James Gunn doesn’t waste time. No crashing rocket, no Smallville farmboy tripping over heat vision, no “it’s a bird, it’s a plane.” Thank God. We know the story. We’ve lived with this character for nearly a century. And Gunn knows we’re tired — tired of origin stories, tired of capes, maybe just tired in general.
So what does he do? He gives us a Superman film that’s less about Superman and more about us. Our mess. Our world. And, honestly, that’s both the best and most frustrating thing about it.
David Corenswet looks the part. Absolutely nails the physicality. Broad shoulders, kind eyes, that old-school movie star face. But Gunn doesn’t let him do much more than stand there and be Superman. He’s stoic. He’s gentle. He’s… fine. Too fine. We already know this guy, and the film leans on that familiarity instead of letting Corenswet carve something new.
What actually pops is Nicholas Hoult’s Lex Luthor. He’s not just “the bald villain.” He’s Silicon Valley with a fascist streak. A PR genius with an army of keyboard warriors. Literally monkeys on typewriters pushing hashtags. Funny, yes, but also scarily accurate. Hoult chews the scenery and then spits it out online.
The film’s at its most alive around the edges. Skyler Gisondo steals scenes as Jimmy Olsen. He’s got that jittery, fun energy the film desperately needs. Rachel Brosnahan makes Lois Lane sharp and believable, though the Lois/Clark romance feels more like an idea than a beating heart. And then there’s Krypto. He’s CGI. He shouldn’t work. But, come on, he’s a superdog. He works.
The problem? We’ve seen all this before. The mid-air punches. The cape swelling to brass fanfare. The city-level carnage. And Gunn, who’s usually great at injecting weirdness and wonder, plays it strangely safe. Instead of making us believe a man can fly, he makes us think about how heavy the world feels right now. Which is… fine. But also, come on. It’s Superman. We want to feel lifted, not lectured.
It’s not joyless, Gunn’s too smart for that. But it’s not joyful either. It’s caught between commentary and comic book splash page, and it never quite commits to either.
Back in ’78, Donner promised we’d believe. Gunn doesn’t give us that. What he gives us is a shrugging kind of hope. A reminder that, even now, someone out there still cares enough to try.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
