Supergirl

Director: Craig Gillespie
Starring: Milly Alcock, Matthias Schoenaerts, Eve Ridley, David Krumholtz, Emily Beecham, David Corenswet, Jason Momoa, Ferdinand Kingley, Diarmaid Murtagh, Clara Rosager, Heather Agyepong, Alice Hewkin, Paul Hunter
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)   

If Craig Gillespie's Supergirl seemed like it never stood a chance, it wasn't due to quality, but the realization everyone had already made up their minds. And even if a standalone film centered around this character was always considered a tough sell for DC, the hostility still stung. Whether it was complaints about casting, its script or nearly any other aspect of a picture no one yet laid eyes on, financial failure gradually became inevitable. So despite the enthusiastic reception Supergirl's cameo got at the end of 2025's Superman, skeptics' knives were sharpened a while ago  

It's never a good sign when your interest in a project rests on finding out whether it really is as bad as everyone says. And considering all the venom spewed in its direction, you can't help but think it must be. But that's the thing with Supergirl. There are no "correct" versions of her, just varying incarnations of a character that needs constant reinvention to stay relevant. This is the latest, and though she's a mess, the movie isn't, as writer Ana Nogueira sets her on a journey to move past the pain and find some version of "home." Clocking in at just under two hours, it has a clear mission and equally strong execution, making for a fun, breezy watch that's superior to lot of the underwhelming superhero fare it's accused of resembling.   

Growing up on Argo City, Kara-El (Alcock) was raised by scientist father Zor-El (David Krumholtz) and mother Alura In-Ze (Emily Beecham) after they fled their destroyed planet of Krypton. But when the citizens of Argo suddenly start dying from the effects of Kryptonite, Zor-El sends Kara and her dog Krypto on a ship to Earth, where they're taken in by her cousin Kal-El/Superman (David Corenswet). Now on the eve of her 23rd birthday, Kara spends most of her time planet hopping and getting drunk, much to Superman's concern. 

Partying on the planet Holzherr, Kara encounters young Ruthye Marye Knoll (Eve Ridley), who seeks vengeance on the Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts) for brutally murdering her family. Initially, Kara dismisses Ruthye's pleas for help, at least until Krem shoots Krypto with a poisoned dart. Desperate to locate Krem and the antidote to save Krypto, Kara reluctantly takes Ruthye along as they face numerous obstacles, like a cocky bounty hunter named Lobo (Jason Momoa) who has a score of his own to settle with the Brigands. But as Krypto's life hangs in the balance, Kara and Ruthye must somehow move beyond their traumatic pasts to help each other. 

Rather than digging into Kara's origin story right away, it's inserted into the film's middle section, allowing for a more memorable, attention grabbing introduction. And given her bratty, wisecracking attitude, the rebellious Supergirl does immediately leave a lasting first impression. That the script's adapted from Tom King and Bilquis Evely's beloved comic book series, Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow sets the bar high, but producer James Gunn picked the right actress in Alcock, who successfully captures an unconventional version of the character most haven't been exposed to. 

Apathetic and perpetually hung over, Kara wears a brown duster, sunglasses and a Blondie tee in place of that iconic suit for most of the running time. But it works, largely because it's a welcome departure that temporarily frees us from your usual superhero tropes. Just as Melissa Benoist wouldn't copy what Helen Slater did or Sasha Calle didn't pattern her performance after Benoist's, no Supergirl can fill the other's shoes. It's apples to oranges when we debate our favorites, each of whom personified a version of the role that suited their story's specific vision. So in this sense, Alcock fits right in, carrying on the tradition of being different from whoever came before.

Alcock does have a tight rope to walk in depicting a Kara who appears to be the polar opposite of her altruistic cousin, but still likeable enough to really root for. And her explanation that Superman sees the best in everyone when she sees "the truth," is a great line made better by the actress's dry, matter-of-fact delivery. But if Kara's recklessness and pessimism seems understandable once we recognize it as survivor's guilt, an even angrier Ruthye is hellbent on revenge, despite the further emotional scarring it'll bring. Of course, Kara's recognition of that and the begrudging willingness to take this girl under her wing suggests a bit more of Clark in her than she's willing to admit.

Cinematographer Rob Hardy's grungy, brownish, hue has drawn considerable comparisons to Mad Max, but Gillespie's entire approach is more reminiscent of Star Wars, as there's definitely a Mos Eisley cantina vibe to the bar scenes and a thrilling mid-air sequence featuring a plethora of alien species. As for all the complaints about its effects, they're surprisingly strong, even as the digitized Krypto has you wondering if they'd be better off casting a real dog. Doing that comes with its own set of challenges, but considering he spends most of this film asleep on a gurney, now was probably the time to do it. There's just something to be said for a pet owner's connection to their dog that can't be replicated with CGI stand-in.   

Alcock and Ridley share natural big sis/little sis chemistry throughout, but when Kara's incapacitated, the latter actress proves herself capable of carrying the load alone with spunk and vigor. It also doesn't hurt that Schoenaerts' Krem makes for a formidably menacing villain who gets just the right amount of screen time to make an impact. And while many already believed the charismatic Momoa was born to play Lobo, his turn as the vicious but cool anti-hero supports that theory, stealing every scene he's a part of. Corenswet's effectively used as the Man of Steel, mostly because Gillespie doesn't get bogged down by it, wisely incorporating him in key spots to emphasize Kara's past and present. 

Kara slipping into the suit for the action packed final act carries weight because it feels earned by a simple story told well, which in this frequently overcomplicated genre, shouldn't be dismissed. Lacking unnecessary sub-plots, distracting DCU crossovers or anything else that shifts the focus, it's briskly paced and efficiently constructed, creatively eclipsing this summer's The Mandalorian and Grogu and The Masters of the Universe. Unfortunately, Supergirl had people rooting against it in ways those other two didn't. Maybe now with more time and distance, this gets another look, and a renewed appreciation for all it gets right.                                                                                   

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere

Director: Scott Cooper
Starring: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Stephen Graham, Odessa Young, Gaby Hoffman, Marc Maron, David Krumholtz, Harrison Gilbertson, Grace Gummer, Chris Jaymes, Johnny Cannizzaro, Brian Chase
Running Time: 119 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

In Scott Cooper's low-key, surprisingly contemplative Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, we get a portrait of an uncompromising artist attempting to escape his past, his childhood, his own father and the  fame that began to engulf him in the early 80's. Bruce Springsteen's journey is recognizable, but that's less a flaw with the film than confirmation of how often personal pain powers the work and ambition required to achieve greatness. For Bruce, it was always about the music first, even as his celebrity became an unintended consequence he'd rather ignore. 

Problems often arise when films of this genre employ a traditionally linear approach, cutting corners and running through tired clichés to reach the finish line. So it's to Cooper's credit that he doesn't attempt to cram the entire life and career of the Boss into a two-hour window, instead staying true to Warren Zanes' 2023 book covering the creation of his riskiest album. It's more a fading snapshot of a specific era, with Bruce arriving at a personal and creative crossroads, painfully looking back while trying to move forward.  

It's 1981 when ascending rock star Bruce Springsteen (White) finishes the final leg of his sold-out The River tour and manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) rents him a house in Colts Neck, New Jersey where he can quietly decompress. After stumbling upon the movie Badlands on TV, he starts researching notorious serial killer Charles Starkweather, using his story and the works of author Flannery O'Connor to craft new material. But the home's close proximity to the Freehold neighborhood where Bruce grew up brings back traumatic childhood memories of an alcoholic, mentally ill father Douglas (Stephen Graham), who physically and emotionally abused him and his mother Adele (Gaby Hoffman).  

Calling on his guitar tech Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) to bring in a four-track recorder, Bruce turns the bedroom into a makeshift studio where he begins writing a collection of somber songs influenced by his blue-collar upbringing. He also starts dating his old friend's sister Faye (Odessa Young), a single mom struggling to make ends meet. After hearing the somber tracks, Jon's perplexed by Bruce's refusal to alter or clean up the raw acoustic sound he perfected in that room. But as Jon faces the impossible task of convincing Columbia Records' exec Al Teller (David Krumholtz) to release the unmarketable Nebraska, Bruce is suffering from a bigger identity crisis than anyone realizes.

Watching this, you see how oddly fitting it is that Springsteen's most recognizable single came six years prior with "Born To Run," a title he appears to live by through much of the film. And though the pressure's on to top The River's enormous success, we're at least spared another rock star's descent into drug abuse and addiction, with the singer having already gotten a front row seat to those consequences as a child. Rather Bruce's demons come in the form of untreated depression, dimming the brightest moments and lessening what should be the highest of highs.  

Strange as it seems given Nebraska's esteemed standing in Bruce's catalogue, the album was actually a huge gamble that could have easily derailed his career. And a folk excursion coming off the heels of one of the artist's more commercially friendly periods only made it a tougher sell. But what's interesting about Cooper's script is how it doesn't necessarily present this undertaking as a choice so much as a flood of memories and influences converging at once, leaving him little option but to lower his guard and let them in. 

Absent among these demos is a radio ready hit like "Hungry Heart" or "Out in the Street," but that's inevitable given the stripped down circumstances under which they're produced. And Bruce won't budge on any of it, rejecting the idea of a tour, singles, promotion, or even his photo on the album's cover. But most importantly, the sound he created in that bedroom must be replicated as it was, minus the usual studio bells and whistles. Neither difficult or full of himself, he's just sure of his work in an era when even the most popular musicians were forced by suits to make crippling compromises. 

While now we know how far a record like this can go in enhancing an artist's discography, the notion of creative freedom or subverting expectations was foreign at the time, even if it bolsters their popularity once they eventually return to the sound with which fans are most familiar. So if it's painful for Jon and producer Chuck Plotkin (Marc Maron) to shelve future all-timers "Born in the U.S.A.," "Glory Days," "I'm Goin' Down" and "I'm on Fire," to accommodate Bruce's more muted vision, it all worked out in the end, with those abandoned tracks defining his legacy on the next album. 

Focusing on the concept album's construction makes this more palatable than it would otherwise be, even if 1950's black and white flashbacks to Bruce's abusive childhood might prompt complaints of Cooper following the genre's typical blueprint. In this case though, it's relevant to both the music's content and emotional scars that infiltrate every facet of the singer's life. This includes a meaningful relationship with Faye he can't help but sabotage, fearful of exposing a side of himself no one's permitted to see. 

Powered by Jeremy Allen White's transformative performance in the title role, we're reminded how singing is only half the battle, if that. Briefly convincing us he sounds good enough to pass muster in the concert scenes is one thing, but actually capturing the Boss's swagger and mannerisms is another challenge entirely, as the actor goes beyond imitation to dig deeper during his many quieter moments alone, haunted by the past. 

Strong leaves a lasting impression as Bruce's biggest advocate, shepherding the release of a possibly doomed album that only sees the light of day with his full support. Critical but realistic, he's a friend anyone would be lucky enough to also call their manager, as demonstrated by his receptive "wait and see" approach upon receiving the tape. His best scene comes opposite Krumholtz's exec, making it clear that his allegiance lies with Bruce, regardless of what the label wants. 

A biopic peppered by a series of depressing flashbacks is good cause for skepticism, but the tropes are mostly sidestepped by Graham's ice cold supporting turn and memories that pay off in Bruce's songwriting and eventual acceptance of where he came from. While the elder Springsteen may have done the best he could, his best happened to be terrible, which is something both need to work past. But in writing an album he didn't know needed to exist, Bruce lets it all pour out, intrinsically tying his music to the endeavor of creating it. Deliver Me From Nowhere is at its best when exploring that process, shedding light on how Nebraska eventually came to be.