James Gunn’s Superman is a film that lives in tension with itself. It is playful, sincere, and oddly lightweight — a work that gestures at rejuvenating the Man of Steel while constantly tripping over the weight of its own ambitions. I didn’t dislike it. In fact, there are stretches of charm and sincerity that are difficult to dismiss. But as a whole, it never quite lands.
There’s something refreshing about a Superman who isn’t steeped in solemnity. Gunn takes the character back to basics: awkward, corny, a little fractured but fundamentally good-hearted. This is not a tortured god wrestling with metaphysical burdens, but a man trying to balance decency with the absurd scale of his world. In flashes, it feels right. Superman smiles, makes mistakes, and carries a vulnerability that allows him to be more human than divine.
The trouble is that sincerity alone isn’t enough. Scenes often wash over without consequence, like comic strips stitched together without any glue to hold them. Conflicts appear, threaten significance, and then vanish. The film has the buoyancy of a cartoon, zany and quick-footed, but rarely tethered to emotional weight. The more it moves, the less it seems to matter.
Part of the problem lies in its structure. Gunn throws us straight into Superman’s life — no origin, no gradual introduction — which in theory avoids well-worn clichés. But rather than freedom, the choice breeds chaos. The narrative spirals into an endless stream of dust-ups, black holes, collapsing cities, and cosmic calamities that blur into one another. It becomes difficult to care when everything is so big, so constant, and so detached from the characters we’re meant to follow. I found myself longing for something smaller: a quiet evening between Clark and Lois, a moment where the story paused to remember why Superman matters at all. Which is what made that small, quiet scene where Lois interviews Clark as Superman, so magical, human—and well-needed. For me, it sidesteps all the fun and chaos, making it the best and most memorable part of the film, and the most earned character work for the new Superman.
And yet, I can’t call it a failure. Gunn clearly believes in this character, and in those fleeting glimpses — the humour, the warmth, the clumsy sincerity — there’s an honest attempt to remind us why Superman has endured for nearly a century. David Corenswet, in particular, captures that balance of kindness and uncertainty, grounding the film in a performance that feels genuinely earnest.
What the film lacks, however, is coherence. It wants to be a return to basics and a universe-builder all at once. It wants to be funny and sincere, but also operatic and world-ending. It wants to be light and breezy, yet to carry the emotional charge of myth. In trying to be all of these things, it ends up suspended in the middle, never fully committing in any direction.
For me, Superman is less a story than a patchwork of intentions. It’s enjoyable in fragments, but emotionally weightless as a whole. It gestures at the Superman film audiences have been waiting for, but never quite finds the gravity to hold itself together.
Superman, as a character, has always thrived on conviction — the unwavering belief that hope, goodness, and love can withstand the world’s cynicism. This film never seems to fully believe in itself. And maybe that’s why, despite its sincerity, I left wishing it had given me something more to hold onto, than simply looking forward to seeing Mr. Terrific again.
7.5/10
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