When James Gunn and Peter Safran were handed the keys to the DC Universe, one thing was clear: it was time for a fresh start. With much of the previous cinematic iteration of one of the world’s most recognisable comic book brands swept aside, all eyes are now on the DCU as it embarks on the ambitious task of establishing — or re-establishing — modern cinematic interpretations of its iconic characters across film and television. Following the relatively strong launch of Superman in 2025, Gunn and Safran return with Supergirl, the next chapter in what is intended to be a sprawling, interconnected saga that will unfold for years to come.
In that regard, Supergirl faces a twofold challenge. Beyond strengthening the foundations of a still-nascent cinematic universe, it must also prove that the “Superman Family” can sustain a franchise of its own — a franchise within a franchise, if you will. Fortunately, some of Gunn’s early creative decisions have already begun to pay dividends. Building on one of Superman’s strongest elements, the casting of Milly Alcock as Supergirl stands as the film’s most consistent strength. Her take on the character feels refreshingly unconventional for the genre, eschewing many of the familiar traits typically associated with female comic book protagonists in favour of something more distinctive.
Alcock’s Kara Zor-El is detached from ideas of responsibility and uncertain of her place in the universe. Audiences are introduced early to her tendency towards heavy drinking and reckless partying — traits that, on the surface, risk alienating a character traditionally framed as aspirational. As the story unfolds, however, it becomes clear these behaviours function as a coping mechanism rooted in deeper emotional wounds the film gradually reveals.
This dimension allows Supergirl to venture into more mature territory, exploring grief, trauma and addiction with a sincerity rarely afforded to the genre. Alcock balances the character’s self-destructive impulses with underlying vulnerability, anchoring the film whenever it threatens to lose focus. Yet her performance also exposes one of the film’s key weaknesses: its uneven tonal identity. The more seriously this DCU entry engages with its emotional material, the more its broader tonal shifts stand out.
That inconsistency is most apparent in the film’s attempt to balance mature ambitions with blockbuster sensibilities. At its best, it engages with unexpectedly dark subject matter, including themes of exploitation and sexual slavery — territory still largely unexplored within the superhero genre. Such material demands restraint and weight, yet the film repeatedly undercuts itself with abrupt shifts into broad comedy. Its reliance on needle-drop rock tracks further disrupts key moments, often arriving just as scenes begin to land emotionally.
Compounding this is the central antagonist, who lacks the gravitas needed to support the film’s darker themes. Rather than embodying the story’s underlying horrors, he comes across as a conventional comic-book villain defined more by eccentricity than menace. The character has all the subtlety of a stock Guardians of the Galaxy antagonist — a larger-than-life caricature whose tone sits uneasily alongside the film’s more serious ambitions.
Despite these issues, Supergirl has its merits. Jason Momoa’s casting as Lobo is impeccable, bringing a chaotic energy that suits the character well. The film also articulates its central idea with some clarity, drawing a distinction between genuine kindness and superficial politeness — one of its more effective thematic threads.
However, much of the narrative remains familiar. The plot often feels recycled, echoing its predecessor in its reliance on a rescue storyline involving Krypto and a straightforward abduction arc. This lack of invention is compounded by the prominence of Ruthye Marye Knoll (Eve Ridley), whose storyline further dilutes focus from Supergirl herself, making the imbalance in screen time more noticeable given the film’s relatively lean runtime.
Ultimately, Supergirl is a competent but uneven entry in the early stages of the DCU’s expansion. It’s consistently watchable, occasionally engaging, but rarely more than the sum of its parts. While Alcock’s performance and a handful of thematic ideas provide structure, the film never fully resolves its tonal or narrative identity, leaving it as a modest but unremarkable chapter in the franchise. One can’t help but wonder whether Supergirl would’ve benefitted from swapping release dates with Man of Tomorrow, allowing audiences to become more invested in the character and providing a stronger foundation for the film’s narrative ambitions.
