SUPERMAN. As a kid, I imprinted on Christopher Reeve’s Superman like a baby chick. And when, in my 20s, I saw him in a trench coat on a Metro North train, tossing a patient if perfunctory grin at a drunk shouting, “Superman!” across the car, my attachment felt vindicated.
Whether David Corenswet carries the mantle with similar grace, especially in the age of social media, remains to be seen. But he solidly fulfills director James Gunn’s vision for his turn at the helm. It’s a joyful, well-paced action movie full of marvelous visual surprises and a central story that pits love and humanity against cynicism. It is bright, brimming with color, humor and affection, grudging and unabashed alike. That it has drawn fire for its politics — there is no other word for it — is far less of a shock than the fact that it manages a charming CG dog.
What audiences in the 1980s wanted was fairly light: a wholesome good guy performing feats of strength to thwart a comical villain (RIP, Gene Hackman). Reeve’s iteration of Superman, a foil to the materialism and selfishness that were the sins of the decade echoed across genres at the time, was meant to feel old fashioned. He was a throwback to “simpler times,” a reflection of his rural farm upbringing and purposely out of sync with cosmopolitan Metropolis and even hard-boiled, chain-smoking Lois Lane.
I’m not a comic book reader so I don’t have the source material cred to tick off what is or isn’t canon compliant. (Though given the radio shows, television series and endless forms of media rippling outward from it, I wonder if it’s even possible.) But the hero formerly known as Kal-El could hardly have remained relevant to our cultural imagination without evolving since his appearance in 1938. In movies, at least, it seems all but his forelock has been up for alteration. He has beamed and brooded, his costuming changing from a red and blue strongman suit to graphite scales that call Batman’s tailor to mind.
It makes sense that the heroes and villains we paint bear the brushwork of our times and speak to their intended audience. The ancient Greeks had Achilles and we have a Superman who would use his strength to protect rather than dominate. The Victorians had Dracula and we have Elon Musk if he were truly as smart as advertised. The shift in whom an all-American (alien) superhero movie audience includes may be as much the source of dismay for Fox News as its content. To pretend our heroes, real or imagined, are somehow cultivated in a vacuum is as foolish and untenable a position as the delusion that we can view them from within a similar airless void outside history.
The movie opens on an icy tundra where Superman faceplants, having taken a whooping from the superpowered Hammer of Boravia in retaliation for saving the populace of Jarhanpur from a Boravian invasion. Dragged by Krypto the caped dog to his Fortress of Solitude, he’s able to heal, albeit painfully, from his wounds, hype himself up with his absent parents’ message/mission statement tasking him with protecting humanity and head back into the fray. For another whooping. Lex Luthor (Nicholas Holt), a technocratic suit who appears equally obsessed with Superman and Korean skincare, is controlling the Hammer — actually Luthor’s own Ultraman creation — with the aid of cultishly devoted techies, while scheming to find and breach the aforementioned fortress. Back in Clark Kent drag, Superman is cranking out interviews with himself and arguing with girlfriend/coworker Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) about the ethical implications of both his journalistic and diplomatic/martial choices. Soon, however, the fallout from his actions abroad is overshadowed by what Luthor snatches from his icy hideout.
There are goofy subplots and side trips, particularly Jimmy Olsen’s unexpected mojo and the dysfunctional team comprised of Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Mr. Terrific (scene stealer Edi Gathegi). But Gunn also handles the Kent family dynamics with economy and gentleness, likewise Superman’s own struggles. It’s not as strong a whiplash between the humor and heaviness as his Guardians of the Galaxy movies, but the range is broad. We are far indeed from Zack Snyder’s relentlessly dark and humorless odyssey. (Listen, I put in all four hours on the “Snyder Cut” — I will say what I want.)
Hoult is fantastic as an utterly devoted hater and complement to Cornswet, who emits an earnestness one seldom sees, much less enjoys, outside of pets. It’s a quality that makes Superman’s love of humanity feel possible, if square. Brosnahan is the most relatable Lois we’ve seen on screen and she makes her bravery and charm feel natural, keeping her interesting among the larger than life (though envy over her fantastic apartment is an impediment to her likeability).
In the world of Superman, who we take care of makes us who we are. It’s true in our world, as well, but in a landscape of active American fascism, pointing that out has become radical. PG13. 130M. BROADWAY (3D), MINOR.
Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the managing editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400 ext. 106, or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Bluesky @jfumikocahill.bsky.social.
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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in A Saturday at the Rodeo.
