Narrative inertia is Supergirl’s Kryptonite
An oddly inert movie, Craig Gillespie’s Supergirl is a major misfire for James Gunn and Peter Safran’s DC Studios, their reboot of the stable of superheroes already off to a less than stellar start with last year’s Superman. While that feature contained just enough to allow it to pass muster, Supergirl misses by a long shot. A movie brimming with incidents but lacking in narrative thrust, it’s a film that just sits there, one in which you keep waiting for it to kick into high gear, only to realize the script by Ana Nogueira contains nothing in the way of inspiration. Then again, what’s one to expect while watching a pastiche of well-worn moments and situations, none of them palatable in their reheated state.
If the film has a bright spot, it’s Milly Alcock in the title role. The actress brings the necessary fire to Kara Zor-El, capturing the character’s cynicism and pain so well it has an impact even amidst the clutter of the film’s bland action scenes and rote plot. Celebrating her birthday – or is it drowning her sorrows – when we first see her, this is a young woman looking for a cause, though she’d never admit to needing one. She finds it in Ruthye (Eve Ridley) a teenager seeking vengeance. Seems Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts), a vicious space marauder, slew her family, the same guy who just happened to shoot Kara’s dog Krypto with a poison dart. Small universe, isn’t it?
The two women forge a tenuous alliance to hunt down Klem, Ruthye to get her revenge, Kara to get the antidote that will save her dog. And thus is the premise of Ana Nogueira’s script, her first big screen effort.
While there is no proof AI wrote the script, I wouldn’t be surprised. Having written only one short in 2018, I can’t help but wonder how Nogueira got this plum assignment. While it may be unfair to state there’s nothing original here – how many films can say that anymore? – the fact that nearly every cribbed plot point is rendered in such a bland manner is disconcerting. While watching, Mad Max, Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy will likely come to mind. Should Nogueira be blamed for being late to the party and having nothing left but overused genre tropes to choose from?
Perhaps not but she does shoulder the blame for not focusing more on character and heart. True Grit is an obvious source as well, as Ruthye is blind to the consequences exacting revenge will take on her. Kara’s attempts to dissuade her are infrequent and this potentially poignant avenue is woefully underdeveloped. Gillespie and Nogueira instead opt to pummel the audience with bland action sequences instead.
Producers have shied away from presenting standard origin stories in recent years, yet that option would have been welcomed here. The film only comes alive during flashback sequences in which Kara recounts her life in the only remaining Kryptonian city, Argos, and during the brief moments we she her on Earth. She states she’s had a hard time fitting in and accepting her new home, something her cousin Superman (David Corenswat) and we see in an all too brief scene. Kara’s struggle to acclimate to the societal norms of her new home, coming to terms with her powers and dealing with survivor’s guilt would have been far more fascinating. That we do not get to see a full-length feature devoted to her and her cousin clashing over their conflicting ideals concerning their responsibilities and heroism is a woefully wasted opportunity.
It might not have been so bad had the numerous action sequences been well-staged. Gillespie, who has never directed an action film before, is in over his head here, every fight scene lacking continuity, all of them a blur of camera pans, tight movements and rapid editing. Gone are the days when a well-choreographed sequence is played out before a stationary camera, with minimal editing. To be able to discern who is where and just who is pummeling who would be welcome.
As for those wondering about Jason Mamoa’s Lobo, the cult favorite has only a couple scenes which the actor growls through, his ashen colored abs and garish clown makeup making more of an impact than he’s allowed to.
James Gunn and Peter Safran seemed inspired choices when chosen to revamp the DC Comics film universe. However, with Superman being only barely palatable and now Supergirl, save for Alcock’s inspired performance, being a total wash, one can’t help but wonder if they too aren’t up to the task of bringing these pop culture icons to life in a way that does them justice. Next year’s Man of Tomorrow has the unenviable task of wiping away the bad taste left by Supergirl and being successful enough to justify Gunn and Safran’s future. In Theaters.
Lack of Urgency Dulls Strike
In both execution and intent, Rod Lurie’s Lucky Strike is the sort of film that would have been made during World War II. A piece of propaganda lost in the time stream, the movie is a shameless pastiche of tropes from numerous other combat features, their inclusion seemingly mandatory. Loosely based on a true story, “Strike” has a rote feel to it, as if each scene was shot with little in the way of inspiration but rather done in a perfunctory manner, as if they were items being checked off a “To Do” list.
A clumsy prologue kicks things off, as Capt. Castle (Scott Eastwood) pays a visit to the modest home of Mrs. Caldwell (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), who provides an icy reception to the nervous soldier. An awkward conversation does little to explain how these two are connected, though mention is made of Caldwell being bitter over not having been given a pension she feels she’s owed. It’s suggested Castle may be able to help with this matter.
A flashback occurs that takes us to Belgium on the eve of the Battle of the Bulge, a German counteroffensive launched at the end of 1944. Castle and his men are charged by Col. Neale (Colin Hanks) to impede the advance of a German tank division by dynamiting a key bridge on their route. His squad is a typical mixture of races and creeds, the all-inclusive diversity of the bunch intended to, obviously, reflect the eclectic population of the U.S. Not much screen time is given to any of them, indicating they’re all soon killed by enemy fire.
When this happens, Castle finds himself behind enemy lines, facing the prospect of walking nearly 40 miles in winter weather to the closest rendezvous point. With only a radio, the Motorola SCR-300 it is specifically noted, he struggles along, trying to keep out of sight of the seemingly omnipresent Nazis, barely escaping their gunfire when he cannot.
It’s all pretty standard stuff, the movie flirting with tedium over its 100-minute running time. The action scenes are capably rendered though hardly inspired, one blurring into another. However, the film comes alive when Castle takes refuge in a barn and is taken in by the French family that owns it. The language barrier that exists between them creates genuine tension as bad guys approach. Eastwood rises to the occasion in conveying his character’s sense of confusion and fear as do his three co-stars Laurent Maurel, Hazel Rogers and Caroline Piette, as the family under siege. That the scene has an impact at its conclusion is due to the fine work by all.
Unfortunately, the movie never captures that sense of urgency again. With the ending a foregone conclusion, Lurie and his co-writer Marc Frydman paint themselves into a corner, though others filmmakers have succeeded in creating tension under similar circumstances. To their credit, location shooting in Bulgaria lends the film a sense of realism that’s welcomed, while other elements of the production design contribute to creating a realistic wartime milieu.
Eastwood, still struggling with being too self-conscious, is certainly good-looking enough for leading man status, yet lacks the presence to hold our attention throughout. Meanwhile, the explanation of the film’s prologue at its conclusion is anti-climactic, coming off as something of an afterthought. In the end, its distinct lack of urgency, makes Lucky Strike an instantly forgettable movie, one that fails to live up to its noble intentions. In Theaters.
Tepic pace makes for dull Robin
Michael Sarnoski’s The Death of Robin Hood is the sort of film you admire rather than enjoy. Nearly collapsing under the weight of its intentions, this revisionist take on the seminal figure in English folklore is a dour exercise, both visually and thematically, hobbled by its deliberate pacing. Yet, Sarnoski’s immersive mise en scene and strong performances from his solid cast keep the viewer somewhat engaged, though the movie threatens to stall at any given moment.
Taking cues from Henry King’s The Gunfighter and Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, Sarnoski’s Robin Hood (Hugh Jackman) is a man who cannot outlive his past, a figure whose reputation dwarfs and distorts the truth regarding his history. Far from a benevolent vigilante, this is a man of violence, a figure who, in his youth, prompted fear in those he crossed rather than admiration. Longing to be left alone, his cohort Little John (Bill Skarsgard) convinces him to help him rescue his wife, Margaret (Katie Breen) and daughter, Little Margaret (Faith Delaney), who are being held by a group of marauders.
It all goes badly and as a result Robin is taken to a nearby island, home to a group of disparate refugees, overseen by Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer). She helps mend his wounds, despite his pleas to be allowed to die. While getting back on his feet, Robin befriends a leper (Murray Bartlett), takes Little Margaret under his wing and becomes a bulwark for all the outcasts on the island. This he does reluctantly but is surprised by the sense of peace he begins to feel. However, all of this is threatened by the arrival of Arthur (Noah Jupe), a young man who may reveal Robin’s past to his new companions.
The very definition of a slow burn, “Death’s” intention to present a meditative examination of Robin’s path to redemption is narratively sound. Yet its execution is flawed as Sarnoski takes far too much time moving the story to that point. Though every scene is necessary in showing Robin’s transformation from killer to protector, they all run far too long, robbing the story of a sense of urgency.
The graphic violence and gritty, grim aesthetic of the first act effectively establishes the harsh 13th-century environment, a dank, dirty world suffused more with death than life. The action scenes early on are brutal, some to the point of being gratuitous. So, while the later bucolic setting of the island is welcome, the action from that point on becomes internal, as Robin quietly tries to reckon with his past. This tonal duality is necessary, yet it proves a chore to sit through.
Jackman, channeling his Wolverine character from Logan, not only brings the gravitas necessary for the character but conveys his sorrow with a subtle poignancy. A simmering sense of regret informs all the actor does. Comer counters this, acting as a ray of light in this dismal world. The actresses’ calm, yet strong demeanor effectively balances her co-star’s approach and it’s too her credit that Brigid comes off as no one to be trifled with and every bit Robin’s equal. However, a third-act revelation regarding a past connection between the two comes off as a bit too convenient and, in the end, unnecessary.
Noble in intent, Death is a bit of a slog, a movie you wind up enduring rather than engaging with. Though its theme of redemption is hardly new, credit must be given to Sarnoski’s conviction to it. Too bad its ultimate impact is dulled due to the overtly deliberate and solemn manner in which he delivers it. In Theaters.
This article appears in June 18-24, 2026.
