a) lawless part of the world
b) martial art
c) another martial art
d) fortune cookie message
e) another fortune cookie message
f) childhood trauma
g) something spooky
h) unpleasant emotion
i) pompous name for a city
j) feminine yet wholesome first name
k) bland ingénue
l) profession that enables one to snoop around
m) name for a wealthy jerk
n) profession that enables one to be corrupt, powerful, and pull plenty of strings
o) super power
p) second super power
q) article of clothing
r) arcane article of clothing
s) Choose one: Herald, Times, Observer, Gazette, Daily, Sun
t) odd profession, capitalized
u) highly improbable high-tech weapon
v) abstract concept with positive connotations

A disaffected young man is discovered fighting his way through life in darkest (a) by a mysterious stranger, who turns out to be a martial arts master. The stranger trains the young man in (b) and (c), while imparting to him such important life lessons as (d) and (e). Yet he remains haunted by memories of (f) (shown the audience in flashbacks) and of that time he was traumatized by (g) as a child. His master warns him that, until he can overcome his (h), he will never be a true hero.

Now fully trained, our protagonist returns to his hometown of (i), where he re-encounters (j) (played by [k]), the girl next door, now all grown up and a successful, improbably lovely (l). He finds (i) in the thrall of (m), an evil (n), and, when learning that (n) had a handing in bringing about (f), vows revenge. During his quest, he develops his second super identity, honing his powers of (o) and (p) and adopting his trademark (q) and (r).

As (g)-Man, our protagonist becomes increasingly famous, appearing on the cover of the (i) (s), and winning the hearts of the downtrodden people of (i). But (j) complains that he just doesn’t seem like the same guy he used to love any more, and, even worse, his battle with (m) distracts him from the real threat to the city : the sinister (t), who has plans to demolish (i) with a giant (u). In a climactic, CGI-laden final battle, (g)-Man takes out both (m) and the (t) (who turns out to be—dun-dun-dun!---his long-lost martial arts master), romances (j), and saves a grateful (i) from certain destruction—and all because he was able to overcome his (h) and finally come to terms with (f). “(e),” he intones, as he heads off to his gadget-filled lair, ready to uphold the cause of (v) in the sequel.

I was inspired, if that is the word, to write this puzzle by Batman Begins, an inexplicably overrated film that feels as though it had been spat out by a piece of screenwriting software. There’s not a single surprise in this strangely plodding movie: everything in it is rote, from the villains to the romance subplot to the fight scenes. Even the death of Bruce Wayne’s parents—a central part of the Batman mythos—seems tacked on, an emotionless, paint-by-the-numbers attempt to give depth to the character.

Now, the clichéd plot points I mentioned above can all work if the actors and director know what they’re doing. There was plenty of corniness and predictability in both Spider-Man movies, but Tobey Maguire’s amiable dorkiness and Sam Raimi’s stylish direction breathed life into even the films’ most pedestrian moments. In Batman Begins, on the other hand, the actors seem as though they’re only picking up a paycheck. Christian Bale’s Batman is blander than plain grits. Katie Holmes, who looks to be about 15 years old in this film, is never once convincing as a district attorney or a love interest. The estimable Liam Neeson (as the martial arts master-cum-villain) and Morgan Freeman (as bat-gadgeteer Lucius Fox) do what they can with their limited roles, but Neeson, in particular, is hampered by the constant Kung Fu-style aphorisms he’s forced to spout (“To manipulate the fears of others, you must first manage your own.”)

Director Christopher Nolan’s choices don’t help things any, either. His cuts are distractingly quick, never allowing one to linger on an image, and he’s overly fond of close-ups, which only showcase the ineptitude of some of his actors.

But the biggest problem I have with this film is that it ignores the advice you’ll get in any basic creative writing class, and that is show, don’t tell. Batman Begins tells the audience that Wayne beats himself up over his parents’ death, but, judging by all the emotion Bale is able to muster, seeing your parents get shot merits the same level of trauma as having a bad hair day. It tells us that Gotham City is a debauched, miserable place, but all it shows us is a bit of graffiti in the subway station and a couple of homeless men warming their hands over a fire barrel. (If that’s what makes a city corrupt, then Chapel Hill, North Carolina, is up there with Sodom and Gomorrah.) And it tells us, in a clunky attempt at a theme, that vigilante justice isn’t the way to go, but does so by hammering similar lines into our heads, over and over again, rather than illustrating any genuine consequence of any of its characters’ actions.

Batman Begins isn’t deep, and it isn’t fun, and it lacks the campy goofiness of many of its predecessors. It’s a pointless, dreary movie, notable only as a testament to unimaginative filmmaking at its worst.