The new Superman is unmistakably a James Gunn film, a point driven home in nearly every frame. Much like Guardians of the Galaxy and The Suicide Squad, it operates on a chaotic frequency of ensemble quirk, with spiky humor and an earnestly beating heart. But what sets it apart—tonally and thematically—is the degree to which Gunn resists his own cynicism. If this is DC's rebooted cornerstone, it's an optimistic one, foregrounding sincerity over snark, and finding a certain offbeat majesty in doing so.

This is not an origin story—not for Superman, not for Lois, not for the supporting ensemble of demi-gods, aliens, and enhanced humans collectively dubbed the "Justice Gang." In fact, Gunn seems almost allergic to exposition outside of the opening text that drops us into the aftermath of Superman having unilaterally ended a foreign war. Characters arrive fully formed, their iconography presumed, their relationships already in motion. We learn through proximity. The plot, such as it is, saw Superman thwarting the (fictional) nation of Boravia attacking Jarhanpur. It's an act of humanitarianism, or perhaps imperialism, depending on your vantage point. The gesture ignites a firestorm of political and media blowback, as global entities like Lexcorp (who may or may not have capital interests in a foreign war) begin questioning who gave him the right?

An early scene offers our first real window into Kal-el (David Corenswet) as he grapples with the public's reaction to his interventionist heroics. Frustrated that saving lives could be met with suspicion, Kal is met by a calmly reasoned counterpoint from Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan), who argues that people have every right to question the motives of anyone wielding unchecked power. What follows is a quietly pivotal moment: Clark agrees to let Lois interview him—as Superman—on the record. Until now, only Clark Kent has "interviewed" Superman, crafting his own narrative from both sides of the byline. The scene toggles fluidly between personas—Kal-el/Superman and the journalist/girlfriend—and captures the complexity of their relationship in miniature. Brosnahan plays Lois with unwavering integrity; she doesn't coddle him or toss softballs, and her commitment to truth acts as both a personal challenge and a professional standard. In pressing for answers, she also cracks open Kal-el's interior, giving the audience a rare glimpse at the man behind the symbol as Corenswet portrays him with almost blind optimism in humanity. It's an incredible scene—elegantly written and sharply performed—that showcases why Brosnahan and  Corenswet feel perfectly cast in these versions of their characters.

As Lex Luthor, Nicholas Hoult delivers an excellent performance, pitched somewhere between a professional hater and a billionaire troll whose inferiority complex is matched only by his disregard for consequences. His social media smear campaigns and shitposting as strategy have the unmistakable musk of certain real-world analogues.

The supporting cast is equally well-cast. Edi Gathegi's Mr. Terrific is easily the biggest standout. He's logically funny but also a complete bad ass. Nathan Fillion is grotesquely funny as Guy Gardner, a Green Lantern with a haircut that seems to have been inflicted as punishment. His ring's energy constructs offer a brief outlet for some of Gunn's more crass comedic sensibilities. Isabela Merced's Hawkgirl and Anthony Carrigan's Metamorpho are less well-served, backgrounded for the most part, but round out the core of the "Justice Gang." The band of misfits archetype is Gunn's comfort zone, and it's where this film feels most like Guardians of the Galaxy or The Suicide Squad.

Lastly, I want to mention Krypto, the super-dog. Used primarily as a comedic element, but utilized economically, it feels very natural and not out of place in this particular world. Krypto is, by most standards, a bad dog--a little unruly, causes big messes when left alone, and doesn't always obey commands. But Kal-el's commitment to this creature, despite all that, speaks to his belief in the sanctity of all living creatures--human, dog, squirrel, Kaiju, etc.

Visually, Gunn steers away from the photo-realist gloom that has long plagued the DC brand. There's color here, and speed, and a sense of weightless wonder in Superman's flight. Not everything works—the Lantern effects in particular look more like Flubber than a superpower—but there's a commitment to comic-book maximalism that compensates for the rough patches. The action is legible, brisk, and even joyful in its choreography. Gunn pulls some tricks from his tried-and-true playbook — action scenes, particularly one involving Mr. Terrific, feature dynamic camera movements set to hand-picked needle drops.

It doesn't all work. There's a particular foe that Lex seemingly can control like a video game. As Lex relays commands to a joystick-wielding gamer and seemingly translates them into real-time fight moves against Supes. They repeatedly return to this construct, and it never works. The aforementioned cartoony Green Lantern effects, and an occasional miscalibrated joke or moment of levity. However, the propulsive pace and commitment to hopefulness and joy make it easy to overlook any technical misgivings.

Thematically, Gunn fills this universe with thinly veiled real-world parallels--Israel/Palestine, or Superman as an undocumented immigrant with no legal recourse, blacksite detention centers, Musk, etc. But they're not here to render judgment. Instead, Gunn uses these real-world textures to situate Superman within a cynical, mistrustful modern world—one that instinctively doubts anyone who claims to act selflessly. The film isn't trying to make a political statement so much as it is interested in how Superman's unwavering optimism and moral clarity play against this backdrop. It's not commentary for commentary's sake, but a way of underlining how improbable, and maybe even aspirational, Superman truly is. The film's moral center is its gentlest idea. Superman argues, in its broadest strokes, for self-definition through empathy. Superman's heroism doesn't stem from his long-held belief that he was born to do good. He's a hero because he chooses to. While Superman has its share of flaws, it's an immensely entertaining watch that blends the humor and vibrant visuals of Gunn's signature style with a hopeful, clear-eyed take on an iconic character. It's a joyful reboot that feels both emotionally sincere and stylistically fresh—almost diametrically opposed to the grimness of past DC films—and one that argues, with conviction, that being good is still worth believing in.