Lois Lane makes a crummy first impression. She’s thin-lipped, strident, and self-involved; you can see how Clark Kent’s disguise of bumbling-plus-birth-control-specs could dupe her so handily (despite there never having existed such a black-haired, blue-eyed, 6′3″, 225-pound reporter-mancake—unmarried, heterosexual, or otherwise—in the history of movable type). Yet as a journalist interviewing an indestructible space alien, she devolves into a hair-flipping, loin-scrambled giggle of a girl. She’s supposed to be a watchdog, a serious reporter, but over seven decades of revamps and reboots in every medium, Lane wants the scoop way less than she wants to get scooped up. Frankly, it’s gross.