Let me be clear: I walked into Superman ready to judge it like it owed me money. DC has spent the last decade emotionally sparring with its own fanbase, and I’ve been ringside for every punch. We’ve had operatic gloom, studio panic edits, and enough tonal confusion to require therapy. So when James Gunn took over the most iconic superhero in history, I wasn’t hopeful—I was defensive. And somehow, against my better instincts, this thing won me over.
Gunn doesn’t waste time rehashing the origin story. There’s no drawn-out baby-in-a-rocket nostalgia trip. Clark already exists, already operates as Superman, and already lives in a world that isn’t sure how it feels about him. The film opens with political consequences from one of his interventions abroad, and instead of applause, he’s met with hearings and skepticism. That’s the angle. This isn’t about whether Superman can punch hard enough; it’s about whether the world still believes in what he represents. It’s modern without being preachy, topical without being smug. Gunn threads that needle carefully.
David Corenswet plays Clark with restraint and warmth. He doesn’t brood. He doesn’t posture. He carries himself like someone who understands the weight of his power but refuses to be defined by it. There’s a quiet confidence in his performance that recalls Christopher Reeve without copying him. When he smiles, it doesn’t feel forced. When he struggles, it feels human. That balance is harder to pull off than it looks, and Corenswet nails it.
The newsroom scenes are some of the strongest in the film. Rachel Brosnahan as Lois Lane is sharp, principled, and entirely capable of challenging Clark when necessary. Their chemistry feels grounded, not decorative. There’s an argument midway through the film about accountability and responsibility that does more for their relationship than most superhero romances manage in entire franchises. Brosnahan’s Lois isn’t there to admire Superman; she’s there to question him, and that tension gives the story weight.
Nicholas Hoult delivers a Lex Luthor who is controlled and ideological rather than theatrical. He doesn’t scream or sneer for attention. He speaks calmly about humanity’s right to self-determination, framing Superman as a dangerous anomaly rather than a hero. It’s a subtle performance that builds menace slowly. When Lex finally makes his move in the third act, it feels calculated rather than impulsive, and that intelligence makes him more threatening than any over-the-top villain speech ever could.
Gunn also expands the world without overwhelming it. The introduction of the Justice Gang—particularly Edi Gathegi as Mister Terrific and Nathan Fillion as Guy Gardner—adds texture and ideological friction. These aren’t background cameos; they represent alternative philosophies about heroism. Mister Terrific approaches problems analytically, almost clinically, while Guy Gardner carries himself with abrasive confidence. Their presence underscores that Superman isn’t operating in a vacuum. This world has history, structure, and competing viewpoints.
Visually, the film feels alive. The colors are bold and unapologetic. Daylight action sequences are actually shot in daylight, which sounds basic but feels revolutionary after years of murky destruction. The flight scenes are exhilarating without being weightless; there’s momentum and impact in every acceleration. The IMAX presentation enhances that sensation, particularly during the first major aerial rescue, which drew an audible reaction from the audience. Even Krypto, Superman’s dog, is rendered with surprising realism, grounding what could have been a gimmick in emotional authenticity.
That said, the film isn’t flawless. The third act features significant city destruction, and while Gunn attempts to justify it through evacuation efforts and narrative framing, it still flirts with excess. There are also moments where Superman absorbs punishment in ways that may frustrate viewers who prefer him nearly invincible. The vulnerability raises the stakes, but occasionally it risks diminishing his mythic presence. These are calibration issues rather than fatal flaws, but they’re noticeable.
Where the film truly succeeds is in its tone. Gunn doesn’t deconstruct Superman. He doesn’t parody him. He embraces him. In a cinematic era dominated by antiheroes and moral gray zones, this movie unapologetically allows Superman to be decent. The final act hinges not on brute force but on moral choice, reinforcing the idea that strength without restraint is meaningless. That thematic consistency carries the story to a satisfying conclusion.
Superman may not reinvent the genre, but it confidently reestablishes the character’s core identity. It feels like a foundation rather than a reaction. After years of tonal uncertainty, this film suggests a DC Universe that knows what it wants to be. It’s vibrant, interconnected, and emotionally sincere.
For the first time in a long time, Superman doesn’t feel like a relic being modernized. He feels timeless. And that alone makes this reboot worth the flight.
