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It might just be a coincidence, but within the span of a few weeks we’ve gotten two big-budget reboots of franchises whose original mid-’80s films shared more than just a name: both were universally panned and became infamous box office flops. Earlier this week I watched Masters of the Universe, and last night it was Supergirl. Ironically, history repeated itself, as both new films have crashed and burned at the box office as well. The difference is that one of them actually deserves a second chance. Supergirl isn’t that movie.
Kara Zor-El, aka Supergirl, joins forces with an unlikely companion on an interstellar journey of vengeance and justice when an unexpected adversary strikes too close to home.
Despite essentially being a female version of Superman, complete with the same costume, powers and weaknesses, Supergirl takes a vastly different approach. Rather than another superhero story set on Earth, it leans heavily into space opera, with Earth only appearing in a handful of flashbacks. That’s a smart decision. We already have a Kryptonian protecting Earth, and it’s hard to imagine what another one—regardless of gender—could bring to the table by following the same formula.
Superman stories have always struggled with the fact that he’s simply too powerful. Every movie has to invent increasingly elaborate ways to weaken him or pit him against threats that somehow exceed his godlike abilities. Supergirl cleverly sidesteps that problem. Kara’s powers only function under a yellow sun, while she spends most of her time in a part of the galaxy illuminated by a red sun, leaving her little stronger than an ordinary human for much of the film.
This version of Supergirl was introduced in last year’s Superman, whose title character pops up for several cameo appearances here. These scenes flesh out Kara’s backstory, chronicling her escape from Krypton, her years living on an asteroid colony, and her eventual journey to Earth more than two decades after her cousin Clark made the same trip. Scarred by the trauma of losing her entire family when the colony was destroyed, Kara couldn’t be more different from her clean-cut, optimistic cousin. She spends her days getting drunk and drifting through the galaxy’s seedier bars, trying to outrun a past she can’t escape.
That lifestyle brings her into contact with Ruthye, a young girl whose family was slaughtered by the ruthless Krem. A member of an all-male race, Krem kidnaps young women to serve as unwilling “brides” for his people. During one encounter he shoots Krypto with a poisoned dart, leaving the Superdog with only a few days to live unless the antidote can be found. Reluctantly, Kara joins forces with Ruthye to hunt down Krem, recover the antidote, and save Krypto before time runs out.
Putting Krypto’s life on the line is admittedly a bit of a cheap emotional hook, but as a dog owner myself, I can certainly relate to the rage Kara should be feeling. I say should because, despite the clock constantly ticking, she rarely conveys any real sense of urgency. Apart from the occasional glance at her watch, there’s little indication that she’s racing against time to save her companion.
Her objective is to track down the elusive Krem, who just so happens to be carrying a vial containing the antidote to Krypto’s poison. As a result, the movie essentially turns into a search quest, with Kara hopping from one group of low-level thugs to another, threatening and interrogating them in the hope they’ll lead her to their boss.
Krem is played by Belgian actor Matthias Schoenaerts, who clearly embraces the role with gusto. Taking a page from the flamboyant supervillain handbook, he chews the scenery with gleeful overacting, occasionally punctuating his dialogue with high-pitched bursts of laughter. It’s an entertaining performance in isolation, but only up to a point. Like so many comic book villains before him, Krem ultimately feels more like a stock antagonist than a memorable character—a consequence of nearly fifty years of superhero movies having already explored every variation of the larger-than-life comic book bad guy.
The biggest problem with Supergirl is how little of it actually sticks. I saw the movie only a couple of hours ago, and I already had to think twice about why Kara and Krem crossed paths in the first place. It’s paint-by-numbers filmmaking, driven by a paper-thin plot: find Krem, retrieve the antidote, save Krypto. Ruthye’s motivation is equally straightforward. She wants revenge for the murder of her family and intends to kill Krem. That’s really all there is to it.
The world-building might have felt fresh twenty years ago, but in a post-Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy landscape, Supergirl brings very little to the table. The film clearly borrows from the Guardians playbook, yet curiously leaves out the infectious needle drops that became such a defining part of that franchise. Presumably that’s an attempt to avoid feeling too much like another James Gunn production, but the movie never finds anything of its own to fill that gap. As a result, Supergirl ends up feeling like a shallow imitation—copying the broad style without capturing the personality that made those films memorable.
Popping up every now and then is Lobo. I’ve seen the character on comic book covers and in advertisements at my local comic shop, but I’ve never actually read any of his stories, so I can’t judge how faithful this interpretation is. The role is played by Jason Momoa, who trades in Aquaman’s trident for Lobo’s chains and cigar. As you’d expect, Momoa leans heavily into his larger-than-life screen persona, and it suits the character well enough. The problem is that this brand of loud, wisecracking, hyper-masculine antihero has become a familiar sight in blockbuster cinema.
Fortunately, Lobo only appears in three scenes, although two of them are major action sequences, including the finale. That creates an interesting contradiction. For much of its runtime, Supergirl carries an unmistakable feminist message, yet when the chips are down it’s the cigar-chomping, motorcycle-riding alpha male who plays a crucial role in saving the day—even though Supergirl is supposedly the more powerful of the two. If the film has a message, it almost comes across as “girls get it done”… as long as a man lends a hand when it really counts.
The 1984 Supergirl was a gloriously silly mess, but at least it had Helen Slater, who looked every bit the part of a comic book heroine. This time the cape is worn by Milly Alcock, whose casting is certainly a bold choice. In many shots she has a distinctly androgynous appearance and, with a short haircut, could easily pass for a teenage boy. At times she even bears a resemblance to Will Poulter, while some close-ups make her slightly misaligned teeth surprisingly distracting.
Hollywood does seem to be moving away from casting conventionally glamorous actresses in these kinds of blockbuster roles. Florence Pugh is undoubtedly attractive, but she isn’t the bombshell that Scarlett Johansson was before her in the MCU. Likewise, Stranger Things star Millie Bobby Brown and The Last of Us‘ Bella Ramsey represent a shift toward more everyday-looking leading women. It’s an interesting trend, although it’s hard to ignore that Wonder Woman also benefited enormously from Gal Gadot’s screen presence and movie-star looks.
To Alcock’s credit, her performance is perfectly solid. The problem isn’t the acting but the material she’s given. Kara is written as yet another traumatized protagonist who drowns her sorrows in alcohol and starts bar fights as a coping mechanism. By the time the credits roll, however, she has barely confronted her trauma and has undergone little meaningful character growth. That kind of static protagonist might fly in a Steven Seagal action movie, but it’s far less satisfying in a superhero film that’s supposed to make you emotionally invest in its lead.
The end result is a film that looks polished and occasionally entertaining, but leaves remarkably little behind once it’s over. It lacks the emotional depth, memorable set pieces and distinctive identity needed to rise above the ever-growing crowd of comic book movies.
