Superman finally loses the sad-boy baggage

“Maybe [being kind] is the new punk rock.”

I wish I’d grown up with this Superman. He’s awkward, soft-spoken, and weirdly sincere (which is sounding a little too familiar as I write this). He doesn’t act like he’s above the world he’s trying to save. He’s just in it, doing the best he can. It’s a big tonal shift from what we’ve seen before, and yeah, it’s safe to say that the internet already has its opinions. But this isn’t about picking sides. It’s about how we got from there to here, and why both versions matter more than the debate between them.

A Superman worth believing in

Watching James Gunn’s Superman (2025) felt like finally seeing the version of the character I’d read about in the comics or watched in the old Justice League animated shows. He isn’t the stoic god or the brooding alien outside, he’s just a guy who genuinely cares. David Corenswet plays him with real charm and warmth, but what stood out most is how much humanity he brings to the role. You can feel the spirit of Christopher Reeve in his performance—not because he’s copying it, but because he understands it. He takes that foundation and makes it his own, leaning into the awkwardness, the sincerity, and the quiet confidence in a way that feels fresh.

The rest of the movie follows his lead. It’s packed with classic comic book chaos, but it still makes time for grounded character moments. Two that stood out were the conversation between Clark and Pa Kent, and the kiss between Lois and Superman near the end. They’re simple, but they show us who this version of Superman really is: one of the most human characters in this budding DCU.

One of the smartest choices Gunn makes is how he starts his universe: right in the middle of it. No origin stories, minimal flashbacks, and no “let me catch you up” voiceovers. He drops you right into the world and lets it breathe. It reminded me of how people usually get their start in comic books. You don’t usually start with issue #1 (at least I didn’t). You picked a character you liked, found a cover that looked cool, and jumped in without knowing half of what was going on. Gunn trusts the audience to figure it out as they go, and in doing that, he makes the DCU feel alive from the jump.

The Superman we needed then

When Man of Steel (2013) first came out, I loved it (I actually still kind of do). It was big, dramatic, and moody in a way that felt like it mattered. After Nolan’s Batman trilogy, it made sense that Superman would get the same kind of treatment (serious, grounded, burdened with purpose). Henry Cavill looked like he was built in a lab for the role, and the action scenes made him feel more like a force of nature rather than the kind, loving Superman we know. It wasn’t the Superman I was used to from the comics or the cartoons, but Snyder’s visual style still made an impact on me (because oh my god his first flight in that movie was amazing).

Over time, though, it became clear what was missing. Cavill’s Superman never really got a chance to just be Superman. He was always reacting—to fear, to violence, to the weight of the world pushing down on him. He rarely smiled. He almost never felt joy. And while the movie had emotional moments, they were usually buried under gray skies and an overwhelming sense of existential dread. That doesn’t mean it was bad, though. It just felt incomplete. The character never really had room to breathe. And it’s a little sad knowing that Cavill probably could have delivered a lighter, more hopeful version if the DCEU had given him the space.

That said, I think Man of Steel deserves more credit for being exactly what it set out to be: Zack Snyder’s bold, uncompromising vision of Superman. Say what you want about its tone or its darker approach, but it’s clear that Snyder knew exactly what he wanted to create. Following Nolan’s success, Warner Bros. probably wanted a mythic, weighty superhero film, and they absolutely got the right guy to do it. It wasn’t the most fun take, but it made a statement. And in its own way, it left a mark that’s still being talked about more than a decade later (I see you and I feel you, Snyder stans).

I actually never watched Richard Donner’s Superman films until recently, when I decided to marathon all of Superman’s portrayals on the big screen before Gunn’s rendition. When I saw them, it reminded me of who Superman really was: warm, hopeful, and unapologetically heroic. It also made me realize how crazy the last act of Man of Steel was—so many people died and in hindsight, that level of destruction felt so wrong. Despite that, as I moved along my Superman marathon and got to 2013’s birth of the DCEU, I realized that I still really liked it. It still scratches an itch for me. Even though it doesn’t fully line up with the classic version of Superman, it still felt like someone with a clear voice was behind the camera and letting us know what Superman was to him. At least now, I can kind of treat it as a “what if Superman were dark and broody and didn’t care if he destroyed half of Metropolis” single issue that I can keep coming back to.

Building a better tomorrow, together

What I love about Gunn’s Superman is that it doesn’t try to erase what came before. It isn’t a rejection of Snyder’s vision, but more of an evolution. Gunn takes the weight and seriousness of Man of Steel and mixes it with the warmth and humanity that defined the Donner films. This Superman isn’t burdened by being different. He’s defined by the way he connects with people, whether it’s trying to prevent a building from falling on someone or saving a squirrel from being stepped on by a giant kaiju.

The tone is still big and cinematic, but it doesn’t feel like a sermon. Gunn embraces the absurdity of comics—throwing in characters like Mr. Terrific, Guy Gardner, and Metamorpho into the mix—and somehow makes you care about them, even if you barely know who they are. It feels like a world that’s already lived-in, where heroes don’t have to justify their existence and presence every five minutes. In a way, Snyder’s Superman walked so Gunn’s Superman could take a beat, stop for a minute to laugh at himself, and just fly.

Both versions of Superman still work for me because both directors had a clear vision. Snyder gave us a Superman who looked and felt mythic, someone meant to be feared and revered in equal measure (I mean, did you see the pose his statue had in Batman v. Superman?). Gunn gives us a Superman who’s approachable, clumsy, and deeply human—but no less inspiring. They’re two different takes, but if anything, Gunn’s Superman feels (metaphorically) stronger because Snyder’s existed first.

Superman, then and now

I wish I grew up with this Superman. Not because Snyder’s take was bad, but because this version feels like the one who shows up, smiles, and actually wants to be here. Gunn’s Superman proves that kindness, sincerity, and even a little bit of dorkiness still work in a world where superhero movies often feel like they’re afraid of those things. It’s a reminder that you don’t have to reinvent the wheel to make it spin. Sometimes, you just have to let Superman be Superman.

But I’m also glad Snyder’s version exists. Without it, I don’t think this one would hit as hard. The contrast is what Gunn’s Superman feel so refreshing. One was a product of its time—grounded, brooding, and mythic. The other is a response to that, brighter and more human, like someone finally turned the lights back on. Together, they tell us something important: Superman doesn’t need to be perfect or untouchable. He just needs to care. And maybe that’s why it’s time that Superman loses the sad-boy baggage.