Ah, the big one. The poo icing on the turd cupcake. The disastrous fourquel responsible for destroying many burgeoning film careers (Chris O’Donnell and Alicia Silverstone are still to recover) is, miraculously, now little more than a curiously awful blip on Clooney’s CV.
So terrible that you have to open the window to air the room afterwards, Joel Schumacher’s maudlin, infantile attempt at keeping the Batman franchise ticking over is now the poster boy for how not to do a comic book movie. And Clooney’s Batman is forever remembered as the one who has nipples on his batsuit. Oh the shame.