There are many criticisms that could be rightfully levelled at James Gunn: that his humour is puerile; that his aesthetic is chaotic; and that he was a disaster on Twitter. But watching his new era of Superman come to the screen, it’s clear the man does know how to have fun.
Rather than a dour, trauma-based origin story, his Superman kicks off with the Man of Steel (played by David Corenswet) already an established figure, known and loved across the globe as one of many “meta-humans” who populate this reality. His alter ego, Clark Kent, is scoring front pages at The Daily Planet, and he’s three months into a steamy romance with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan).
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But all is not well in the Kryptonian household, as Superman has just suffered his first defeat, thanks to the Lex Luthor (an almost-impressively awful Nicholas Hoult) led clan. He’s also in geopolitical hot water, having prevented Boravia from invading its neighbouring country, Jarhanpur, despite Boravia technically being a US ally. Corenswet is a more charismatic on-screen presence than predecessors Henry Cavill and Brandon Routh, and as such does better with the quippier dialogue than when being asked to deliver bilge about what it means to be human.
Because just as this poptastic, colour-saturated, zinger- and needle drop-filled movie seeks to distinguish itself from the sepia-toned sociopathy of Zack Snyder’s reign, this Superman also distinguishes itself by fucking hating America.
While Lois remarks that Superman sees the best in every person he meets, the film itself is spilling over with misanthropy. Gunn, evidently not having fully worked through his brief social media cancellation and subsequent firing and rehiring by Disney, fills the screen with corrupt politicians and journalists, internet trolls, his fellow superheroes are corporate sell outs and even the comic’s sweet Jimmy Olsen (Skyler Gisondo) is kind of a douche.
Aside from Lois and Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced), women are selfie-obsessed bimbos, idly gossiping or cast into hellish incarceration for the sin of being mean about men online. But most uncomfortable of all is the conflict between Boravia and Jarhanpur, where sweet brown children beg Superman to save them as soldiers prepare to gun them down. The official line is that this was all conceived of long ago, but needless to say, given the ongoing genocide in Palestine, it feels in woefully poor taste.
While looking for nuance in Gunn’s insights into the state of the world at large is like asking a horse for directions, and unsurprisingly the silliest aspects of the film are its best. Robots having existential crises; a mischievous super-powered puppy; Nathan Fillion with a blonde bowl cut; and the film’s MVP, Edi Gathegi, as the perma non-plussed Mr Terrific.
A spiralling massacre taking place while Noah and the Whale’s Five Years Time drops feels like a retread to the Rocket Raccoon and Groot fight in Guardians, but to Gunn’s credit, sticking to what he’s good at is far more amusing than the inevitable CGI smash-fest these films are contractually obliged to descend into.
There’s promise here. A broader cinematic universe that feels cohesive, filled with amusing cameos and, for the first time in years, a DCU that feels like it has a faint pulse are all very welcome. But whenever the film strains to address Big Ideas, it’s painful. Gunn may be keen to move out of Snyder’s shadow and the fascistic embodiment of American exceptionalism behind, but if this is the alternative, it might be time to look for salvation elsewhere.
