The second screen outing for James Gunn and Peter Safran’s DC Studios is more of an evolution than we were expecting—and with it comes the hint of a promising approach to forming this burgeoning comic book universe. Unlike 2025’s Superman—great world-builder but the least cinematic Superman film yet—it may be set almost entirely off-Earth, but its focus is on developing its characters and setting out the stall of just what it means to be a hero.

After her chaotic cameo in Superman, Kara El Zor-el picks up the reins of the burgeoning cinematic universe in a film that broadly adapts the well-regarded Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow comic serial (2021-22), and fills in some of the Kryptonian backstory Superman left out of its competent but light gateway to the DCU.

The result is refreshing if surprisingly gritty compared to the cosmic wonder of its colourful inspiration. On one level, it’s a roaring road trip of revenge; on the other, an odd-couple buddy film. While it’s double-packed with dual threats, dual revenge, the grapple of death and life, in the middle are two very different ‘girls’ coming to terms with their place in the universe. 

Born after her cousin on a shard of Krypton that she watched rot in green radiation, Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) carries the memories of her birth planet that Superman doesn’t. It’s enough to drive her to drink on a planet where the red sun depletes her liver as much as her powers. 

It’s on her 23rd birthday that Kara and her trusted but scrappy pup Krypto hit a bar, just as plucky 13-year-old Ruthye Marye Knoll (Eve Ridley) walks in, desperate to avenge the murder of her family by the ferocious, superhumanly strong, and unapologetically evil leader of the Brigands, Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts). Kara resists helping out, but fate and Krem have other plans. When he poisons Krypto and steals her ship, the last daughter of Krypton has 72 hours to find Krem and the antidote and convince the tenacious Ruthye that revenge isn’t the answer.

The difficult second film of the DCU lets rip a little more than the first. This is the little-seen intergalactic side of the DC Universe, which leans into the strengths of James Gunn’s successes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, although here he leaves the reins with Craig Gillespie (a director with strong female-led films under his belt like 2017’s I, Tonya and 2021’s Cruella).

Working from Ana Nogueira’s script, the result is a big swerve between red, yellow and green suns, serving up a host of complicated aliens, although things remain fairly humanoid. More in line with Guardians of the Galaxy, it’s techno-pirates that interrupt Kara and Ruthye’s space transit and reawaken the kryptonian’s powers, rather than the space dragon of the original comic.

Gillespie doesn’t embrace the chance for something visually extraordinary, instead doubling down on dystopian influences—probably not what many were expecting from Alcock’s smirking Supergirl and her superdog. The third act explicitly steers towards post-apocalyptic actioners. There’s a splash of Waterworld (Krem being a Deacon who’s fallen face-first into some silver dragees), and more than a hint of Mad Max: Fury Road in the tumult of a scrap with vehicles exploding right, left and centre and hostages running wild. 

Krem, as a pirate and human trafficker, exposes a bit of a hole that could undermine Ruthye’s story—why she’s left to pursue revenge, or why she’s considered too insignificant to be a cog in the cold universe. But the dark grit running through Supergirl is what’s needed to expose that kind of inner strength that the film has its eye on. This is a female protagonist-first movie, where a whole horrible universe is expanded beyond the jealousy and cover-up of Superman, to show and test exactly what it means to be a hero. 

Part of that is the introduction of Jason Momoa as the fan-favourite bounty-hunter Lobo, aimlessly popping up for thematic reference and a few growling “bastich” one-liners. He’s not really necessary, but one source of humour that takes the edge of some surprising brutality.

While the runtime feels right, there’s the impression that a few elements were left on the cutting room floor. The ribcage is there, but the shiny emblem on the chest would have been drawing out more of Ruythe’s past, and leaning into her plucky, bold naivety. When she’s the underdog, throwing a helmet at Brigands while Supergirl rips out tanks all around her, the film nails the fantastic balance between them. More of that to pad out Supergirl as a wise-beyond-her-years reluctant guide versus this (second) impetuous pup would have rounded things out. 

Supergirl sets out a universe where everyone is a victim or an abuser. The central pair find themselves in the middle of an unfair existence that’s desperate to let hope in. Their plight makes a nice opposition to the Big Blue male back on Earth—David Coresweet’s “nerd” Superman makes intermittent appearances. More immediately, Krem and his crew of endless pirates are exclusively male. This pierced posse doesn’t necessarily stand out as villains, but there’s a logic to Schoenaert’s big bad, who drools somewhere between Peter Stormare’s Lucifer in Constantine (2005) and Clancy Brown’s Kurgan in Highlander (1986). He’s irresistibly bad, and in a cosmic exploration of meaning and loss, sometimes you just need a solid, laconic, leather-creaking villain to be a monolith.

Some of the dazzling cosmic wonder of the source is sacrificed, but the darker dystopian shades that range from the dying planet Bliquis (named for the source storyline’s co-creator Bilquis Evely) to the dusty and snow planet under a green sun of the finale help keep the focus on the psychological scar tissue.

Holding it all together is Milly Alcock as a bold, complicated superhero. Vivacious, handy with a smile, punch or hungover slump, she’s an enjoyable addition to comic book films, and handles that tricky DC question: Aren’t Super-people just boring? Kara doesn’t have to be moral, small town, pure and able to see the good in everyone. As the webs of her life draw together from her life to convince her what being good can mean (hanging on some precision editing), the result when she finally dons the famous suit, will likely prove be controversial.

It’s consistent with this darker world, though—helping to establish a broader, more nuanced universe than the DCEU managed with the blunt finale of its opening film, Man of Steel. 

Supergirl is confident and layered, and an almighty non-confirming swing from Gunn and Safran. This may still be personal, the big bad may still be the universe itself, but there’s a sense that the Gods are being moved into the right positions to meet the Monsters. 

Up, up and away.