Fine, I’ll say it. I need Superman. I’m craving a hero who stands for truth and justice whether he’s rescuing cats or reporting the news. Cheering for such idealism used to feel corny; all the cool, caped crusaders had ethical kinks. Even his recent movies have seemed a little embarrassed by the guy, scuffing him up with cynicism. I’m with the latest incarnation of Superman (David Corenswet) when he tells Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) that having a big heart is “the real punk rock.”
Director James Gunn’s antsy reboot skips past the origin story of infant Kal-El slamming into Kansas in an escape pod from Krypton. Instead, this “Superman” opens with Corenswet’s savior slamming into Earth again, this time after losing his first fight. Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) and his bionic minions have batted Superman around Metropolis like a toy, forcing him to flee to his Fortress of Solitude in Antarctica with 14 broken bones and a busted bladder. The starkness of the white snow against his bright costume looks like a blank page asking: Who should Superman be today?
The Superman myth has always been a fable of collision: a near-perfect alien challenged to protect fragile, scared humans who struggle to accept that we’re not the bestest beings in the universe. Here, Kal-El’s parents (Bradley Cooper and Angela Sarafyan) are heard insulting Earthlings outright — “The people there are simple and profoundly confused” — which, for the franchise, is actually going a little easy on humankind. Historically, we tend to let him down, going back to his surprisingly spiky movie debut in 1951’s “Superman and the Mole Men” (note the lack of a “versus”), in which George Reeves protected the outsiders of the title from a rural American mob. “Obviously, none of you can be trusted with guns, so I’m going to take them away from you,” he lectures the townsfolk, pretzeling their shotguns. “Stop acting like Nazi storm troopers!”
Gunn isn’t that punk rock. He’s pop punk; he wants to be liked by a mass audience. Having taken control of the DC Universe, he’s pivoted away from gloom to concoct a Superman who isn’t too sweet or too serious — frankly, he’s a little stupid. After a hasty resuscitation from his adorable dog Krypton and his robot butlers (voiced by Alan Tudyk, Pom Klementieff and Michael Rooker, among others), Superman races back into battle before he’s healed. He gets beaten senseless again.
Stupid is a smart idea for a 21st century reboot. Superman’s stymied do-gooder impulse feels right for an era where you can’t say “Save the whales” without some genius asking why you don’t care about plankton. The goal might have been to make him super naive. But Gunn doesn’t do sincerity, so this Superman comes off as obtuse and overwhelmed — which, even for a Julliard-trained actor like Corenswet, is pretty impossible to pull off with any personality. His dimples and blue eyes are empathetic. But he mostly just looks dazed.
This Superman is all impulsive energy, much like his unhousebroken puppy, who also wears a cape and tramples on things when he tries to help. They’re essentially the same species. Superman gets distracted midfight by his urgent need to protect a squirrel; Krypto spends one brouhaha looting a pet store. Superman’s reporter girlfriend of three months, Lois (a savvy and sensible Brosnahan, kitted in fabulous ‘70s-style threads), is well-aware of his dual identity and the flaws in his hasty reactions to injustice. She points out that physically threatening the thuggish president of fictional Boravia (Zlatko Buric) to stop invading weaker countries is technically torture. “People were going to die!” Superman sputters. Lois’ reticence about him mirrors our own vacillation with the DC Universe’s new direction: We need to see something more from this guy before we commit.
In this script, the lines of good and evil aren’t drawn in black and white or even gray — they’re a tangle of squiggles. There are no neat solutions, no shortcuts and there’s no way for Superman to defend himself when Hoult’s Luthor drums up a dubious sex scandal to accuse the Kryptonian of “grooming” humanity and hires an actual room of typing monkeys to ruin his online reputation. (You may remember that before Gunn was hired to oversee DC Studios, Walt Disney fired him from Marvel when a blogger behind Pizzagate unearthed the director’s old shock-jock jokes about pedophilia and 9/11. Clearly, that grievance is still on his mind.)
The plot is impatient but entertaining enough. The villainous billionaire Luthor, who Hoult plays like a beady techno-zealot, has several schemes up his fancy sleeve. One involves a tent city in the desert that hides a portal to an extrajudicial jail for his enemies, both interstellar and domestic. (He’s got green-skinned babies and a sobbing ex-girlfriend in there.) Gunn has sarcastically tried to make the place look cheery — Luthor’s henchmen are dressed in mismatched Hawaiian shirts — but the sequence might give you the shivers.
Gunn is known for wrangling groups of weirdos (“Guardians of the Galaxy,” “The Suicide Squad”) into blockbuster action-comedies. His instincts are to spray everything with silly string and slap on a wacky soundtrack. Here, there’s actually a very good doom metal electronic score by John Murphy and David Fleming, but the movie stiffens up whenever it needs to get real. When we visit Clark Kent’s family farm, it’s touching to see his childhood bedroom. But his plainspoken Ma and Pa (Neva Howell and Pruitt Taylor Vince) have been made to talk so slowly they sound like they have brain injuries. It’s as though “Superman” isn’t sure how to be earnest without whacking us over the head with it.
The script is way more confident when Gunn gets to scribble in the margins, whisking in Milly Alcock’s party-hardy Supergirl for a fast and fun cameo. (She’ll have her own movie next summer.) Luthor’s main henchwoman, known only as the Engineer (María Gabriela de Faría), is constructed from skittering robotic cells that let her change form like a Swiss Army Knife, while his latest ditzy blonde girlfriend, Eve (a very funny Sara Sampaio), wriggles her way into becoming a memorable highlight. One of the film’s umpteenth kaiju fights introduces the corporate-sponsored Justice Gang, a trio of apathetic superheroes spearheaded by Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion) with Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi). They dispatch a monster so gracelessly that Superman finally gets some sense knocked into him. “There’s got to be a better way to do this,” he groans.
The movie’s tone shape-shifts just as recklessly as an outer space inmate named Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan) who can transform into explosive acid. Gunn is compelled to show us his entire vision for the DC Universe. But as he cuts from a slow-burning gag about a garage door opener to a legitimately brutal execution to a whizbang combat scene set to a song that whoops, “Fun fun fun!,” I just wished I was having more of it.
This isn’t quite the heart-soaring “Superman” I wanted. But these adventures wise him up enough that I’m curious to explore where the saga takes him next. Still, I left chewing over how comic book movies can be so popular and prescient, and yet people who’ve grown up rooting against characters like Lex Luthor cheer them on in the real world. Maybe Gunn can answer that in a sequel. Or maybe our stubborn myopia is what this Superman means when he says, “I screw up all the time but that is being human.”
