I'm sure a Marvel vs. DC film would make so much money that Disney could finally fulfill its destiny of purchasing all of Florida and the lower half of California, while DC could lock Christopher Nolan into an unbreakable contract that forces him to make Batman movies until he's too old to breathe. But the biggest problem wouldn't be the fact that the movie would eventually be passed through the hands of about 45 screenwriters and script doctors, or that it would take a decade to negotiate all of the contracts. It would be that there's no way to make it satisfying. Because to satisfy at least half of the people, one side would have to gain a definite victory. And this would leave the other side shrieking "NUH-UH" into the night sky.

In 2001, when World Championship Wrestling folded and was absorbed by the World Wrestling Federation, people expected a clash for the ages. It was finally happening. All of the fantasy match-ups that we'd debated for years were going to come to fruition. They just had to. Goldberg vs. "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. Sting vs. the Undertaker. That Guy Who Dances vs. That Other Guy Who Dances. Instead we got a parade of match interferences and barely any solid victories in which one top star beat another. The same thing would happen in Marvel vs. DC: The Movie. Sure, you'd delight in watching Captain America squash the Penguin, but the minute it got to Iron Man vs. Batman, you'd end up with a "But if we work TOGETHER, maybe we can beat GALACTUS" finish.

Superheroes joining together to stop a greater evil sounds neat, but only after I've watched Deadpool kick the bird shit out of Nightwing. I'd want at least one movie dedicated to that latter scenario, and that's the movie that we'd never get.

I also like Sam Raimi's Evil Dead series, so when the comic book Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash was released, I went straight to my comic shop, plowing through customers and racks and collectible figurines to get to it. And it was decent. But in the same way that a shark reacts when it senses blood, I developed an appetite. I was hungry for a movie. We'd already had Freddy vs. Jason. And for the second time in my life, I found myself thinking, "Why not add a third guy to it?" Bruce Campbell, who played Ash in the Evil Dead series, would probably be down for it. I feel like I could invite that dude to an impromptu barbecue in the Arctic Circle, and the only concern he'd have is that "icy deathscape" doesn't show up on Google Maps.

However, soon after this, Robert Englund, who had played Freddy Krueger for years, retired from the role. In the same way that Heath Ledger IS the Joker and Terry from the deli section of the grocery store IS my real dad, Robert Englund IS Freddy Krueger. It's not just his blend of humor and madness, but the way he talks and moves. And one of the best parts of Freddy vs. Jason is that when it came time for Freddy and Jason to fight, the movie was asking us to believe that it was Robert Englund who had suddenly acquired the powers of nine Jackie Chans and a Rey Mysterio.

Would I want to see a Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash that featured Bruce Campbell fighting whatever stuntman they shoved into a hockey mask fighting some guy who was trying his best to sound like Robert Englund's Freddy? No. The fun of Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash comes from the fact that all of these classic slasher characters we've watched and enjoyed for decades are finally dueling with each other. It just isn't the same if a third of the movie is simply doing an impression.

The people behind every Superman movie for the past few decades have done nothing but honk their horns hopelessly. "Beep beep! Come on! Make him popular. Like this dude! Come on!" Sometimes they decide that they don't want to wait in line, so they pull into another lane. The "Maybe this Superman will be introspective" lane, or the "Maybe this Superman will be filled with rage" lane. And it gets them ahead for a second, only for them to become deadlocked in traffic again. It doesn't work, because they never once think about embracing Superman as a character; they were only interested in getting you to embrace Superman.

For All-Star Superman to be made, we'd need someone with a lot of money who doesn't treat Superman like a new cellphone that needs to be updated every few years or the other middle school kids will make fun of it. It needs a Hollywood climate that is unafraid to say "You know what? Our foundation is gonna be that Superman already kicks ass, and we're just gonna go crazy from there." Sadly, we're still stuck between Batman's Goliath 18-wheeler and Wonder Woman's Hyundai Elantra, slamming our palms on the steering wheel and screaming out the window "What the fuck is taking this so long? You should like him now, so do it!"

For those who have never read it, The Killing Joke was written by Alan Moore, a stone golem that emerges from a cave every once in a while to drop pages of comic script on us like lightning bolts from Olympus, before grumbling about how they messed up his League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen movie and wandering off. It deals with the Joker's origin, and elaborates on the now-popular idea of Joker and Batman being uncomfortably similar. It's also one of the worst things that Moore has ever written. If his other works are smooth, intricate jazz, The Killing Joke is someone incoherently shouting Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off" right before the karaoke bar closes.

The Killing Joke shows up on a few "great Batman comics that should be films" lists, and eventually it did get its own clunky animated adaptation. But as a live-action feature, The Killing Joke would only really be worthwhile if they made it about 20 years ago. In the time since the original comic was published, we've gotten a bunch of superior stuff that The Killing Joke influenced, like The Dark Knight and the Arkham games. And it's weird to say that a video game in which you punch your way through a mental hospital filled with steroid-injected inmates tells a more nuanced story about the relationship between a clown and the Caped Crusader than a comic by one of the most acclaimed writers in the history of comics, but it's true.

The Killing Joke is an important Batman story, and it definitely helped to steer us from discussions like "Why does Robin wear no pants?" to discussions like "Batman keeps recruiting elementary-schoolers to fight crime with him, and they all either die or resent him for it. That's a little fucked up." But a film about it would just be derivative of better films that were already inspired by The Killing Joke. However, we do need to keep tracking down clues for that "no pants" thing. Does Bruce Wayne know what shorts are? I know he's a little out of touch, but he's got to be aware that there are more choices than tight pants, speedo, and nothing.