheapens the character and flattens the conflict. It’s a spectacle for the sake of power scaling, not narrative weight.

And let’s not forget what could have been: an earlier draft where Granny Goodness was harvesting teenagers to convert them into Parademons—yes, actual child-to-soldier body horror, perfectly in line with the twisted logic of Apokolips. That’s actual dystopian horror. That’s Apokolips as it should be—twisted, dehumanizing, violating the body and will. It was reportedly inspired by Paradise Island from Pinocchio—you know, the place where naive boys are lured in with fun and freedom, only to be grotesquely transformed into beasts of burden. It matched the creepy fairy tale energy of Part I and would’ve deepened the whole theme of innocence exploited. Two teens, dismissed by adults, seduced by power, wandering into the clutches of a smiling, manipulative old woman? That’s classic cautionary tale material. Instead, it was axed for something toothless. Thematically resonant horror gave way to generic stolen tech and another giant doomsday device. All the moral terror, all the psychological dread—gone, because a producer got squeamish.

And just when you think the episode’s run out of ways to feel hollow, we get the final stinger: a newsroom full of male reporters drooling over a possibly underage Supergirl like she’s the weather girl on channel five. After everything she’s been through—cosmic warfare, near-death experiences, saving the damn planet—we end on that?

"Ew" doesn’t even cover it.

Bottom line? “Little Girl Lost, Part II” is visually sharp and moves at a brisk pace, but it’s emotionally flat and conceptually compromised. As a showcase, it checks the boxes. As a story, it barely scratches the surface of what Supergirl could’ve been. The power’s there. The stakes? Nowhere to be found.

So, funny timing—I just wrapped Gargoyles Season 2 yesterday, with its big finale arc Hunter’s Moon, and going straight into World’s Finest made the contrast feel like cinematic whiplash. Both stories feature the protagonist's love interest caught in a triangle, but Gargoyles treats that dynamic with emotional maturity, while this... doesn’t.

In Hunter’s Moon, Elisa Maza’s struggle with her feelings for Goliath and her brief connection with Jason Canmore are handled with nuance. She knows Goliath’s silence isn’t malice, just emotional distance wrapped in a species-sized complication. Even when she starts falling for Jason, she pauses to acknowledge her heart’s still tied to someone else. She’s dignified, strong, vulnerable—all at once. Her arc is grounded even when the soap opera elements kick in.

Now enter Lois Lane in World’s Finest:

“I hear he’s nothing but Gotham trash. Rich, spoiled…”
Bruce Wayne exits the plane.
“...and absolutely gorgeous.”

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BLECH.

The whiplash was instant. Any progress Lois had made in prior episodes like Target and Brand New Metropolis—all gone, replaced with a cartoonish swoon that rewinds her development to “flustered schoolgirl at billionaire convention.” It’s shallow, it’s lazy, and yes—I’m watching in production order, so this isn’t an early slip-up. It’s deliberate.

And this isn’t just a Lois problem—it’s a writing problem. The emotional beat they wanted—Lois torn between Clark and Bruce—feels manufactured by a plot vending machine. Superman has to act like a clueless dope so Lois can be conveniently disillusioned and fall into Bruce’s Bat-arms. Compare that to Elisa and Goliath’s distance in Gargoyles, which was built on years of baggage and interspecies existential dread, not the emotional IQ of a CW subplot.

Meanwhile, Superman himself doesn’t get off easy either. His reporter side gets a rare spotlight—tracking the Joker, following leads—but even that’s turned into a punchline. He asks Bibbo to keep an eye out, and Bibbo just shrugs and says “There’s lots of jokers around,” like it’s a Family Guy cutaway. Can’t have Clark looking too competent, not when Gotham’s golden boy is in town.

And then there's that fight scene. Batman roughs up a thug, Superman steps in to stop him, and Bats promptly shoulder-throws Clark across the room. Yeah, it’s a cool animation trick to reveal he has Kryptonite, but from a story standpoint? It’s plot convenience and Batwank. Why the hell would Batman not just say, “Hey, Joker’s got Kryptonite”? Oh right—because that would rob Bruce of his obligatory dramatic mic drop.

All of this just reinforces what I already suspected from my childhood memories—and from plenty of comments I’ve seen online: this crossover leans heavily into being “The Batman Hour” on Superman’s turf. Bruce swoops in, seduces Lois, gets the cool lines, outsmarts everyone, and walks away with the final word. Clark, meanwhile, is left cleaning up the emotional debris.

Now, is it all bad? No. The Joker and Luthor subplot is functional, if not particularly inspired. Their interactions have some charm, and Joker and Harley harassing Lex in his limo was mildly amusing—though Mercy Graves gets absolutely dunked on just to give Harley a moment. Typical.

But the real draw here—the promise of Superman and Batman teaming up—lands with less thunder and more of a thud. The tone is off-balance, the characters feel undercut to prop up guest appearances, and what should’ve been an emotionally rich crossover ends up looking like a scripted Bat-flex with Superman playing second fiddle in his own damn show.

It’s not a trainwreck (cough BvS theatrical cut), and it does have moments of fun and visual flair. But the character work is frustrating, the continuity is ignored, and the emotional beats feel forced to make way for Gotham’s favorite son.

Overall, not terrible, just disappointing. A crossover that sells its concept but forgets who’s wearing the cape.

Superman: “Thank you. I couldn’t have saved Lois without your help.”
Batman: “I’m aware of that.”
—Batman, helpfully marking his territory.

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I’m trying not to judge this one too harshly. After all, this isn’t just a Saturday morning cartoon—it’s supposed to be a historic milestone for superhero animation. Not just a Superman and Batman crossover, but the crossover. Sure, “Speed Demons” brought in The Flash earlier, but let’s be real—Barry Allen wasn’t a household name. This was the main event. The titans finally sharing screen time.

And to be fair, I wanted to let it slide. I really did. I tried to be generous and remember that it’s a kids show, so yes—plot conveniences and thin character work are basically part of the Saturday morning contract. But then the episode kept piling on reasons to groan... and not just because of Lois this time, either.

Let’s start with Lois anyway, because holy hell, where do we even begin?

She’s now officially been electrocuted unconscious, gift-wrapped, gagged, dangled, and dragged around like an emotional prop. She’s not technically fridged, sure, but the show dances right up to the edge of that trope like it’s flirting with disaster. Lois doesn’t exist in this episode to be a character—she exists so Superman and Batman can be heroic. She is bait. And the metaphor of her being literally silenced just reinforces how little agency she’s been allowed across both episodes so far.

There was even a window for something meaningful—after Superman thanks Batman for helping him save her, they could’ve explored some actual emotional fallout. Maybe Clark reflects on what Lois means to him. Maybe we see some emotional development. But nope—Batman steals the scene with a one-liner flex, and Clark is reduced to background noise in his own emotional arc. The show doesn’t let Superman feel, because Batman’s too busy winning.

And then there's that scene: Luthor and Joker having a business meeting while Harley and Mercy literally catfight in the background, complete with ripped clothes and grunting sound effects. It’s not even subtext—it’s just straight-up fetish bait thrown in for flavor. You can practically hear the pitch: “And in the background, we’ll have the girls go at it. Y’know. For the dads.”

It’s not like Mercy doesn’t get her moments—she’s far more competent here than in Part I. But even that gets undercut when she’s tossed around like a ragdoll. Whether it’s Harley clubbing her into a limp or Batman casually punching her out and leaving her with a black eye, there’s something distinctly exploitative about how her scenes are framed. These aren’t “tough girl” moments—they’re action figure abuse, animated in slow humiliation.

Normally I wouldn’t nitpick gender roles in an old cartoon, but this episode makes it so unmissably obvious, it feels insulting. It’s not just Lois—it’s Mercy, it’s Harley, it’s all of them being downgraded to side attractions while the narrative feeds the egos of its lead men.

Now, on the plus side: the Joker’s scheme does feel grounded. His strategy is clever (even if Superman has to dial his IQ down a few points for the plot to work), and the whole “lead suit” bit was a cool concept, even if it didn’t last long. And hey—Superman does get to do something useful in the rescue, so… baby steps?

But then we’re right back into cringe territory. Bruce and Lois are suddenly in a serious relationship, which apparently now includes moving to Gotham and changing jobs—because Lois has known this guy for a weekend and he’s rich, so naturally, that overrides years of work and ambition. Love at first plot device.

And Superman? Still sidelined. Still simmering in jealousy. Still not allowed to confess his feelings or confront the situation. Batman taunts him like an emotionally stunted frat boy with a utility belt, and we’re supposed to accept this as some kind of “power contrast.” But without any real attempt to explain Bruce’s hostility or show any emotional depth beneath the brooding, it just comes across as mean-spirited and petty.

Yeah, I could infer that Bruce resents Clark’s powers, or that he distrusts anyone that strong. But that nuance isn’t in the script. It’s in the fan’s head. What’s in the script is Bruce rubbing his new relationship in Clark’s face for no good reason while Clark gets emotionally dog-walked.

To be fair, Lex Luthor’s involvement is solid. He straddles the line well—manipulative, pragmatic, and clearly in over his head with the Joker. Their dynamic has some bite, and Luthor’s cold demeanor fits the tone better than most of the over-the-top antics around him.

But when you zoom out, this episode just feels like a messy dominance fantasy disguised as a crossover. It gives Batman every advantage—narratively, romantically, morally—while making Superman play catch-up with a character arc he’s not allowed to complete.

It’s not terrible. There are fun visuals. Some moments work. Joker’s still entertaining, and Lex provides a decent foundation. But as a crossover? As a meeting of the minds? It’s one-sided, frustrating, and weirdly tone-deaf when it comes to the women involved.

Bruce: "It's ironic, you know. She likes Bruce Wayne and she likes Superman. It's the other two guys she's not crazy about."
Superman: "Too bad we can't mix and match."
– Superman's creepy innuendo sacrificing a potentially interesting character growth.

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Welp, it's finally over—the long-awaited team-up between DC's titans that limps across the finish line with a shrug and a flashbang. For a crossover that was supposed to define a generation of superhero animation, World’s Finest ends more like a Bat-epilogue with guest appearances.

That said, Lois Lane finally gets a sliver of her dignity back. She pulls off a quick-thinking move to help Bruce mid-action, shows actual frustration at being lied to, and—miracle of miracles—has a moment of clarity where she realizes that Bruce, for all his brooding appeal, might not be the healthiest emotional investment. It’s a fleeting moment of character depth... but hey, it’s something. Too bad it’s undercut by the later revelation that she’s still hot for Bat-brood two seasons later. Continuity, thy name is kryptonite.

Meanwhile, Superman spends the episode like a guy third-wheeling in his own relationship. Instead of addressing any emotional fallout or tension with Bruce, he drops what can only be described as a bad throuple joke and lets Bruce walk off into the night with a smug quip about Lois. Clark had a perfect moment here to finally confront the cost of living behind a dual identity, to reflect on what it means to be Clark and Superman in a world where neither can be a meaningful partner for the woman he loves. Instead, we got awkward banter and lingering regret. Honestly? Superman II handled their relationship better, and that movie had an amnesiac kiss and a cellophane emblem.

The action’s... fine. Competent, slick, and exactly what you’d expect from a '90s cartoon trying to outdo itself with every explosion. The Jet-Wing makes a cool debut (though the later aired Old Wounds in TNBA is said to be its chronological debut), and Batman glides through the chaos with all the narrative plot armor you'd expect. He has gadgets. He has competence. He has the writers’ full attention. Clark gets a number of decent action moments this episode dispatching robots, but mostly just ends up with clean-up duty pushing an airship with his brute strength, not to use the intelligence he had displayed in previous episodes of the series.

Lex Luthor and his war-tech also have a role here, even if it’s largely reduced to set dressing. He’s basically there to show that trusting a literal chaos clown is not good business strategy (shocking, I know). Mercy gets some scraps of relevance but still spends most of the runtime in “punchable sidekick” mode. Joker runs away with the entire final act like the giggling goblin he is—stealing scenes, sabotaging plans, and reminding everyone why he’s the wildcard you never invite to a power lunch.

And no review of this episode would be complete without referencing that final Batman joke at Joker’s expense. No spoilers, but let’s just say—when you hear it, you’ll be checking the label on your Blu-ray box wondering if you accidentally popped in a parody disc. It’s so out of character for Bruce that it stops the tone cold and leaves you blinking like you just caught him doing stand-up at Joker’s roast. Lazy. Misread. And absolutely not how you end an arc about Batman's most psychologically complex nemesis.

In the end, World’s Finest was always more about the idea than the execution. A crossover built on iconography and hype, not character arcs. Everyone in this story—Clark, Lois, even Luthor—is used as a prop for Bruce Wayne’s prestige. And it shows. Lois gets closure in theory, but not with Clark. Clark gets screen time, but not growth. Joker gets what Joker always gets: the last laugh (kind of).

Bruce? He gets the girl, the gadgets, the victory, and even the emotional epilogue two seasons later.

Because in the DCAU? Batman always wins.

Even when he shouldn't.