The first shot in "Superman" is the key. We see a beat-up Man of Steel curled up in snow, barely breathing. This is not some distant god or smiling cop. He is vulnerable: in body, heart, and mind. He whistles for his dog (who also wears a cape), who drags him to safety. This shows three things. First, the most important word in the title is "man." Second, he exists in a world of superdogs and metahumans who could kill him, but he doesn’t quit. Third, he needs our help.
The film's hinge comes later, during a conversation between Lois and Clark. She knows who he is. Lois explains why their relationship can’t work. She says, "I'm just a punk rock kid from Bakerline." Let me underline how on-brand this is for her. Lois is the world’s greatest reporter because she compulsively questions everything, including her own worthiness. She wears cropped pants, pours acres of sugar in her coffee, uses a conspiracy board, and enjoys giving her Kansas boyfriend shit. Of course she had a punk phase. By contrast, Clark is a sweet Midwestern dork who says stuff like "What the hay, dude."
Clark replies, claiming he’s punk too. No you’re not, she says: you trust everyone you’ve ever met and think everyone is beautiful. He responds: "Maybe that’s the real punk rock." There’s the thesis. In a cynical age, the edgiest thing to do is believe in a better tomorrow and try to love and help everyone. That’s “Superman.” It is not power fantasy, it is a moral fantasy.
This is the first hopepunk film. It won’t be the last. Its protagonist is an undocumented immigrant who works as a journalist, wears his culture’s uniform, and is opposed by a narcissistic billionaire who calls him "the alien." It is anti-imperialist, anti-authority, and reinvents its genre in 130 minutes. What Gunn does is extraordinary: this is the first unembarrassed superhero movie. It doesn’t cloak its material in camp or water down wonder. It also doesn’t have Marvel’s habit of handling everything with self-aware cuteness, where every quip is "Okay, so I guess THIS is happening."
Instead, the filmmakers asked, "What if we took comics at their word? What if the absurdity, the emotion, the color weren’t treated as a joke?" Rather than assuming we’ll love the hero, Gunn shows us why we should: Clark is a kind, square country kid whose parents speak loudly into the phone when they call. Corenswet is magnificent, but the standouts are Brosnahan’s Lois, Gathegi’s Mr. Terrific, and Lex. That isn’t Nick Hoult playing Luthor; that *is* Luthor. A bitter, petty nerd, the smartest and least self-aware man in any room--simultaneously a hypercompetent genius and a patronizing honors student who probably wore a suit to class. His swag? Infinite.
This is the most understood-the-assignment film there has ever been. Both times I saw it, the audience applauded. You could feel the crowd willing it to be good. Or to quote Letterboxd: "the type of movie that makes a mf wanna do community service" and "call me gal gadot the way I don’t know how to act rn." The best Superman movie, with the best Superman. I said what I said. Looks like hope’s back on the menu, boys!