A lot riding on James Gunn's latest movie: not just the reboot of DC Films (now called DC Studios, with James Gunn and producing partner Peter Safran as co-CEOs) but also a reboot of not just a DC comic book superhero but arguably the foundational superhero (not the first ever but damned close and arguably the most influential)-- in effect, the salvation of an entire movie genre, which lately has been in a box-office slump generating more bad publicity than Elon Musk on a ketamine binge.
So did Gunn do it? I'd say you're asking the wrong question.
Gunn's roots come from low-budget independent horror, learning how to write, produce, direct, distribute, and even make poster art for Troma Entertainment; his first mainstream screenplay was for two Scooby Doo movies (2002, 2004) and a Dawn of the Dead (2004) reboot (none of which I must note I much liked); his directorial debut was Slither (2006), a sly horror comedy about sluglike alien parasites infiltrating a small town (that I liked a lot); his Super (2010)-- arguably his best work to date-- is a grotesque yet surprisingly poignant satire of costumed heroes in general.
Gunn at this point was an interesting indie filmmaker who dabbled in mainstream genre filmmaking; his next project however was Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) where he took a relatively unknown comic book team and fashioned for himself a breakthrough hit, mainly by smuggling his subversive indie humor into a mainstream Marvel Studios project, complete with a soundtrack full of 60's and 70's nostalgic titles. That was significant: Gunn found that his gonzo often raunchy sensibility, recalibrated for a PG-13 rating as opposed to his usual R, didn't just speak to a cultish select but had widespread-- no, worldwide-- appeal, and he hasn't looked back since. A few more Guardians sequels (Volumes 2 and 3) made respectable if not outstanding cash and he earned influence enough to direct a big R-rated production (The Suicide Squad, 2021) and its equally R spinoff mini series (The Peacemaker, 2022) that still retained his irreverent shitstirring sensibility and still left him with clout, even (and this is the impressive part) if the projects did less than impressive numbers.
So the original question was: can Gunn still do it? The movie's earned its cost back on the first two weekends, more or less, which suggests a splash, not necessarily big enough to save either DC Studios or the comic book movie industry, at least not quite yet.
But the real question is: Did he manage to fashion a recognizably James Gunn movie out of one of the oldest and most revered comic-book character in pop culture history?
First thing you'll notice while watching recalls the term 'in media res'-- after a few introductory titles we get Clark (David Corenswet) on ice, broken and bleeding (clever that the first teasers for the picture show this exact moment, little of what follows). In swift succession we meet Krypto, the robots, Ultraman, the Engineer, Lex Luthor, and so forth. We've been introduced to the Kryptonian at least twice before on the big screen; now meet the rest of his world, and try keep up.
Pretty much what Gunn did with Guardians and Peacemaker-- you meet them in a cold open, follow to learn more, find out the full story in bits and dribbles along the way. O and that tendency to just toss new characters at you pell mell? Totally out of the comic books, as pointed out by someone calling himself Sir Superhero on Youtube (not kidding, you can find him on the app, and he at least sounds authoritative and what he had to say about this movie's story structure does make sense). Unlike Marvel Studios which introduced major characters in single features leading up to the big Avengers movies, a strictly linear progression, Gunn opts for what some of the more freewheeling issues do, using crossovers and teamups and whatnot (Sir Superhero's recommendation on how to dive into the books' teeming brew: pick a character and hang on-- and follow whoever happens to catch your interest along the way into whatever narrative hole they dive in; rinse and repeat). Instead of a linear progression you get chaotic bloom spreading out in all directions, a more democratic buffet of interconnected storylines instead of a fascistic single narrative.
Or you can call Gunn a messy writer. Either way it's a bit hard to predict when he'll zig or zag, and there may be times you're actually pleased at the direction your specific journey took.
Gunn doesn't mess with the original character tho-- much. As first conceived by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the Man of Tomorrow (he was apparently called that after the 1939 New York World's Fair) was a violent sadistic vigilante who, yes, championed the oppressed and helped those in need-- at one point by hurling a man against a wall (to be fair he was a wife beater) at another snatching a man by his ankle and jumping up the side of a building to terrify him (to be fair he's a corrupt politician). Gunn's protagonist comes from the Silver Age (around 1956 to 1970), a more family friendly hero who fights for 'truth, justice, and the American Way!' (a motto that started with the 40s radio shows, was continued in 50s TV, was burned into recent memory by Richard Donner's 1978 feature). Gunn keeps the Big Blue Boy Scout's squeaky clean sensibility, tweaking a few details: he's not adverse to premarital sex (though that was introduced as early as Donner and Richard Lester's 1982 feature) and he tends to get heated when challenged.
Speaking of challenged-- Clark's 12-minute scene with Lois (Rachel Brosnahan) is a nice little moment to introduce both characters' chemistry together. Not only the question of ethics-- of doing the right vs. the legal thing (though Lois could've worked harder at catching Clark in moral dilemmas-- quoting Robert Bolt's dialogue for Thomas More might have helped) but of how the couple struggle over the issue of professional vs. personal boundaries (neatly represented by the constant stopping and starting of the 'record' button ("You can't use that!")) which they have pretty much trashed by sleeping together. This Clark is a hothead with a big heart who tends to act before he thinks, and a bit of a horndog to boot-- in other words a regular guy like you and me, as he makes a little too explicit in a late speech.
Nicholas Hoult's Luthor-- well he's more in line with recent comic book incarnations, a media-canny ultrarich tech bro with serious self-esteem issues (but don't they all?) who doesn't really do business but takes things very very personal. Hoult taps into his sense of entitlement and comes up with a character we would all dearly love to strangle; good job, only I remember Gene Hackman's Luthor and his crack sense of comic timing, the way he would turn on a dime (at least in the first movie) and suddenly be quietly terrifyingly menacing. In Lester's sequel he was less villain and more buffoon but 1) we need more of Hackman's humor in our lives and 2) even as court jester he kept slyly throwing shade at Terence Stamp's pompous General Zod.
To be fair Hoult does have one good moment where he casts aside all pretense of dignity and shows his true face: envy of Clark's innate goodness so malignant he comes to represent all humans against all metahumans, assuming the Iagolike position that anyone who stands above us should immediately be pulled down and ground into the dirt. Hoult delivers his speech with deeply felt bile, made even more sour by years of repression; you almost feel like cheering him on as he speaks on behalf of your mean spiteful soul.
Conversely Luthor's crippled demented spirit helps contrast the purity of Clark's, the latest piece of evidence I would present before the court on just how difficult it is to write for a truly good person (koff koff-- Spongebob Squarepants, to name another example), and how Gunn should be recognized for at least managing a halfway decent job.
The rest of the cast is memorable and alas too numerous to enumerate, though I'll single out Nathan Fillion's Guy Gardner as the best candidate for a spinoff feature; not only is Gunn free to push him hard as possible (those giant green middle fingers!) but he inspires others to step up with their quips ("That haircut should be against your vows!").
Quick note on Jor-el and Lara-- I hear purists crying 'blasphemy!' and understand: Gunn is fiddling with time-honored lore. But I liked this particular fiddle-- having the basis of your life yanked from under you and being forced to make an existential decision what you're going to do moving forward (helps to have Pruitt Taylor Vince clarify things in his loamy Kansas accent) actually helps sell the idea that Clark's metal is true.
Visually Gunn isn't an especially distinctive stylist, though I might note that he likes to use lengthy takes, the better to catch the chaos and chaotic interplay between multiple voices-- but this is no Tim Burton, the last real fabulist to work in the genre (sorry, Burton and Guillermo del Toro). Gunn does keep it at human rather than monumental scale, insisting on keeping our eyes directed at the characters instead of the mile high monsters and gigantic explosions. The color palate is standard-issue bright comic book-- but his visual source being the Silver Age, meant to hold the attention of ten year olds, that's to be expected.
Not much else to say except I love the explicit stance the movie takes on the Palestinian invasion (it's wrong) and like-- kind of-- Gunn's assertion through Clark that "Kindness is the new punk." Maybe, but what does that mean, exactly? Has Gunn turned a page and devoted the rest of his career to making bigbudgeted movies about bighearted Kryptonians? Or has he finally stepped out of his personal closet to reveal himself as yet another edgelord cynic hiding a marshmallow heart? Gunn does his best with Clark but it helps to surround the man with a cast of characters reflecting and contrasting and giving context to his essential goodness, showing how he stands out in a still imperfect world-- meanwhile and hopefully Gunn hands off the sequel soon as possible to someone else while he focuses on unexpected walk-on cameo Kara, who seems to be the kind of damaged-goods antihero that's more his jam. To paraphrase what a wise man once said: O Lord go ahead give me kindness-- but don't give it to me yet.
First published in Businessworld 7/18/25
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