Superman 2025 by James Gunn: Mark Kermode’s film review (video).

Mark Kermode flies in, cape akimbo, for his review of the new James Gunn Superman flick. You can almost hear the Warner Bros. boardroom conversation: “What if we actually made a Superman film… about Superman?” And thus, James Gunn was handed the keys to the Fortress of Solitude and told to rebuild the DC Universe from the boots up. The result? Superman (2025) – not a grim deconstruction, nor a soulless homage, but an honest-to-Krypton reinvention that remembers why this bloke in tights mattered in the first place.

David Corenswet takes the lead as Clark Kent, aka Superman, and gives us a performance steeped in charm, vulnerability, and just the right amount of alien awkwardness. He’s not mopey. He’s not smug. He’s a lad who grew up on a farm and now moonlights as Earth’s most powerful moral conundrum. You believe he’d help you fix a fence and fly you to the Moon. Gunn wisely grounds this Kal-El in decency—he’s a man with godlike powers and no desire to be a god. There’s something rather radical in that these days.

The plot, meanwhile, is a glorious spandex-stretched sprawl. The film opens with a war between Boravia and Jarhanpur, a fictional geopolitical hot mess where Superman’s well-meaning intervention promptly makes things worse. Enter Lex Luthor, played with unsettling relish by Nicholas Hoult—a performance equal parts Steve Jobs and smug Silicon Valley savant. His plan? Unleash Ultraman, a drone-controlled Superman clone, and leak an awkward second half of Kal-El’s Kryptonian birth message, which rather unfortunately urges him to conquer Earth and spread his seed for the glory of Krypton. Bit of a PR nightmare, that.

Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane is every bit the modern investigative journalist: whip-smart, unflinching, and already wise to Clark’s double life. Their chemistry crackles like it’s been plucked from a Howard Hawks film, with whip-fast repartee and a relationship that feels more like equals than ever before. Jimmy Olsen, played by Skyler Gisondo, provides the puppy-eyed heart of the Daily Planet scenes, while Wendell Pierce’s Perry White growls his way through the newsroom like a man who knows how many deadlines Superman’s missed.

But Gunn’s Superman doesn’t just stop with truth and journalism. It flings open the DCU doors and lets in a rogue’s gallery of deep cuts and cosmic chaos. We get Metamorpho, a shape-shifting tragic hero played with gravelly intensity by Anthony Carrigan. We meet Mister Terrific, Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion doing his best Estelle Getty impression, apparently), and Hawkgirl, whose reincarnated grumpiness is oddly endearing. There’s even a giant kaiju stomping through Metropolis, in case the political allegories were feeling a tad subtle.

And then there’s Krypto. Dear lord, Krypto. Superman’s superpowered dog steals every scene he’s in—whether flying into battle or enthusiastically licking his master back to health at the Fortress of Solitude. He’s animated with more personality than some entire Marvel phases, and Gunn’s personal connection (he based Krypto on his own problematic pup, Ozu) is clearly part of the magic. Expect plushies.

The film’s villainy hinges on public perception. Once the world hears the full Kryptonian message urging planetary conquest, humanity turns against its once-beloved saviour, leading Superman to surrender voluntarily. This version of Clark isn’t just strong—he’s principled. He’d rather face jail than risk escalation. It’s a clever moral twist that feels far more human than any punch-up.

Of course, this being a superhero flick, we get punch-ups too. Ultraman and Superman duke it out in a reality-ripping rift, with enough CGI to power three Netflix originals. But Gunn keeps the camera intimate, the stakes emotional, and the visuals just stylised enough to avoid the dreaded grey goo. The finale may be chaos incarnate—black holes, betrayal, big explosions—but somehow it works. Just.

Tonally, Superman walks a tightrope. It’s got the gee-whiz optimism of Donner’s ‘78 film, the mythic depth of All-Star Superman, and just enough modern snark to avoid feeling overly earnest. Occasionally, the seams show. There’s a touch of tonal whiplash as scenes pivot from child hostages and existential dread to Krypto chasing squirrels. The film has a lot of balls in the air—some bounce, others bonk you on the head.

But it’s all held together by a clear creative vision. Gunn doesn’t just love Superman—he gets him. He’s not embarrassed by the cape, the kindness, the moral certainty. If anything, Superman feels like a rebuke to the brooding anti-heroes that have dominated for the past two decades. This Kal-El isn’t tortured. He’s just trying.

The supporting cast shines too. Maria Gabriela de Faría’s nanotech-infused Engineer is all sinister elegance. Milly Alcock drops in briefly as a boozy Supergirl, teasing future hijinks. Even Michael Rooker and Pom Klementieff get in on the action as voice-cameos for Superman’s Fortress robots. It’s a veritable who’s-who of the Gunn cinematic universe.

The film’s emotional climax doesn’t come from a death, a twist, or a last-minute save—it comes from Clark, bloodied and bruised, watching home video footage of his childhood in Smallville. It’s a quiet, devastating moment of reflection. In that flickering Super-8 glow, Gunn reminds us what the whole cape-and-courage gig is for.

Superman may not be perfect—it’s a bit overstuffed, occasionally scattershot, and some of the third act may leave your eyes rolling before your heart catches up—but it’s brave. It’s bold. It’s sincere without irony. And it dares to imagine a world where kindness is still heroic.

Here at SFcrowsnest, we’ve seen more Supermen than Krypton had crystals, but this one? This one’s the real deal. Up, up, and away—with feeling.