Much like many tales surrounding powerful figures, Supergirl confronts the age-old Superman dilemma: how can one craft an engaging narrative for a character endowed with overwhelming abilities?
Unfortunately, as is often the case in such narratives, the most appealing and straightforward approaches Supergirl takes are also the ones that are most challenging for viewers to accept.
This theme is familiar: an omnipotent being grappling with contrived challenges that turn their divine gifts into a burden. The super-strong hero suddenly becoming inexplicably incapable of overcoming minor adversaries to create genuine tension.
Or the nearly invincible hero opting for solitude to generate emotional depth. Alternatively, wishing away her extraordinary powers, as if a fulfilling life is only attainable by the weak and mortal.
This issue is so widespread that it may have been most effectively tackled in an unexpected venue — the early-2000s webcomic, minus. Following a similarly powerful character, minus doesn’t linger on the supposed hardships of being faster than a speeding bullet. Instead, it humorously critiques the tendency of writers to resort to this notion to drive their plots.
Supergirl hits theatres Friday and follows the successful reboot of Superman last summer. Actress Milly Alcock plays Superman’s kid cousin, Kara Zor-El, who goes on an interstellar adventure with an unlikely companion. CBC’s Jackson Weaver shares his review of the latest DC superhero movie.
“Ultimately, living like a regular human is the best choice!” declares a relatable youth in one comic strip, poking fun at this overused trope while trying to convince herself that flying would be a terrible experience.
Then Minus glides on a cloud above, drifting into the horizon. The other children chase after, brandishing their own hand-drawn clouds. Because, naturally, being super would be extraordinary. Any moral that suggests otherwise is merely an artificial solution to the Superman dilemma.
As you might expect, Supergirl does not bring fresh insight to a question that has haunted Superman creators since the hero’s inception. The film’s troubles start early, as we witness Supergirl (Milly Alcock) emulating Hancock. Awakening with a hangover and sunglasses askew, Superman’s cousin, who is both younger and older, embarks on a self-destructive binge across the cosmos.
This journey arises from a profound disconnection from humanity. In her view, the only way to cope is to physically distance herself from those who care for her — and from Earth’s yellow sun, which bestows her powers.
Shortly thereafter, this damaged woman takes on the responsibility of protecting a vulnerable girl: Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a mortal yet fierce warrior with the film’s only somewhat effective backstory.
Milly Alcock, left, and Eve Ridley portray Supergirl and Ruthye in a scene from Supergirl. (Warner Bros. Pictures/The Associated Press)
Equipped with a highly coveted sword crafted by her father — and yes, we won’t question why swords hold such allure in a tale filled with laser beams, hyperdrives, and superhuman abilities — Ruthye is determined to exact revenge on the interstellar marauder Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts) for her family’s murder.
Meanwhile, the cliché villain exists solely to fulfill that role. Beyond an oddly repetitive, Brad Pitt-like tendency to eat others’ food, his most notable features are the ball bearings embedded in his face and his intent to poison Supergirl’s superdog, Krypto.
Fortunately for Supergirl — and the narrative — the antidote happens to dangle around Krem’s neck. Thus, with all the elements of the long-standing tradition of Logan, Uptown Girls, and Terminator 2 set in motion, Supergirl reluctantly assumes the guardianship of Ruthye on a space-faring journey. Through the experience of caretaking, she discovers that genuine joy stems from relinquishing her self-imposed isolation. Roll the credits, and prepare to shed a tear.
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On a positive note, the world-building and set design are generally effective, even if Supergirl often resembles a distinctly darker version of Guardians of the Galaxy.
The performances are commendable— particularly Alcock’s brilliantly caustic portrayal of Supergirl and Ridley’s delightfully headstrong Ruthye. Even Schoenaerts manages to infuse the painfully dull Krem with a hint of intrigue beyond the simple brute he was written as.
Additionally, Jason Momoa appears to be enjoying himself as the demonic biker deity Lobo — though his involvement in the overarching narrative is as impactful as a Stan Lee cameo in the MCU.
Regrettably, this encapsulates both the film’s strengths and highlights its main flaw: the juvenile writing and direction render the movie a blend of nonsensical and stagnant.
This image released by Warner Bros. Pictures shows Jason Momoa in a scene from Supergirl. (Warner Bros. Pictures/The Associated Press)
Disappointing direction
Written by debut screenwriter Ana Nogueira and helmed by action rookie Craig Gillespie, it is genuinely surprising how aimless this sequel to DCU’s vibrantly spirited 2025 Superman is.
Even those who were critical of that film’s morally simplistic, Boy Scout tone could recognize that it achieved its objectives: balancing the whimsical enjoyment of classic Superman tales with an earnest examination of his (now contentious) ideals regarding universal acceptance and anti-xenophobia.
Supergirl, however, does the opposite. It fails to establish its lead character on the most fundamental storytelling level. Nogueira’s script resembles a haphazard collection of action clichés assembled without comprehension of their effectiveness, while Gillespie’s sluggish, anti-action direction exacerbates the issues.
For example, Supergirl’s self-imposed exile stems from an unexplored dissatisfaction. A mid-story backstory only slightly reinforces it while attempting to shoehorn a version of Superman’s origin into the narrative. Lobo checks off the box of including a fan-favorite name, yet his character is so trivial that he could be removed without impacting the plot in any way.
Furthermore, we encounter the typical superhero motivation — Supergirl fervently advising Ruthye against killing, warning it could leave her scarred for life — without providing in-universe context for the trauma or experiences that shaped that belief.
Additionally, the film neglects to address or subvert the reality of women being undervalued or underestimated. Beyond one unaddressed question regarding why the 23-year-old is Super “girl” while her cousin is Super “man,” it disregards a potentially compelling theme.
These are all tired storytelling crutches — common enough to ensure Supergirl isn’t outright terrible. However, they do render it something worse: dull.
