Sometimes the greatest superpower a movie can possess is embracing its genre.
Supergirl delivers the kind of summer movie you remember from when you were a kid. For years, superhero films have become increasingly preoccupied with expanding cinematic universes, subverting audience expectations, or convincing viewers they are watching something more sophisticated than a comic-book movie. Supergirl takes a refreshingly different approach. It embraces the genre without apology, tells a straightforward story populated by engaging characters, and remembers that summer blockbusters are supposed to be fun.
About: When an unexpected and ruthless adversary strikes too close to home, Supergirl (Milly Alcock) reluctantly joins forces with an unlikely companion (Eve Ridley) for an interstellar journey of vengeance and justice.
An encouraging trend has begun to emerge this summer. Rather than chasing prestige or attempting to deconstruct their own genres, films like Mortal Kombat II, Masters of the Universe, and Supergirl have embraced the fundamentals of classical storytelling. Their plots are straightforward, their characters are engaging, and their primary objective is to entertain. In a season that has also produced films weighed down by self-seriousness and underdeveloped ideas, these adventures stand as reminders that fun and craftsmanship are not opposing virtues—they are often companions.
Despite a handful of technical shortcomings—including editing that occasionally lacks refinement and several action sequences hampered by murky lighting—Supergirl captures the spirit of the summer movies many of us grew up with. It moves confidently from one adventure to the next, balancing action, humor, and heart with an efficiency that keeps its brisk runtime moving at a steady pace.
Its greatest strength lies in its characters.
Kara Zor-El is more than simply another superhero navigating impossible circumstances. Her emotional journey is mirrored by that of Ruthye, whose determination and resilience immediately reminded me of Arya Stark from Game of Thrones. Together, the two characters offer contrasting responses to grief and trauma.
Kara represents what can happen when loss is internalized—when sorrow quietly shapes one’s identity and worldview. Ruthye, by contrast, refuses to allow tragedy to dictate her future. Rather than denying her pain, she demonstrates that healing begins when we decide to master our trauma rather than allowing it to master us.
The relationship between these two characters provides the emotional foundation for the entire film. Then, there is Lobo.
Played with infectious enthusiasm by Jason Momoa, Lobo provides much of the movie’s comic relief while simultaneously embodying a completely different response to suffering. If Kara internalizes trauma and Ruthye overcomes it, Lobo simply laughs in its face. His chaotic, nihilistic worldview makes him feel like an intergalactic descendant of Meat Loaf’s Eddie from The Rocky Horror Picture Show—equal parts absurd, dangerous, and strangely lovable. Momoa clearly understands exactly what kind of movie he’s in, and his performance is all the better for it.
Visually, Supergirl offers one of the most imaginative alien landscapes seen in a mainstream science-fiction film in years. Not since Star Trek: The Next Generation—or perhaps the original Star Wars trilogy—have I seen such a delightful assortment of extraterrestrial species occupying the same cinematic space. The production wisely relies on a combination of practical costumes, prosthetic makeup, and computer-generated creatures. Ironically, the practical work often proves more convincing than the fully digital creations, lending the universe a tangible charm that many contemporary blockbusters lack.
Perhaps the film’s most surprising accomplishment, however, is its confidence in traditional storytelling.
Rather than endlessly chasing twists or deconstructing the superhero formula, Supergirl embraces classical screenwriting structure. Every major dramatic beat—from the inciting incident and catalyst through the midpoint, crisis, climax, and resolution—arrives naturally and purposefully. The result is a narrative that feels coherent, satisfying, and remarkably well-paced. In an era where many blockbuster films mistake unpredictability for sophistication, there is something refreshing about a movie that understands the enduring value of solid dramatic construction.
No, Supergirl is not reinventing the superhero movie, nor should it have done so.
Instead, it reminds audiences why they fell in love with comic-book adventures in the first place. It delivers colorful worlds, memorable characters, genuine humor, emotional sincerity, and enough spectacle to satisfy without ever losing sight of the people at the center of the story. Sadly, that combination is becoming increasingly rare these days.
Supergirl may not aspire to redefine the genre, but it succeeds at something arguably more difficult: reminding us just how enjoyable a well-told superhero story can be.
Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
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