The DC Universe may have found its new Girl of Steel, but unfortunately, she’s trapped in a movie that’s far more interested in grossing audiences out than lifting them up.
There’s no questioning Milly Alcock’s star power. The House of the Dragon breakout brings vulnerability, wit and genuine charisma to Kara Zor-El, making her feel refreshingly different from the endlessly noble Superman we’ve come to know. Alcock carries the film on her shoulders, even when the script keeps piling unnecessary chaos on top of her. She’s funny, emotionally engaging and looks every bit the next great DC hero.
Jason Momoa also proves to be one of the film’s few undeniable bright spots as Lobo, the interstellar bounty hunter who keeps saying, “I kill for the money, not for the sport of it.” Clearly having the time of his life, he injects swagger, humor and larger-than-life energy into every scene he’s in. His presence, although not nearly enough of it, gives the movie a jolt whenever it threatens to collapse under its own excesses.
Unfortunately, those bright spots aren’t enough to save what feels like a two-hour exercise in trying to outdo every comic-book movie in sheer sensory overload.
The violence is relentless—not thrilling, not exciting, just exhausting, much of it involving blobby, grotesque creatures that appear to be from the Star Wars universe. Limbs fly, bodies explode and destruction reaches cartoonishly excessive levels, numbing any emotional stakes the film hopes to create. Even worse is the film’s apparent fascination with bodily fluids. Scenes involving urination (animal and human) and vomiting are played for laughs, but instead land with an audible thud. Juvenile gross-out humor might work in certain comedies, but it feels wildly out of place in a movie that’s supposed to introduce one of DC’s most iconic heroes. Instead of being edgy, it simply becomes tiresome.
Then there’s the biggest disappointment of all: not enough Superman.
If you’re marketing a film set firmly within the new DC Universe, audiences naturally expect Clark Kent to have more than a passing presence. His relationship with Kara has always been one of the emotional pillars of her story, yet the movie barely scratches the surface. Rather than exploring that dynamic, the film rushes from one over-the-top action sequence to the next, leaving little room for heart or meaningful character development.
Ironically, when Supergirl slows down and allows Alcock to simply be Kara—uncertain, hopeful and discovering her place in the world—the movie actually works. Those quieter moments hint at the much better film buried beneath all the explosions, gore and bathroom jokes.
James Gunn’s new DC Universe has promised stories with heart, optimism and humanity. Supergirl certainly has flashes of those qualities, largely thanks to Alcock’s terrific leading performance and Momoa’s scene-stealing charisma. But they’re fighting an uphill battle against a screenplay seemingly convinced that bigger, louder and grosser automatically means better.
It doesn’t.
Here’s a thought: Alock and Momoa each re-entering the world of Westeros. Now that’s something that would really be Super.
