If anyone/anything can chase away negativity and cynicism, it’s Superman (now streaming on VOD services like Amazon Prime Video), right? Theoretically. Newly minted DC movies czar James Gunn aimed to return the iconic superhero to his original aw-shucks earnest form, hopefully for its own sake more than as a reaction to Zack Snyder’s derided-by-many, loved-by-slightly-fewer brooding Man of Steel (and its similarly miserable follow-ups). Gunn’s kooky storytelling sensibilities in Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy movies were greatly endearing to audiences, and he does the same with this DC cornerstone; casting David Corenswet (previously seen in supporting roles in Pearl and Twisters) in the possibly thankless lead role, and Rachel Brosnahan (brilliant in TV series The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) as Lois Lane are additional boons for the project. Moviegoers responded kindly, piling nearly $600 million (and counting) into DC’s coffers, as a sigh of relief seemed to emerge from both the theatrical exhibition business and fanpeoples yearning for the Superman of yore. And then there’s the rest of us, who struggled through layers of plot, CGI (so much CGI) and general obnoxiousness to find the things they actually liked about the movie – and one of them is unfortunately not the CGI superdog. What a mixed bag.
The Gist: Superman (Corenswet) just got his butt kicked. Note that I didn’t say “ass kicked,” because this Superman doesn’t say naughty words. One of the first things he mutters after his helper robots position him in the healing rays of the sun is “Golly.” You’d think a guy would have stronger words after losing his first fight ever, but not this guy. He’s about truth, justice and the, um, yeah, truth and justice, and he likes a good cold glass of milk and a nice warm cup of cocoa. He says “thank you” to robots who insist thanking them isn’t necessary because they’re not programmed to accept thanks, just because he’s kind. And then he zooms back into battle, fighting a character dubbed Ultraman (did that name not get trademarked or something?), the near-anonymous minion of Superman’s nemesis, evil big-tech guru Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult). And then we finally see a title card, SUPERMAN, in big bold block letters, all caps and simple, not at all reflective of the plot we’re about to experience (endure?), because Gunn apparently felt the need to cram not just a lot of plot in, but, in the parlance of the times, all of the plot.
Deep breath: You already know Superman’s origin, so we won’t get into that, and neither does the movie, really, although it refers to it in bits and pieces because exposition is a big thing here. Superman has been a public figure for three years. He’s three months into a romance with Lois Lane (Brosnahan), who knows his alter-ego is her coworker, Daily Planet newspaper reporter Clark Kent. There’s a great sequence in which Superman lets Lois interview him on the record, and it’s wonderfully acted and written, layered with subtext about their work, their relationship and the state of the world. Why did she want this exclusive? Superman stopped the imperialist nation of Boravia from invading its weaker neighbor, Jarhanpur. Some would call his actions a major political faux pas because his country of residence, the US of A, is pals with Boravia. But he doesn’t care about such complications. He saved countless lives by preventing a war. Bottom line. The interview is a stalemate, and their relationship might be, too.
Jesum H. Cripes, though, I need to be less observant and detailed because we aren’t going to get through the basics of the plot in less than 10,000 words if I don’t. Another deep breath: Other “metahumans” in Metropolis include the Lex-employed nanobot-manipulator The Engineer (Maria Gabriela de Faria) and the “Justice Gang,” consisting of a bowl-cutted Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion, hilarious), Hawkgirl (Gabriela Merced, underused) and Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi, enjoyably chilly). Daily Planet reporter Jimmy Olsen (Skyler Gisondo) uses his dimbulb, selfie-taking ex, Eve (Sara Sampaio) as a source, because she’s currently Luthor’s squeeze. And he needs her intel because Luthor not only profits on war by selling arms to Boravia, but also angles to capture Superman – he really really really really hates Superman, simply because he’s so gol darn virtuous – and not only uses a legion of monkeys to smear Superman on social media, but also imprison him in a “pocket universe,” the mere existence of which sure seems destined to erupt into a significant existential threat against Metropolis, if not the entire world. It’s quantum shit, I think. Er, stuff. Quantum stuff. Oh, and this whole time, Superman’s unruly flying super-strength dog, Krypto, is a recurring joke-slash-deus ex machina that just needs to go away.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Generally speaking, Gunn mooshes his Guardians of the Galaxy oddness with the idealism of 1978’s classic Superman (don’t think we didn’t notice the regurgitated John Williams music cues, either).
Performance Worth Watching: If you didn’t expect Nathan Fillion to steal a bunch of scenes, well, here’s your introduction to the extraordinary comic talent that is Nathan Fillion. Otherwise, Corenswet is absolutely game for the role, his bright-eyed take on Supes functioning as an assertion that Brendan Fraser would’ve made a great Superman in 1995. The real star is Brosnahan, though, whose spirited take on Lois electrifies the screen in not nearly enough scenes.
Memorable Dialogue: Of all the minions, monsters, robots and other stuff Luthor throws at Superman, the one thing that truly bothers our hero is a social media slam: “Hashtag Supershit.” Luthor needs to wash that filth mouth out with soap!
Sex and Skin: Hahahahaha, nope.
Our Take: Sorry, but Krypto sucks. Superman is such a bewildering onslaught, it’s a challenge to focus on any of its far too many components and grab hold of something substantive. You can’t ding Gunn for a lack of ambition as he dials up a thorny facsimile of current international conflicts (Israel/Palestine or Russia/Ukraine, take your pick), a missive against social media toxicity (remember, he was “canceled” for a while over some old, tasteless tweets), a reorientation of Superman as an “immigrant” or “alien” (increasingly charged words) and an internal crisis of identity that has Superman wrestling with ideas about nature vs. nurture (specifically, the influence of his Kryptonian parents vs. Ma and Pa Kent, who are among the sweetest drawling simple-folk yokels in cinema history).
MEANWHILE, AT THE HALL OF JUSTICE, this whole thing plays out with the flimsiness of a Saturday morning cartoon episode of Super Friends. Much has been said about the traditionalist gee-whiz goody-goody take on the Superman character, which is no doubt a welcome blast of optimism. But it never jibes with Gunn’s edgy, darkish tonal sensibilities, whether he’s establishing stakes with a brutal murder or rendering the Eve character as little more than a creaky old dumb-blonde joke. As for that big, unwieldy conglomeration of ideas and social commentary, well, they all eventually boil down to a slugfest in a massive pile of CGI slop while characters shout exposition at each other. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
As Gunn bulldozes us with great lumpy wads of too much stuff, he fails to make the most of the film’s strongest assets – the small handful of interactions between the wonderfully alchemical combo of Corenswet and Brosnahan feel like teensy snatches of cloth in a crazy-quilt movie chock-full of overly busy set pieces: A fight with a giant monster, a breakout from an interdimensional prison, an irritatingly self-aware look-at-me virtuoso oner in which Mr. Terrific takes out a legion of goons while an anachronistic pop tune plays, etc. And then there’s a gag where Superman shows his moral purity by saving the life of a squirrel. Gunn is trying so hard here, and overthinking unto incomprehensibility.
The big final-act ubercrunch climaxes with Superman fighting one of Luthor’s key players (no spoilers), as the villain mastermind, who’s studied Superman’s moves, shouts number/letter-coded instructions at his dude, which is not exactly not annoying (an “S2” is a kick in the super balls – I took notes!). Any non-Brosnahan or -Fillion-rooted comedy dies on the vine as we’re consumed by Gunn’s overbearing onslaught of flat-and-bright CGI. About 20 percent of Superman is hands-down great, while the rest is screamingly loud and weirdly repellent, and leaves us wishing it was cleaner, simpler and easier to digest. Good golly gee willikers this movie is a mess.
Our Call: And it makes me hate a dog, which is just shitty. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.