If an infinite (minus one) number of monkeys with an infinite (minus one) number of typewriters were given an infinite (minus one minute) timetable, and if the monkeys had been inbred specifically to produce decidedly sub-par intelligence, they would come up with this masturbatory, pretentious, pseudo-intellectual abomination.
If a technologically advanced, pacifistic race of aliens' first exposure to the human race was this film, they would immediately drop their peaceful trappings and send a punitive expedition to exterminate us all to a man.
John Carter appears to be (one of many) of the belief that the general public views as brilliant that which is incomprehensible.
The core-the rotten, stinking core-of this movie's problem is just plain bad writing. Every other formal element, from cinematography to acting, no matter how brilliant, cannot but fail on account of this foundation.
I mean... I'm angry. Livid. Not only for the hour and a half wasted in watching this partial (yet, strangely, not partial enough) abortion, but for the black blot it has placed upon human culture at large. This movie makes me feel ashamed to even be the same species as the writer.
Just. Plain. Bad. Writing. Bad.