Superman: Up, up and away!

Superman (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for fantasy violence and action, and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.16.25

It’s damn well about time.

 

I had begun to worry that the current Warner Bros. regime didn’t have the faintest idea how to properly handle Big Blue.

 

Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan), Jimmy Olsen (Skyler Gisondo, center) and Clark Kent
(David Corenswet) are disturbed by the misleading spin that media talking heads have
put on Superman's recent activities.

Director Zack Snyder’s previous cycle — Man of Steel, Batman v Superman, and Justice League, all with Henry Cavill donning the cape — was a dour, dreary, dull and depressing slog, without the faintest trace of the noble Kryptonian who battled for truth, justice and a better tomorrow.

(Yes, it used to be “...and the American way,” but there’s nothing wrong with making Superman’s pledge more universal.)

 

Writer/director James Gunn has swooped to the rescue, granting this adventure the same blend of world-threatening thrills and snarky character dynamics that made his first two Guardians of the Galaxy entries so much fun. (We’ll pretend the third one never happened.)

 

Gunn also pays affectionate tribute to many key elements from the Christopher Reeve series, starting right out of the gate, when this film’s rousing David Fleming/John Murphy score hits us with a few bars of John Williams’ iconic Superman theme.

 

Sharp-eyed viewers also will spot several members of Gunn’s repertory actors, albeit in very fleeting roles.

 

All that said, this definitely is a “darkest before the dawn” story, and “dark” dominates the entire first hour. Gunn kicks things off as a defeated Superman (David Corenswet), punched halfway around the world, crashes hard into Antarctic snow near his Fortress of Solitude. He’s in agony, suffering from broken ribs, a ruptured bladder and — given his labored breathing — fluid in his lungs.

 

(What? I hear you cry. Superman can be damaged? Goodness, yes; he’s tough, but not wholly invulnerable.)

 

The situation then becomes almost farcical — not in a good way — when he desperately whistles to Krypto. The clearly insufficiently trained super-pooch arrives quickly ... but only wants to play, completely oblivious to Supe’s distress.

 

This is a cheeky way to start: a totally James Gunn maneuver.

 

Once Superman recovers — thanks to a sustained blast of our yellow sun’s healing rays (Gunn knows his Superman lore) — and returns to Metropolis, we discover how dire things have become. 

 

Wolfs: Crime served wry

Wolfs (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence and frequent profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.6.24

This quietly sardonic crime thriller demonstrates anew the captivating power of star wattage.

 

Because — to be blunt — writer/director Jon Watts’ film wouldn’t be such a much, absent George Clooney and Brad Pitt.

 

Despite competitive wariness, two professional "fixers" — Brad Pitt, left, and George
Clooney — reluctantly admit that they'll need to work together, in order to clean up
what has become an increasingly troublesome mess.

They make it sparkle.

Watts clearly designed this project with them in mind, playing to their unruffled charisma, and the fact that both — along with their characters — gamely make the most of being in their early 60s. You’ll also detect a strong echo of the Danny & Rusty vibe from Ocean’s Eleven and its two sequels, including some familiar bits of dialogue: “What’s the play here?” (Clooney) and “I don’t work that way” (Pitt).

 

Or, for those with longer memories, the similarly well-bonded banter between Paul Newman and Robert Redford, in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

 

But it doesn’t begin that way here.

 

Watts opens his story with a bang, as ambitious New York politician Margaret (Amy Ryan), blood splattered all over her dress, finds herself in a fancy hotel suite with the body of a young stud. Panicked, knowing full well that this could destroy her career, she dials a number listed in her phone solely as a pair of brackets.

 

That reaches Clooney’s anonymous character — known solely, from this point forward, as “Margaret’s Man” — who shows up sporting a fashionable black turtleneck, leather coat ... and latex gloves, along with assorted other, um, tools of his trade. That would be “cleaner,” or “fixer,” or “calmly methodical fellow who makes problems go away.”

 

He has barely begun to work when his apparent twin (Pitt) shows up: similarly dressed, clearly in the same line of work, and equally irritated to discover that he has competition. He has been summoned by hotel owner Pam (Frances McDormand, making the most of her brief voice-only phone performance). She has all her rooms bugged and on camera, and wants this mess cleaned up for the same reason: to avoid bad publicity.

 

Pitt’s character, equally anonymous, is subsequently known as “Pam’s Man.” (Or perhaps we should just call them George and Brad, since Watts clearly wants us to identify with their signature screen presence.)

 

Clooney and Pitt make the most of the wry squabble over the “best way” to deal with this problem, how best to clean up the room and dispose of the body, and so forth ... while poor Margaret frets, gasps and blinks in wide-eyed helplessness.

 

(I suspect an actual seasoned politician would be more calm and self-assured, but Ryan had to play the cards that she was dealt.)