One of the things I truly love about cinema is its ability to critique culture in profound, nuanced ways. In the most recent Superman (2025), starring David Corenswet and directed by James Gunn—known for the irreverent humor and emotional depth he brought to Guardians of the Galaxy—we see a striking social commentary unfold. Gunn explores how public perception has eclipsed political power, and how media narratives can shape, manipulate, and ultimately distort reality.
Superman is… well, Superman. But even he isn’t immune to the influence of modern media or the toxic currents of platforms like Twitter. In this version, Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) isn't just a nanotech genius—he’s a master manipulator of perception. He plays world leaders, cultural factions, and social media like a strategic gamer, weaponizing algorithms and outrage to bring Superman to his knees. One of the film’s most hilarious and visually striking sequences shows Luthor's “rage monkey army”—Twitter trolls in a surreal digital limbo—alongside his team of coders who literally program enemies to react to Superman’s every move. It's absurd, brilliant, and unsettling.
What struck me most, though, is how the film reinterprets Superman’s origin story. We learn his Kryptonian parents intended him to become a dominant ruler, a godlike figurehead over Earth. But Kal-El is left to grapple with a powerful existential question—do we inherit our destiny, or do we define it? With guidance from his Earth father, he confronts the truth that we are not our parents, and they don’t have the right to determine our path.
The film offers a moving meditation on choice, identity, and the nature of being human. In a pivotal moment, Superman tells Lex Luthor:
“I'm as human as anyone. I love, I get scared. I wake up every morning and despite not knowing what to do, I put one foot in front of the other and try to make the best choices I can. I screw up all the time—but that’s being human. And that’s my greatest strength.”
That line stayed with me.
Superman embraces it all—his strength, his fears, his flaws—and in doing so, reclaims his identity not as a weapon or a symbol, but as someone profoundly human.
This is what I love about film language: its power to reflect, provoke, and inspire. Through fantasy and myth, cinema invites us to confront the real moral dilemmas of our time—questions of control, legacy, vulnerability, and above all, the radical freedom of choice.
