Superman

Punk rock may seem loud and nihilistic to some, but when it emerged in the 1970s, its performers aimed their angry sound at tyrannical mainstream ideologies. In particular, Iggy Pop, the Sex Pistols, Patti Smith, The Clash, and others sought independence from the traditionalism, religious dogma, and social norms reinforced by popular culture. Their aggressive sound and lyrics condemned authoritarian politics, questioning the systems of power that keep people under control. They sang about the oppressed rising up against—or at least flipping off—their oppressors. By now, you’re probably wondering why I’m writing about punk music in this review of Superman, writer-director James Gunn’s new feature about Krypton’s last son. Gunn’s highly entertaining summer release, which might just be my favorite Superman movie yet, looks at our world and considers where a morally upright hero like Superman would fit. Would humanity embrace him as a beacon of hope? Would his presence become politicized? In the end, Gunn acknowledges that, sadly, believing in the value of all life, regardless of politics or personal motivation, as Superman does, represents a rather punkish, outsider point of view, and he weaves that concept into his film.  

Along with Peter Safran, Gunn—who got his start in transgressive Troma Entertainment schlock (see Tromeo and Juliet, 1996)—now heads DC Studios, an offshoot of Warner Bros. focused on DC Comics properties. Superman, the first film in their newly christened DC Universe (DCU), is a soft relaunch of the DCEU that began with Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel (2013)—although a few leftover threads from the previous twelve years of mostly underwhelming releases carry over. And as much as the fourth big-screen Superman franchise in my lifetime might sound excruciatingly dull and hollowly commercial to me, Gunn revitalizes the character and his world in ways that feel fresh. For starters, Gunn wastes no time establishing backstories, clarifying powers, or dwelling on the standard reboot material. His Superman plays like the second or third installment of a franchise. After some brief onscreen text that outlines how long super-powered Metahumans and Kal-El have been on Earth, Gunn’s approach to world-building consists of tossing his audience into the deep end to see if we’ll swim. 

The film begins mid-battle in what feels like the second act of a more conventional blockbuster. Superman, played by a terrific David Corenswet, lands in the Arctic, having just lost a showdown against an armored foe, the Hammer of Boravia. Superman has intervened in an international conflict, halting the Boravian army’s invasion of the weaker country of Jarhanpur (a parallel to Israel and Gaza or Russia and Ukraine). But Superman doesn’t care about the optics or politics; he stopped the invasion to save lives, pure and simple. The choice has drawn ire among some in the US government and a swath of social media commentators, both of whom Lex Luthor, the bald mastermind behind Luthorcorp, has manipulated to serve his interests. Played by Nicholas Hoult with insidious drive, Superman’s genius archnemesis uses his limitless resources—in a scheme befitting the methods of our billionaire counterparts: Bezos, Musk, and Trump—to sow the public’s mistrust of Superman and to whip them into a xenophobic frenzy over their alien protector.

After three previous cinematic Supermen—the increasingly uneven Christopher Reeve movies register as straight-laced and cornball today; Brandon Routh’s version offered a forgettable nonentity; and Henry Cavill, while promising, never shined in Snyder’s dark and dour interpretation—and many more on television, Gunn presents a welcome alternative, reintroducing a sense of joy and fun into the character. The closest comparison might be Superman: The Animated Series (1996–2000) in its anything-is-possible approach. Corenswet’s performance maintains the hero’s unshakable morality, even as it injects a touch of modern humor and a slight hint of irony. Indeed, this is Gunn’s Superman, and everything that description entails after three Guardians of the Galaxy movies and 2021’s The Suicide Squad. Gunn’s portrayal never betrays the character’s earnestness and selflessness, and Corenswet’s performance lends the character humanity and dimension. 

Gunn also makes Superman engaging by surrounding him with rich supporting roles, cast to perfection. At the forefront is Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane, who’s aware of Superman’s alter ego, Clark Kent, and has been in a rocky, secret romance with him for three months. Armed with pluck and journalistic integrity (traits lacking in Amy Adams’ version), Lois doesn’t resist confronting her beau with geopolitical complexities he sees in black and white. “People were going to die!” he shouts, defending his idealistic actions. For this Superman, no collateral damage is acceptable. Note how, while fighting a towering monster unleashed on Metropolis in one sequence, he races to save a squirrel from getting crushed—a dramatic adjustment from the thousands of dead bystanders in the Snyder movies. So when Lex Luthor hacks into Superman’s Fortress of Solitude and locates a corrupted message his parents sent with the infant Kryptonian in his voyage to Earth, telling him to “rule without mercy” and spread his seed, it’s a shock to everyone, especially Kal-El. 

No one could have guessed that the new Superman movie would feature our hero being accused of keeping a “secret harem” of human women, but then again, Gunn savors every chance to subvert expectations. Take his choice of supplementary heroes—he avoids pulling from the usual stock (Wonder Woman, Batman, the Flash, et al.) and instead picks a motley crew with the work-in-progress name the “Justice Gang.” There’s the raging Hawk Girl (Isabela Merced), the techno-whiz Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi), and the smarmy Green Lantern representative Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion, under a riotous bleach-blonde bowl cut). A brief but tender and restorative interlude in Smallville introduces Ma and Pa Kent (Neva Howell, Pruitt Taylor Vince), whom Gunn writes as wise and good-natured hayseeds. At the Daily Planet’s offices, Skylar Gisondo is perfect as Jimmy Olsen, while Wendell Pierce makes a sturdy Perry White. Perhaps the most surprising and endearing character is Krypto, the super-dog rendered in CGI. Admittedly, I was skeptical of the concept beforehand, but Krypto’s wonky ear and rambunctious energy won me over with almost no effort. Krypto is damn cute and a good boy, even when he’s not.  

Gunn’s penchant for bizarre characters and situations gives way to something called a “pocket universe,” tears in the fabric of reality, and a battle in a psychedelic river—and it’s a lot to process, but it comes together by the finale. Whereas most other screen versions of Superman feel comparatively grounded, Gunn embraces the unorthodox, distinguishing his film from its predecessors. His approach recalls Thor: Ragnarok (2017) in terms of its sheer weirdness factor. Although I’m no expert, I consider myself somewhat well-versed in Superman mythology. However, Gunn digs deep into DC lore, well beyond my experience, and embraces the obscure to please entrenched comic fans while providing the rest of us with enough information to follow along. How refreshing that a superhero movie doesn’t feel the need to cater to general audience expectations or over-explain everything. Instead, Gunn leads with his humanity, even as he provides enough technobabble to explain what’s happening and why. His film is propelled by thoughtful and endearing scenes between Superman and Lois, as well as playful combat alongside other heroes. Together, they possess a rascally team quality reminiscent of Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy and Suicide Squad.  

Just as with Gunn’s earlier work in the MCU and DCEU, his mark is unmistakable in Superman. It’s a delight to watch how he subverts mainstream sensibilities in a decidedly commercial format, offering a studio product with a distinct fingerprint. He’s the rare filmmaker whose perspective punches through the usual mediocrity of superhero fare, leaving a consistent imprint, albeit backed by hundreds of millions in budgetary dollars. The alternative is a Superman that’s nothing more than a soulless studio project. Shot by Henry Braham, Gunn’s go-to cinematographer since Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017), the film boasts the director’s affinity for long, roving takes that pass between and around characters. The wide-angle views of Superman flying in chaotic bursts show not graceful flight but the air’s volatility at top speeds. Dance-like fight sequences set to familiar needle drops keep the tempo upbeat. Only during one sequence in the aforementioned river was I overwhelmed with so much CGI that I struggled to follow the action, resulting in what I call digital blindness (like going snowblind from overexposure). Elsewhere, composers John Murphy and David Fleming sample John Williams’ theme from the original 1978 movie, but not so much that it becomes shameless. Still, a new theme to distinguish Gunn’s work from what came before might have been preferable.

Superman is an out-there superhero movie with a lot on its mind and even more weighing on its heart. Watching this after more than a decade of generally disappointing DC Comics fare in cinemas, I felt like someone finally understood what made Superman, Lex Luthor, Lois Lane, and the rest tick—and what’s more, understood their comic-booky world of random monsters, robots, and aliens. Best of all, Gunn trusts his audience. He trusts us to come equipped with a basic understanding of the main characters. And he’s confident that we can keep up with his more obscure inclusions, in part because of his efficient writing. Just as new interpretations reinvent Shakespeare, filmmakers offer their varied interpretations of superheroes. At once classical yet filled with modern-day allusions, if you want to look for them, Gunn’s take is unmistakably his. Starting the DCU on a promising note, he imbues Superman—both the character and the film—with the belief that everyone deserves human dignity, that no one should be dehumanized (alien or not), and that empathy is a characteristic of strength—not weakness. It’s a shame that these sentiments feel radical. When Iggy Pop sings “I’m a punk rocker, yes I am” over the end credits, it’s a sentiment that, today, feels earned.