Supergirl (2026)

When the news broke that James Gunn was going to take over as co-head of DC Studios, nothing could have made more sense to me. The man’s love for the craft and storytelling of the comics medium is vast, and he was able to tap into that love for the DCU’s first outing Superman. A year later, the universe expands just that little wider as Clark’s cousin, Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) dons the spotlight through a haze of space-booze and PTSD in the beautifully dilapidated and chaotic Supergirl.

Based on the book Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow by Tom King, Supergirl follows Kara, trying to celebrate her 23rd birthday with bestie, destructo-dog Krypto. A chance encounter with Ruthye (Eve Ridley), her family slain at the hands of Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts), Kara is forced to chase down the vicious outlaw and human trafficker after he wrongs the Kryptonian in the worst way possible. With the clock ticking, and the life of a furry companion at stake, Kara and Ruthye travel across the endless abyss of space to track down Krem, butting heads with the crass bounty hunter Lobo (Jason Momoa).

For such an epic scale, Supergirl’s narrative is wonderfully simple. Some have compared it to Mad Max: Fury Road, a brisk chase sequence taking our heroes from point A to B to C without ever really slowing down. But Ana Nogueira’s script has more in common with a sisterly Leon the Professional – the young sole survivor of a family, forced to seek help from one of the most broken weapons of mass destruction this side of the universe. It’s in its simplicity where Supergirl shines, allowing for more emotional resonance. It has the space to breathe and allows for the audience to get to know Kara, her grief, her pain and just how she became friends with that darn dog.

Milly Alcock is a standout. Unlike her chipper and dorky cousin, who was saved from the despair of having to watch his people meet an agonising end, Kara wasn’t so lucky. Forced to not only deal with being one of the last of her kind, but to also witness the light of her world be snuffed out, that trauma is ever present. She’s a walking open wound. Alcock is able to balance out Kara’s boozy, sardonic wit with the the pain of a small child forced to witness the worst thing imaginable. She’s all piss and vinegar, a great counterweight to Clark’s aw-shucks-you-betcha lightness that no doubt annoys her to no end. 

Alcock is surrounded on all sides by a foundational set of co-stars. Momoa as Lobo has found life once again in the DC universe, trading in his trident for a chopper and cigar as the fan favourite bounty hunter, wearing the character far more comfortably than he ever did as King of Alantis. Whilst some deem him forgettable, Matthias Schoenaerts is channeling a facially pierced Gary Oldman in the aforementioned Leon, a disgusting piece of trafficking garbage whose face you desperately want to see ground into dust. But it’s Dave Krumoholtz as Kara’s father, Zor-El who swoops in as the surprise standout, in an emotionally teeth-kicking sequence that sees just how Kara managed to make it to earth following the destruction of Krypton. For such a small amount of screen time, he leaves his mark. “You are our souls unfolding into the future” he tells Kara, expressing the endless love for his daughter as he’s forced to send her away from the last remnants of her home.

As deep as my adoration for the source material and this film goes, director, Craig Gillespie’s involvement is an odd one. Whilst his oeuvre of past films is a solid one – I, Tonya being a standout – he is, for all intents and purposes, a journeyman director, with little by the way of a signature voice. And given how distinct Tom King’s writing and, even more, Bilquis Evelyn’s stunning art work are for Woman of Tomorrow, Supergirl would have benefited from a singular vision to bring such a stunning aesthetic truly to life. Instead, the film feels like it lives in a pocket of the Guardians of the Galaxy universe, the technicolor etherial nature of the source material instead replaced with grungy space junk, rusting at the edges of the frame. Does it hurt the film? No. Could it have been better? Of course. You have to wonder what the likes of a Nia DaCosta could have pulled off with the backing of a creative-friendly Gunn. 

Whilst Superman had me onboard for the DCU’s resurrection from the jump, Supergirl has me positively curious about the franchise’s future. James Gunn seems to be remaking this universe in his own creative likeness, colourful goofiness welcome. But it would serve these elseworlds and characters well with more distinct voices and a clear visual aesthetic project to project that carves out its own lane within the genre, lest the dreaded bells of the oft mentioned “superhero fatigue” toll. All that being said, Supergirl is another home run from a studio firing on all cylinders. It does Tom King’s seminal work justice, whilst adding extra sprinklings of DCU panache. Milly Alcock is transcendent as the Woman of Tomorrow, a messy force for good unable to hide her snark induced by her cousin. Onwards to Clayface and Lanterns!