Last night I went to the movies. Again. Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself returning to theaters with a frequency that feels almost devotional. There’s something sacred about entering a dark room, surrendering my phone to silence, looking up, and vanishing for two hours in a world that keeps speeding up.
The new semester started with How to Train Your Dragon, yes, they re-released it, don’t ask, then F1, which thrilled me more than it informed me. But last night was different. I went to see the new Superman movie.
And it stayed with me.
Not because of explosions, though there were many. Not because of super-powered fistfights or sweeping orchestral scores. But because, somehow, in a film about a man in a cape from another planet, I saw something deeply, urgently human.
Superman reminded me, once again, that empathy is revolutionary. That in a cynical world, kindness might just be the most punk thing you can do. And Superman, yes, that Superman, isn’t some flag-waving monument to American exceptionalism. He’s always been something else entirely.
Historically, Superman has worn the costume of American idealism: the ultimate Boy Scout, the incorruptible symbol of truth, justice, and the so-called American Way. But as Spanish theorist Román Gubern notes in Masks of Fiction, Superman is also one of pop culture’s most openly progressive figures, a social fighter in tights.
Comic writer Grant Morrison expands on this in Supergods, portraying Superman as a Depression-era idealist raised with rural, working-class values, whose nemesis is an urban, capitalist, Machiavellian industrialist.
Superman isn’t the establishment. He’s the alternative. He’s the other. And this movie finally says that out loud.
Director James Gunn, who now serves as the creative brain of DC’s cinematic future, has been unapologetic in interviews: this film is about an immigrant who fights for what’s right. Period. Not a metaphor. Not a footnote. A headline.
There’s a moment in the film when Lex Luthor, sneering with venom, spits at Superman, “Alien shit.” It’s the kind of line that lands like a gut punch, not because it’s clever, but because it’s real. Superman responds:
“You’re wrong. I’m as human as anyone. I know how to love. I feel fear. I wake up every morning, and even when I don’t know what to do, I put one foot in front of the other and try to make the best decision I can. Yes, I make mistakes. But that’s what being human is about. That’s my true strength.”
In another era, this might have sounded cheesy. In 2025, it feels like a revelation.
Here’s a man with the strength to flatten cities choosing instead to show restraint, tenderness, and decency. Not because it’s profitable. Not because it’s strategic. But because it’s right. And that, apparently, is too much for some people to handle.
Cue the backlash.
You’ve heard it: “Go woke, go broke.” “They ruined Superman.” “Politics don’t belong in superhero movies.” As if Superman was ever apolitical. As if truth and justice were mere slogans, not moral imperatives.
Let me remind you: Superman is an immigrant. He escaped a dying planet and was adopted by Kansas farmers. Raised with Midwestern values, he blends in, though he knows part of him will never be fully accepted.
If you’re mad that this Superman embraces that truth, maybe you haven’t been paying attention. Or maybe, unlike him, you never had to try.
How does a Mexican end up defending a white superhero so fiercely? Because yes, Superman is white and raised by white Americans, often portrayed as Christian (though I’m not sure if that’s in this film). But after two years reporting in small-town Alabama, I know this: you don’t need to look like someone to connect with them. You don’t need the same language, passport, or family history to understand that another person feels, fears, and loves. Empathy isn’t biology. It’s a choice.
And that, ultimately, is what this Superman movie is about.
And also… he has Krypto.
Sorry, but we need to talk about that.
Krypto the Superdog nearly broke me. His bond with Superman is pure tenderness. There’s a quiet scene in Clark Kent’s childhood bedroom, no fight, no tension, just the two of them waking up, morning light streaming in. Krypto watches Clark stir, waiting. Patient. Loving. It reminded me of my own dog, who sits by my bed every morning, tail flicking, waiting for the day to begin. No dialogue. Just presence.
And then there’s the squirrel.
If you’ve seen it, you know what I’m talking about.
Superman saves a squirrel. And in that moment, I was all in. The cynicism cracked. My defenses lowered. I felt like a kid again.
Which brings me to another part of the film’s magic: its tone. There’s something almost vintage about it. A sincerity we’ve lost. Watching it, I felt transported to Saturday mornings in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal in hand, wrapped in a blanket, watching old cartoons. That sense of wonder, of goodness without irony, of joy without detachment. Superman dares to be earnest. And it works.
Because we need that now more than ever.
We need heroes who are complex, but not cynical. Who make mistakes, but choose decency. Who don’t have all the answers, but show up anyway. Superman, in this film, isn’t a perfect god.
He’s a man from the stars trying to be human. And yes, he says it wearing a cape, but also with tears, doubts, and a dog by his side.
In a world that rewards cruelty, monetizes division, and applauds indifference, this movie makes a radical statement: it is still good to be good. It is punk rock to care. And if that makes you uncomfortable, you’re probably on the wrong side of history.
When I left the theater, I felt lighter. Not because the world had changed, but because I had. For two hours, I realized that even amid fear and failure, we can still choose love. We can still save the squirrel.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s what we need to remember.
That no one is “illegal.” That we’re all human. That true strength isn’t flying, laser beams, or red capes. It’s getting up every morning and choosing, again, to do what’s right.
Superman may not be one of us. But in the ways that matter most, he’s all of us.
And if that makes him “too woke,” then maybe we need more of that. Maybe we need more stories that remind us that strength isn’t measured in power, but in compassion. That humanity isn’t about where you’re from, but what you choose to stand for.
As Superman says in the film:
“That’s my true strength.”
And if we’re lucky, if we try, that can be ours, too.
Eduardo Magaña 
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