Producers: Peter Safran and James Gunn   Director: James Gunn Screenplay: James Gunn   Cast: David Corenswet, Rachel Brosnahan, Nicholas Hoult, Edi Gathegi, Anthony Carrigan, Nathan Fillion, Isabela Merced, Skyler Gisondo, Sara Sampaio, María Gabriela de Faría, Wendell Pierce, Alan Tudyk, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Neva Howell, Beck Bennett, Mikaela Hoover, Zlatko Burić, Terence Rosemore, Frank Grillo, Dinesh Thyagarajan, Grace Chan, Sean Gunn, Michael Rooker, Pom Klementieff, Jennifer Holland, Bradley Cooper, Angela Sarafyan, Stephen Blackehart, Will Reeve, John Cena and Milly Alcock    Distributor: Warner Bros.

Grade: B+

James Gunn proves just the man to inject a new burst of cinematic life into the Kryptonian Kal-El, aka Clark Kent, aka Superman, who since Christopher Reeve put on the obligatory red-and-blue tights and cape back in 1978, has stumbled on the big screen—though “Superman II” (1980) was at least the equal of the first film, Reeve’s third and fourth appearances in the role were duds, and while some of us still appreciate the grandeur and stateliness of Bryan Singer’s “Superman Returns” (2006), it was a financial disappointment. 

Now Gunn has done for Superman what he previously did for the Suicide Squad—rescued him from the dark, heavy hand of the Zack Snyder era, which began with “Man of Steel” in 2013 and continued through “Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice” (2016) and “Justice League” (his version of which finally appeared in 2021).  Gunn’s “Superman” is bright, exuberant, warmhearted fun, a genuine comic-book tale of the old school brought to vivid big-screen (really big-screen in IMAX terms) life, but done up with a modern sensibility.

Though arguably overstuffed with characters and subplots—most superhero series become cluttered over time, but you might call “Superman” pre-cluttered, since Gunn seems reluctant to leave any of his ideas out—it’s a reboot that’s also a revitalization, sparked by a new Man of Steel, David Corenswet, who makes him charmingly boyish as well as credibly idealistic but rather naïve, determinedly stalwart yet emotionally vulnerable.  Corenswet is as winning in the role as Reeve was.  It might be deemed heresy to say so, but he might actually be better than Reeve; at least he’s a better fit for Gunn’s version of Superman than Reeve would have been.

Gunn blithely dispenses with the backstory we all know from the books and movies with a brief chronology up front—Kal-El came to earth from the collapsing Krypton thirty years earlier, began his caped career in Metropolis three years ago, and now has suffered his first crushing defeat at the hands of a monstrous brute called the Hammer of Boravia; we first see him plummet to the frozen Arctic ground, bloodied and beaten.

Rescued by his “not so good” superdog Krypto (an absolute scene-stealer, and as major player here as he was in the animated “DC League of Super Pets”), Superman is tended to by chatty robots in his ice-palace Fortress of Solitude (Twelve is voiced by the ever-reliable Alan Tudyk), who treat him with a massive dose of yellow sunlight while soothing him with the only surviving clip of his Kryptonian parents to survive the crash of his spacecraft—a message about doing good and serving mankind.  Restored, he flies back to Metropolis.

It’s a rather different place than what you might expect.  The opening captions have already informed us that metahumans have been around for three hundred years—the city is staffed by a so-called Justice Gang composed of second-tier Green Lantern Guy Gardner (hilariously coiffed Nathan Fillion), mace-wielding Hawkgirl (spiky Isabela Merced) and tech brainiac Mr. Terrific (a really terrific Edi Gathegi). 

And Superman’s alter-ego Clark, played by Corenswet as just a bit of a geek rather than Reeve’s hapless klutz, isn’t spending his time hiding his superhero identity from colleague Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan).  Though they publicly spar in the newsroom in the sight of others, including young photographer Jimmy Olsen (an engaging Skyler Gisondo), sports guy Steve Lombard (Beck Bennett), svelte columnist Cat Grant (Mikaela Hoover), businesslike Ron Troupe (Christopher McDonald) and editor-in-chief Perry White (Wendell Pierce), they’re actually in a secret relationship, beautifully conveyed in an impromptu “interview” in which Lois, played with enormous verve by Brosnahan—no damsel-in-distress figure she, but a smart and savvy partner—warns earnest but over-confident Superman-Clark that his impulsive do-goodism might get him into trouble.

That brings matters back to the Hammer of Boravia, whose despot President Ghurkos (Zlatko Burić, all wild hair and preening disdain) had attempted an invasion of a neighboring country Superman had foiled, on his own without governmental authorization; the Hammer was his instrument of revenge. 

But Ghurkos is not acting on his own—which brings us to the chief conflict in the story, the insatiable envy and hatred of Superman by Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult), long the evil mainstay of Superman mythology.  In the Reeve films in which Luthor appeared, his conflict with the Man of Steel was mostly pragmatic, and depicted with a light hand, displayed in Gene Hackman’s lip-smacking performance and his vaudeville routine with goofy sidekick Otis (Ned Beatty).  Here the enmity is deeply personal, and there’s nothing even remotely humorous in Hoult’s portrayal, which comes closer to Kevin Spacey’s vicious version in “Superman Returns.”  There’s pure hatred here, combined with power and influence Luthor that cunningly uses in his determination to destroy the Man of Steel; and there’s an Otis (Terence Rosemore), but he’s no slapstick figure, merely one of Luthor’s skilled technicians. 

Luthor breaks into the Fortress of Solitude, where he and his henchwoman the Engineer Angela Spica (intense María Gabriela de Faría), a literal human buzz saw, leave a mess, take a prisoner, and learn something Luthor can use to turn the tide of public opinion against Superman—and to cause Clark to doubt who he’s really meant to be.  That leads to the Man of Steel’s turning himself into the authorities, ever honest and respectful of law, and being imprisoned in an under-the-radar “pocket universe” created by Luthor, who keeps all his foes there and now uses the inevitable kryptonite provided by a captive Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan)—and other despicable means—to torture Superman and extract information from him.

That can’t be allowed to end things, of course, and so with help from friends—Lois and Mr. Terrific in particular, but also Metamorpho, as played by Carrigan a sweet fellow who overcomes his fears, he escapes, and with Krypto at his side faces Luthor in a final confrontation.  The mogul throws everything he has at Superman, one foe after another, and time after time the Man of Steel seems on the verge of defeat; a viewer might feel as exhausted by the multiple climaxes as he is.  But he never gives up.  And—no spoiler here—he emerges victorious with his reputation restored, thanks not just to his valor but the efforts of Lois, Jimmy, and an unlikely ally in Eve Teschmacher (Sara Sampaio), a voluptuous broad with a yen for someone you might not expect.  Luthor winds up as hated as he’d hoped to make Superman.

But that’s not all.  Ghurkos has seized the opportunity to restart his invasion, and since Superman is otherwise engaged, other friends take up the slack—in particular the Justice Gang, which the vainglorious Gardner pointedly refers to as an upgrade.    

Optimism is at the root of Gunn’s vision—whatever the forces arrayed against Superman’s innate goodness, he prevails, helped by his equally principled friends.  And as to finding himself, he does so in the midst of apparent failure, thanks to loving support not only from Lois but from his adoptive parents Jonathan and Marta (Pruitt Taylor Vince and Neva Howell), whose raising of Clark is only alluded to in brief snippets but nonetheless prove decisive in a final scene back at the Fortress where Superman is convalescing after his exertions.  This is basically an uplifting tale, predictably enough, of the triumph of virtue over vice, one that, like all of the Superman stories over the years, celebrates the alien hero’s innate sense of goodness, demonstrated in, as Jonathan sagely says, choices and deeds rather than place of origin; in one scene Superman pauses to save a dog and a squirrel during a battle, and when he tries to capture a monster rather than just kill it, Green Lantern dismisses him with “Don’t be a wuss.”  But of course, that sense of compassion is central to the character, and Gunn embraces it.                  

What’s remarkable about Gunn’s “Superman” is that it manages to be both reverent and irreverent, flippant and sincere, respectful of the comic canon yet unafraid to toy with it.  It’s filled with references to earlier Superman lore—you can glimpse shout outs not only to the Donner, Lester, Singer and even Snyder films, but to TV incarnations, especially “Smallville” and the animated series (including the recent “My Adventures with Superman”).  And to comics, of course—not only the recent ones (Gunn has cited “All Star Superman” as a special influence), but the gloriously silly ones of the so-called Silver Age, which some of us are old enough to remember reading as kids. 

Yet it’s not stuck in the past.  The humor is often of the snarky variety Gunn mastered in “Guardians of the Galaxy,” toned down for family consumption (Four has a great throwaway in a muted desire to be called Gary), and one can’t miss references to today’s realities—immigration, to be sure, and international turmoil.  But they’re not treated in a crudely didactic fashion, and are often conjoined with a loopy reference (Luthor’s deal with Ghurkos points back to his West Coast plans in Donner’s movie), or to outrageous exaggeration (Luthor’s purveyors of social media accusations against Superman are literally trained monkeys). 

And while Gunn is committed to the canon, he’s not afraid to tweak it.  In their interview scene early on, Lois chides Clark for his disguise—a pair of glasses—to keep people from identifying him as Superman, a joke we all get.  But later Gardner points out what Lois already knows—they’re hypno glasses, which make Clark look significantly different in an observer’s eyes.  It’s not a Gunn invention, but it’s one many viewers won’t know in advance.

All of which wouldn’t matter a whit if the movie weren’t mounted with remarkable expertise.  The production design (Beth Mickle) and costuming (Judianna Makovsky) are exceptional, and Henry’s Braham’s bright cinematography showcases them beautifully; editors William Hoy and Craig Alpert keep things moving at a good clip, even when the action slows down for introspection or exposition, and the top-flight visual effects (executed by a huge team supervised by Stephane Ceretti) are integrated well into the live-action.  John Murphy and David Fleming contribute a fine score that pays ample tribute to John Williams’ iconic one; even the credits design is a bow to the past.                   

Devoted fans will mostly love ”Superman” for its fan service and obvious affection (unless, of course, they’re members of the perpetually dyspeptic Snyder cult), and while others may be less enthusiastic, they should also find it a treat despite its jam-packed content and hectic pace—it comes in, even with credits and added scenes (which you’re advised not to skip) at only a bit over two hours, short by superhero standards.  It may not restore your optimism about the fate of the real world in these days of prevailing uncertainty, but it does restore your faith that superhero movies can still be rousingly enjoyable—and your hope that the planned new DCU can maintain the standard it establishes. 

Your move, Marvel.

Producers:  Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice, Bernard Bellew, Danny Boyle, Alex Garland and Cillian Murphy   Director: Danny Boyle   Screenplay: Alex Garland   Cast: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Alfie Williams, Ralph Fiennes, Edvin Ryding, Christopher Fulford, Jack O’Connell, Chi Lewis-Parry, Celi Crossland, Erin Kellyman, Emma Laird, Rocco Haynes and Sandy Bachelor   Distributor: Sony Entertainment/Columbia Pictures   

Grade: B+

The timing may be a bit off—the original “28 Days Later” came out in 2003, which means that this third movie in the series should not, if the title is any indication, have appeared until 2031.  But the first sequel, “28 Weeks Later,” didn’t appear until 2007, so precision in calculating the passage of time seems never to have been a preoccupation with the filmmakers.  In any event, this is intended as the first part of a trilogy, so though the second installment is reportedly ready for release next year, perhaps the third won’t come out for another six years.  On the other hand, the recent experience of the pandemic makes the present an appropriate backdrop for the reemergence of the “Rage” Virus.   

The first film, of course, was seminal in what’s come to be known as the zombie renaissance, a proliferation of movies featuring the resurrected undead that found its culmination in the TV series “The Walking Dead,” which premiered in 2010 and has been spewing sequels and spin-offs ever since.  George Romero may have sowed the seeds of the zombie apocalypse back in the 1960s, but the concept really bloomed after 2003. 

So how does this new entry from Danny Boyle and Alex Garland, the director and writer of the original film (they were involved with “28 Weeks Later” only as executive producers), stack up?  Well, given the intervening years, it inevitably can’t avoid seeming a bit like another spin-off of “The Walking Dead”—there are only so many premises the genre allows.  But despite moments of bleak humor, it blends a powerful tone of mournfulness into the expected violence, ultimately conveying an almost elegiac mood. While there are scenes expertly designed to turn your stomach and make you squirm, there are others intended to induce you to think about mortality and what it means to be human.

The film is bookended by sequences that, unless one is attentive, might seem unrelated.  A prologue, set during the original outbreak, shows a group of children watching the Teletubbies on TV when the house in which they’ve congregated is attacked.  In a gruesome sequence virtually all the kids and adults are slaughtered, their blood splashed onto the TV screen, except for one, a tyke named Jimmy (Rocco Haynes), who escapes to the church next door where his father (Sandy Bachelor), the minister, is praying maniacally at the altar.  He manages to press a silver cross into the boy’s hand before the infected swarm kill him; Jimmy hides beneath the floor.  He, grown up (Jack O’Connell), and that cross, reappear at the end, and will obviously play a major role in the next installment.

For now, however, the focus shifts to Holy Isle, or Lindisfarne, off the northeast coast of England, where a group of refugees established a self-sufficient community that has survived for almost three decades, thanks to a causeway almost a mile long that connects the island to the Northumbrian mainland but is covered by the sea during high tide.  It’s a militant group—Jon Harris edits in montages of British forces at various historical moments, most notably the battle of Agincourt, where the St. George’s flag that flies over the village was prominently displayed; and it fosters a coming-of-age ritual in which boys are trained in archery and taken by their fathers onto the mainland for a day’s initiation in killing the infected. 

That rite opens the major narrative, as twelve-year old Spike (the remarkably expressive Alfie Williams), with a quiver of arrows prepared by elderly family friend Sam (Christopher Fulford), is taken by his stern father Jamie (gruff, bearded Aaron Taylor-Johnson), a skilled scavenger, on his first kill, leaving behind his mother Isla (Jamie Comer), an ill woman who suffers bouts of hysteria and amnesia.  The boy succeeds in piercing the neck of one of the obese, lumbering Slow-Lows, who crawl about on their bellies searching for grubs and worms to devour, but he panics when the fast-moving Berserkers attack under the lead of their Alpha (fearsome Chi Lewis-Parry), and father and son are forced to take refuge in a crumbling farmhouse, barely surviving the onslaught but making it back home after a desperate run across the partially submerged causeway.

Before their return, however, Spike has spied in the distance a fire that Sam speculates marks the abode of Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes, looking rather like Ben Kingsley), an eccentric Jamie dismisses as mad.  Spike, however, thinks his father is lying, and determines to take Isla to Kelson for treatment.  The journey is a harrowing one, with moments of grim humor (an abandoned Shell station with the initial letter detached, and an adjoining diner called the Happy Eater, which of course becomes a dangerous place) and an extended interlude featuring Erik (charismatic Edvin Ryding), a Swedish soldier who’s the sole survivor of a NATO patrol boat guarding against Brits attempting to cross to the continent.  (The film ignores the suggestion at the end of “28 Weeks Later” that the virus had reached France.)  There’s another encounter, both frightening and revealing, in a wrecked train, where Isla connects with a pregnant Berserker (Celi Crossland) and mother and son escape the Alpha’s onslaught with a newborn to tend.

They manage to reach Kelson’s compound, where the doctor has fashioned a striking memorial to those who have perished—a memento mori, as he calls it (and a ravishing accomplishment of production designer Mark Tildesley, whose work throughout is remarkable).  The episode also brings, in Kelson’s formulation, a memento amori in the closure of Spike’s relationship with Isla, as well as a glimmer of future hope in Spike’s decision about the baby.  What the sudden appearance of Jimmy and his crew at a moment when Spike is in peril—a recurrent motif that, it must be admitted, is somewhat of a weakness in the script—will mean for the ruminative tone of this film’s final third will presumably be explained in the sequel.

What’s extraordinary about “28 Years Later” is that while necessarily embracing the tropes of the genre its predecessor was instrumental in establishing, it reaches beyond them, as most of the original’s imitators fail to do; and if it’s not entirely successful in integrating all the elements, one has to admire Boyle and Garland for the attempt.  Their efforts, and those of the entire cast, exhibit total devotion to the material, with Boyle doing his best work in years, balancing frenetic action and meditative mysteriousness to potent effect.  In that’s he’s aided by the brilliance of Anthony Dod Mantle’s cinematography; using an iPhone, he creates visuals of ravishing beauty and eye-popping color even as he’s capturing horrific hallucinatory images of human heads being ripped from their bodies, the spinal cords swinging underneath them.  Harris’ montages go beyond the martial collages to mesmerizing flashbacks and sudden bursts of flame, keeping viewers constantly ill at ease, while the score by Young Fathers is eclectic in the extreme, mashing together stately hymns with the hardest of rock.

Young Williams anchors the film with a performance aching with vulnerability and determination, while Comer similarly juggles moments of distracted uncertainty with others of maternal warmth.  Fiennes offers another eminently refined turn as the mystical doctor.  And one shouldn’t overlook the contribution of Ryding as a young man whose cockiness is matched by his ruefulness over the choices he’s made.

“28 Years Later” is remarkable for opting to do something radically different amid the cascade of zombie apocalypse films—some excellent, to be sure, but most pretty awful.  That it succeeds as well as it does raises the bar for the next installments in the series.