I am bored to death with superhero movies. I don’t have a store of cherished childhood memories of poring over X-Men and SpiderMan comics. So the repeated riffing on the old tropes and origin stories doesn’t hold any special thrill for me.

I don’t think superheroes work. Maybe they did once, back in the Golden Age, or the Silver Age. For me, the problem isn’t superheroes themselves: they are interesting, in a way, because they’re a way of representing some cool stuff we’re all interested in – fantasies of power, our belief in our own uniqueness and strangeness, secret identities and the way that they stand in for the feeling that there’s a great contrast between the face we present to the world, and the real self within. The secret interior self is so much weirder and wilder than the public face.

The problem is supervillains. Because for superheroes to work, they have to do something, and so there have to be supervillains. Supervillains represent all those evil forces we feel at work in the world. The 1%, the secret world government. Y’know – those faceless, shadowy guys.

But we don’t get faceless and shadowy in superhero world.

We get Arnold Schwarzenegger in a freezer suit. We get Willem Dafoe on a flying green-winged skateboard. We get Alfred Molina with robot arms. And we get a lot of female Hollywood stars in shiny, shiny catsuits, doing evil in stiletto heels. And it’s stupid. Supervillains are stupid.

I always thought one of the things that derailed the last Batman franchise (Michael Keaton/Val Kilmer/George Clooney) was the stupid multiplying supervillains. It meant the movies were stuffed with stars, but the plots couldn’t make sense. How could they? Because what are supervillains really after, anyway?  Money? Jewels? World domination? What would that even look like? And wouldn’t they be better off  signing up for an internship at Goldman Sachs?

Although I’m not a huge lover of the Nolan Batman franchise either, one of the things he does is make the villains make some kind of (doomy, lugubrious, psychopathic) sense. I might even be tempted to go and see the latest incarnation, when it settles gloomily on a squillion screens. (I like Anne Hathaway, and I’d like to see what they do with Catwoman.) Maybe.

But the latest SpiderMan reboot? No thanks. I love Emma Stone, and I love a bit of quirky rom-com (like the director’s previous effort, 500 Days of Summer, which was charming and surprising). But I don’t need to see it tucked into the gaps between the CGI and the mad-scientist monsters.