I know it may seem minor detail on which to dwell, but it’s a significant one. The 2026 incarnation of SUPERGIRL, played with cynicism suffused anger by Milly Alcock, sports her super-heroine costume accessorized by boots that are low-heeled with a closed, square toe. Yes, they are thigh-high, but they are not form-fitting latex, and neither is the skirted costume. Mini, yes, but flared and not a >micro<-mini. This is not a girl who came to play nor to walk a runway. She came to do good in the universe, though not necessarily to be nice. That’s also significant. And fear not, the why of her being a “Supergirl” when her cousin, Clark Kent, is “Superman” gets its call-out. We are, after all, more than a quarter of the way through the 21st century.
Alcock didn’t come to play, either. As Lara Zor-El, the Man of Steel’s cousin who arrived on Earth as a 14-year-old, dare I say it, refugee, and sole survivor of her doomed city, she portrays a young woman with more than a little emotional baggage and unacknowledged PTSD. The plot deals with how Kara processes it. Eventually. The interplanetary pub crawl that starts her adventures may be numbing the pain, but it’s not solving the problem that keeps her perpetually wasted and ignoring the interplanetary voice mails from her cousin (dimply David Corenswet reprising his role) wishing her a happy 23rd birthday. Though the universe is kept at arm’s length, her dog, Krypto, isn’t.
Into one of the seedier pubs where Kara is partying hard marches Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a 14-year-old looking for help in avenging her family. They were slaughtered in front of her by Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts), a profusely pierced Brigand who presaged what was going to happen by the way he defiled the family’s pie. Ruthye offers a sword crafted by her master craftsman of a father as the reward, but the rough crew in the pub have other ideas, and something clicks for Kara. Not all at once, but no matter how hard she tries to walk away, Kara can’t seem to leave Ruthye behind. Part of that is the girl’s refusal to be left, but more and more it becomes obvious that more is going on, and that will be explained, along with Kara’s attachment to her loveably chaotic mutt, with flashbacks that make this both straightforward action/adventure, and a nifty origin story featuring life-lessons from dad Zor-El (David Krumholtz) and Mom Alura Zor-El (Emily Beecham). Fear not, it doesn’t get in the way of the rip-snorting plot.
The scope is epic, with interstellar tech-pirates, exploding planets, and Jason Momoa as a bounty hunter/ god zooming through space on a tricked-out motorcycle and a persona that puts one in mind of the biker character from RAISING ARIZONA. Alien life-forms range from fanciful to grotesque (there is something mesmerizing about the sheer quantity of Krem’s face and body piercings). Some sing Irving Berlin, some traffic nubile females to an all-male species that wants to leave a genetic legacy. If forced to choose, my favorite would be the two-headed rat that learns the hard way that sometimes it’s a hard world for small things.
The impetus, of course, behind all the spectacle and CGI is Kara, accepting the responsibility of her superpowers and the idea that there might, maybe, perhaps, be some good out there. And the center of that is Alcock, who moves nimbly from pratfalls and broad comedy to empathy unfettered by the cultural demand of smiling or pretending to have any patience, all while evincing the confidence of a woman who can take care of herself and unexpected satisfaction of taking care of others. And you gotta love that she doesn’t feel the need to comb her hair in order to do so. Her priorities are not the cultural construct’s norms.
SUPERGIRL could have spent less time building up to Kara’s first steps on the road to redemption, despite the guilty pleasure of watching Alcock imbue even toothbrushing with a sense of wayward aggravation. Never mind. The narrative sweeps you along and there is just enough of dimply Superman to provide a nerdy tonic to Kara’s, and the film’s, darkness. The justice may be poetic, but it’s not pretty. It is, however, a wild and worthy ride.
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