Twenty years ago, when Superman returned to the big screen thanks to Bryan Singer, I wondered on these very pages whether the world still needed a saviour from Krypton. Today, we can answer the question with a resounding yes. But not the one presented to us by DC’s messiah, James Gunn.
Arriving to manage Warner Bros.’ comic book movie division as the saviour of the nation, backed by three Guardians of the Galaxy films and a Suicide Squad made during the limbo period caused by his prehistoric and not exactly politically correct tweets, Gunn has free reign, making a clean sweep of everything that came before him, which no one would have regretted anyway, to build a whole new system in his image and likeness.
If the early signs are anything to go by, things are not looking good for Warner.
The accounts, in the true sense of the word, will be settled at the end, but the impression is that this Superman is running out of steam, however incredible that may seem for someone who can extinguish a fire the size of Milan with a single breath.
Gunn’s Superman is born an adult, and this helps to strip away all the epicness of his human formation. The director and screenwriter of Slither has stated several times that he was tired of telling that origin story, a legitimate annoyance. It’s a shame that it’s precisely that coming of age that makes the hero super. The film begins with a wounded man of steel, saved by Krypto, the superdog, and taken to his Fortress of Solitude, where he is healed by droids using sunlight while being comforted by messages from his birth parents, not the Kents. It is the prelude to a continuous accumulation of elements and references stemming from a severe lack.
Let’s revisit the question from twenty years ago: Does the world need a Superman?
Yes, because today we are surrounded by operetta Lex Luthors and mad rulers who invade countries. And yet, we can live without this Kryptonian, who is considered an alien seeking to blend in among humans. Because of his naive goodness, capable of caring about individuals, humans or canines, even amid a tragedy that could potentially kill hundreds of people, he can cause more harm than good. Better the pragmatism of Green Lantern and his Justice Gang or the journalistic analysis of Lois Lane, even if she is one of the worst-written characters ever.
James Gunn makes us regret not so much the visions of Richard Donner and Zack Snyder, or rather, yes, we do, but above all the more swashbuckling vision of Richard Lester and even more so the serial versions, from Lois & Clark to Smallville. Gunn wants to be romantic and sarcastic, political and nerdy but ends up being merely didactic, explaining every step of a story that, moreover, has no real foundation.
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As always, Lex Luthor comes out best, although he would do better to go into real estate, where he would make billions rebuilding the damage he causes in his attempts to get rid of Superman. And on that note, we’ve had enough of devastated cities. Anyone would consider a hero who turns you into a homeless person to save you from a public danger.
Returning to the film, we deeply miss the first splendid hour of Man of Steel, as well as the heartbreak of Superman saving millions of people but not his Lois, choosing to truly be a god on Earth by manipulating time and life. There was a powerful epic quality to Christopher Reeve’s Superman that is absent here in favour of an adolescent childishness that is almost always out of place.
One wonders whether the film could have been called Krypto, who is worth Jar-Jar Binks, saving his foster master several times (we find out who the dog belongs to at the end, another unfortunate idea by Gunn), or Luthor, since it is the story of his obsession.
Thankfully, Nicholas Hoult is a great actor and saved most of the day, along with a funny and amused Nathan Fillion, a rather slovenly Green Lantern. The handsome David Corenswet falls short of all previous Supermen, even Brandon Routh. Rachel Brosnahan, outside Mrs Maisel, is a relatively anonymous actress, but both have little responsibility.
The real problem is that we don’t know what to make of this Superman, with a big heart but little intelligence and without the encyclopaedic knowledge that denoted his insatiable curiosity about the planet that had adopted him.
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And it’s understandable why the Batman universe remains disconnected from the rest for the moment; a meeting point between the darkness, even excessive, of Reeves’ Batman and the dazzling light of this Superman is not yet negotiable. We’ll see what the audience decides. James Gunn may understand the audience better than we do.
But that doesn’t make this Superman the one we need today. It’s the one we deserve, though.