Though I'm More Pessimistic About the Future Than Ever, Superman Gives Me Hope

I'm suddenly very interested in James Gunn's DC Universe

Warner Bros.

2025 has been a banner year for shit birds.¹

The worst people imaginable have taken control of the U.S. and are hell bent on destroying everything it once stood for, while also taking down the meager climate controls we’ve erected and hobbling our ability to detect and fight lethal diseases.

A super minor casualty of the fascist takeover, but still annoying—it’s rained nearly every day here in Michigan this week.

There was no rain in the forecast.

Thunderstorms, even! I went for a walk one evening and was caught in a downpour that literally came out of nowhere. It’s not really something to complain about, but at the same time, why does our weather forecasting no longer forecast? Why was this a necessary sacrifice? I could get onboard if we needed to divert satellites to detect inbound meteors or UFOs or alien space babies. But to pad already fat wallets? Screw that.

This is a very first world problem, but it’s also indicative of the new America. Just look at the White House, for Pete’s sake! It looks like a tin-pot dictator jizzed gold all over the walls.² (“Hey, relax, guy! I love gooooooold.”)

I knew Trump 2.0 was going to be bad—“my grift has doubled since the last time we met”—but the speed of the demolition has been shocking. It’d be impressive if I wasn’t mired in existential dread.

I wrote last December about the long-term viability of the superhero genre in an America that rejected justice as a core attribute. What before worked as cinematic manifestations of America’s idealized version of itself suddenly felt outdated.

A new Superman movie releases in 2025, just a few months after Trump is inaugurated. I honestly don't know how to reconcile those two facts. They seem incongruent. Like a kind of lie. How do I believe in a man with the power to do anything who always chooses to do what's right, when all evidence suggests the contrary?

The world is full of Lex Luthors. Superman was just a dream.

Even on a good day—that is, prior to November 5, 2024—the idea of a James Gunn-helmed Superman would’ve been a hard sell. He has a very specific POV—colorful, crass, zany, a bit loud—that seems completely at odds with the quiet stoicism of Superman. As much as I enjoy a good dick joke, I don’t want to see Clark Kent flexing about being the man of steel. We can get there on our own.

Then the first trailer dropped, and a strange thing happened. I got very emotional.

I chalked it up to the reprised John Williams theme. All due respect to Star Wars and Dr. Jones, but it’s a theme that’s yet to be topped. Even with the obvious nostalgia bait—I don’t hate the player or the game—my interest was couched by the Gunn and America 2025 of it all. I expected to be entertained by Superman—how can you see Nathan Fillion and feel otherwise—but also knew the misgivings I felt going in would still be there when I exited the theater.

The magic of movies is in how they suspend time. We leave our worries at the door, forget ourselves, even, and experience an entirely different reality. If the experience is truly immersive, real world reentry can be jarring. The spell is undone but lingers. You’re coming out of a trance, waking from a dream. Your body on autopilot, your mind still in Middle-earth. There’s also those movies that make you see the world differently. Ones that change you, even.

Superman (2025) does not shatter any paradigms.³ It didn’t even really let me forget about the state of the Union. To its credit—and unlike Captain America: Brave New World, which was neither brave nor new—Superman actually leans into the meta-narrative by clarifying that Kal-El is an immigrant, and probably an illegal one at that, someone ICE would very much like to meet. The experience of watching the movie was one in which I didn’t completely dissociate from reality, and instead watched through Trump-shaped glasses.⁴

A strange thing happened. I got emotional. Yes, again! And not just at the parts backed by John Williams’ legendary theme.

Superman is a very sentimental movie that doesn’t mind going for the heartstrings. But what moved me the most was how hopeful it was. Not just in the movie’s overall worldview, but as personified by the titular character. Superman is earnest to such a degree that it’s actually the most unbelievable thing about him. After watching him just be a really good dude for 2 hours, I left the theater feeling strangely hopeful about the future.

Nothing had changed. America is still (probably) fucked. But the movie’s core message stuck with me, and even weeks later hasn’t faded. Being a good person is a superpower, every bit as much as flying or laser-vision or wearing your underwear outside your pants and nobody laughing.⁵ Frankly, that’s something I needed to hear. It’s easy to feel discouraged when the news is perpetually bad. Hope is sustenance. It’s life.

Superman is not a great superhero film, even by the conventions of the genre. The third act is underwhelming. There’s not nearly enough Midge Maisel (aka Lois Lane aka Rachel Brosnahan).⁶ I could’ve used an entire subplot with Alan Tudyk’s droid.⁷ But I loved it.

Overall, I’m still pessimistic about the superhero genre, which was already showing strain after Marvel’s sustained 15+ year run. I still believe there’s a sharp—and growing—divide between an America marching toward fascism and its cinematic counterpart, in which American heroes are the good guys who always win. There’s plenty of room for cultural criticism, and an opportunity to contrast reality to illustrate just how wrong everything has gone. Kudos to Gunn and DC—they didn’t shy away. I love Marvel but I don’t think they’ll follow suit. (I’ve yet to see Fantastic Four; maybe Mr. Fantastic waves a gigantic middle finger at the White House.) Overall, I suspect these films will continue along their previous trajectory, and tell stories in an American analogue that no longer exists. I hope I’m wrong.

Believing a man could fly has never been my problem. The fact that someone all-powerful would be a hero felt preordained. There are good guys and there are bad guys. That’s comic book 101. It’s a myth I was nourished on. But both history and recent events show that’s actually not the case. Good doesn’t win just because it’s good.

The idea that we can fight back by being good—by being excellent to each other—is hokey. But I like it. It makes me feel less like a spectator to America’s demise, and more like someone with agency. We have individual stories yet to tell, and it’s not to be the victim of would-be dictators.

Kindness as a superpower. It’s a small thing, but it’ll have to do until this super serum kicks in.

1. Shit bird is one of showrunner David Milch’s (Deadwood, NYPD Blue) favorite curses. I assume, anyway, based on how often he uses it. It’s slowly working its way into my lexicon. It gets across the right amount of disdain.

2. That’s more or less exactly what happened.

3. Other than the people celebrating the cinematic re-emergence of Amish-style bowl cuts.

4. Trump-shaped glasses are covered in enough logos to make Nascar blush and don’t protect you from eclipses.

5. If you don’t think the ability to wear underwear outside of your pants without incurring ridicule is a superpower, I beg you to try it.

6. This is gonna be a deep cut for my The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel fans, but you can’t tell me this movie isn’t 1000% better with Susie as Jimmy Olsen or Perry White, or one of those droids that tends Superman’s ice castle. All due apologies to Wendell Pierce, who was woefully underserved.

7. The fact that Fillion and Tudyk are in this movie but never share a scene is a travesty.