Isn’t the whole fucking point of superhero fiction to provide an escape from the horrors of being aware? Aren’t we meant to imagine that if we–peons that we are–were imbued with superhuman abilities, we’d feel compelled to help out those less able? Isn’t the superhero premise sort of neutered if the world is worse off at the end of the story than it was at the beginning? Isn’t the very notion of narrative heroism inextricably tied to mostly-unqualified victory?
Christopher Nolan (in particular) seems to revel in destroying dreams: he fucks them brutally and leaves them for dead. He replaces them with paranoia, dread, and fear, mistakenly and hatefully arguing that those sentiments are all we have left.