As the human and humane anchor of a movie that is often awash in frenetic action, jump-cutty narrative and pulverising violence, he exudes his own brand of centred, self-confident calm: the Man of Steel as Man of Stillness.
This 21st-century Superman is fighting all the evils of the era – technology, tribalism, fake news and his own messianic myth – but Corenswet keeps it all reassuringly old-school, making a convincing case that nice guys not only can finish first but can do so without bluster, bellicosity or constant bleating into the manosphere.
To his credit, Gunn pushes a much-needed reset button on Superman, banishing shadows and pretentious self-seriousness in favour of a bright palette, brisk storytelling and occasional jolts of bracing humour.
He starts the movie in the middle of the hero’s journey: Clark has already arrived in Metropolis, where he works as a reporter for the Daily Planet; he’s dating a colleague, Lois Lane (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s Rachel Brosnahan), who knows all about his red-caped persona.
As Superman opens, Gunn dispenses with the backstory in a refreshingly efficient few lines of on-screen text that bring the audience up to the present moment, when the otherwise indefatigable Superman has suffered his first genuine beat-down, from a hulking, armoured monster called the Hammer of Boravia. (Although Supe’s origin story is recapped throughout the movie, it helps to know the begats going in.)
What ensues is a two-hour battle between good and evil, the latter personified by the dependably venal Lex Luthor, here played as a swaggering tech-bro by a startlingly bald Nicholas Hoult.
Luthor rarely refers to Superman by name – he calls him “the Kryptonian” or “the alien”, at one point convincing the Pentagon that the guy sent from another planet to save the world was really sent to control it.
Meanwhile, Luthor is masterminding a military operation overseas reminiscent of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Gunn doesn’t overplay present-day political echoes, but he makes sure they’re unmistakable.
In one of his most clever asides, he reveals Luthor’s fake-news farm to be a room full of monkeys, typing manically into keyboards and sending increasingly preposterous lies straight into the social media hive mind. (“Superman doesn’t have time for selfies,” the stalwart Clark declares sanctimoniously in one of the film’s most amusing scenes.)
Gunn’s de-mopeification of Superman is undeniably welcome, although the zigging, zagging and bouncing around begins to feel like being trapped in an Adderall-fuelled pinball game: one moment, Lois and Clark are having a tartly amusing argument-slash-interview in her apartment, the next they’re in Luthor’s “pocket universe” being guarded by Bermuda-shorts-and-aloha-shirt-wearing minions.
Characters appear out of nowhere, only to be ignored until they come in handy later; fans who know about the Justice Gang will recognise the Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Mister Terrific (a scene-stealing Edi Gathegi), but others might need a crib sheet.
Major plot points occur in a matter of minutes in Superman, which blithely dispenses with the details in the time it takes for Superman’s legions of fans to turn into haters; blink twice and they’re back, asking for his help to repair crumbling buildings, mass panic and a world-splitting rift in the time-space continuum. Or, you know: another Tuesday in Metropolis.
The manic sound and fury of Superman don’t signify much, and the constant visual, verbal and sonic barrage feels like being pinned to the floor by Krypto, Superman’s Milk Dud-eyed, cock-eared dog whom Gunn shamelessly enlists to recruit the audience at every conveniently adorable turn. (Alan Tudyk is just as cute as 4, Superman’s C-3PO-esque robot helper.)
But just when the movie threatens to pummel viewers into a hyperstimulated pulp, it locks into something genuinely enjoyable: the random mayhem and playfulness merge harmoniously enough to allow Corenswet’s sincerity to take hold and for some fizzily satisfying chemistry to develop with Brosnahan, who infuses Lois with an appealing measure of scepticism, even when she’s literally being swept off her feet.
Still, it’s impossible to ignore that, somehow, it all feels rote and regurgitated. And Gunn has only himself to blame: the quippy, sometimes snarky attitude he injected into The Suicide Squad and Guardians of the Galaxy at first invigorated the comic book form; now they feel played out. (The naughty bits he delights in sneaking into his movies also feel off-kilter for a character as wholesome as Superman: when he says the s-word, it’s as if the world really might be crumbling.)
By the end of Superman, the title character has cheated death more than once, repairing body and soul by way of the yellow sun that gives him renewed life and vigour. He has battled a megalomaniac, a Kaiju-like monster, myriad bots and at least one semi-human buzz saw. And in a moment that earned appreciative guffaws at a recent screening, he has helpfully set up at least one more movie in the DC Comics not-so-pocket universe.
In Corenswet, Brosnahan, Hoult and their co-stars, Gunn has clearly found a capable, congenial ensemble to usher Clark, Lois and Lex into a new era. The question is whether there are any new stories left under that yellow sun to tell.
Two and one-half stars out of four.
Superman is in NZ cinemas from Thursday, July 10.
