Supergirl (2026) Review!!

Synopsis – Kara Zor-El, aka Supergirl, joins forces with an unlikely companion on an interstellar journey of vengeance and justice when an unexpected adversary strikes too close to home.

My Take – After last year’s Superman reboot soared with optimism and spectacle, blending classic heroism with fresh emotional depth, James Gunn and Peter Safran’s DCU veers into stranger, grittier cosmic territory, with the spotlight shifting to the new Man of Steel’s cousin, Kara Zor-El. Introduced briefly in the 2025 film and now played by 26‑year‑old Australian actor Milly Alcock (House of the Dragon, Sirens), taking over reigns from Sasha Calle, Melissa Benoist, Laura Vandervoort and Helen Slater.

Directed by Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya, Cruella) and written by Ana Nogueira (The Michael J. Fox Show, The Vampire Diaries), the film adapts Tom King’s acclaimed 2021–2022 graphic novel Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, the film aims to be a sprightlier, sparkier mix of revenge western, space odyssey, and coming‑of‑age fable—an attempt to carve out an identity for Superman’s cousin beyond inherited mythology. Yet for all its ambition, the resulting film is uneven.

Sure, it’s a refreshing break from formula, closer in spirit to Guardians of the Galaxy than traditional DC fare, but the character work feels sketchy, the themes blur together, and murky visuals obscure otherwise impressive creature effects. The script falters most in trimming the source material’s emotional weight.

Its softened treatment of vengeance, survival, and moral clarity leaves the 108‑minute runtime feeling rushed and undernourished. Still, Alcock’s committed performance and the bold premise earn Kara Zor‑El’s journey a mild recommendation for comic book fans. It’s a film that dares to tell a different kind of superhero story, though for a tale about a young hero stepping into the light, it’s oddly reluctant to let us truly see her.

The story follows Kara Zor‑El (Milly Alcock), the jaded Kryptonian cousin of Kal‑El / Clark Kent / Superman (David Corenswet). Scarred by a youth spent on a dying world where her parents perished in a radiation leak, Kara was sent to Earth with her loyal pup, Krypto. Since then, she has struggled to belong, numbing herself with reckless benders on red‑sun planets that strip away her powers, plunging her into a cycle of bottles, bars, and chaos.

Far across the cosmos, Ruthye Marye Knoll (Eve Ridley) mourns the slaughter of her family at the hands of Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts), ruthless leader of the Brigands. In her quest for vengeance, Ruthye crosses paths with Kara on her 23rd birthday. Despite Kara’s instability, she proves the most capable ally against Ruthye’s enemies. But their alliance comes at a cost.

A clash with Krem leaves Kara shipless and Krypto poisoned, with only three moon rises to secure the antidote dangling from Krem’s neck. Together, Kara and Ruthye embark on a desperate hunt across the stars, facing not only Krem’s sadistic crew but also the Brigands’ vile trade in human trafficking. For Kara, the mission becomes both a fight to save her companion and a reckoning with the darkness she has carried for far too long.

Once Kara and Ruthye set out on their search, the film revels in its menagerie of creatures and worlds. You can feel the comic’s imprint in the wandering planets, the alien‑underworld energy, and the sense that every stop carries emotional residue.

Director Gillespie, working from Nogueira’s screenplay, leans into a bruised cosmic‑western register, and the decision to adapt a recent prestige miniseries rather than the broader DC mythos gives the film a focused, idiosyncratic shape rare in superhero cinema. The standout sequence unfolds in a tavern that nods to the Star Wars cantina, where Jason Momoa makes his first appearance as Lobo.

Yet it’s also emblematic of the film’s weaknesses. Beneath the surface of female‑focused slave trade themes and Kara’s coming‑of‑age arc, the story remains shallow—a romp hemmed in by DC’s mythology. Kara begins emotionally jaded and ends only slightly less so, her growth muted. The screenplay never digs deep enough.

What gives the film its strongest shape is its refusal to treat heroism as a polished inheritance. Instead, it embraces grief, displacement, and the awkward process of becoming oneself in the shadow of a larger legend. The bond between Kara and Ruthye provides the emotional spine, and when the film slows down to let that relationship breathe, it hints at something richer than the usual comic‑book machinery.

But too often the script reaches for more worlds, more creatures, more skirmishes—as if scale alone could replace depth. The result is lively but uneven, with emotion arriving just after the moment that needed it most.

The visual design conjures a galaxy of strange worlds, eccentric outlaws, and weathered spacecraft. The scale is undeniably impressive, yet much of the imagery feels functional rather than indelible. Action sequences are staged with competence, but few linger in memory once they’ve passed. Claudia Sarne’s electronic score does the most to sustain momentum, injecting urgency into stretches that might otherwise drift, and giving the film a pulse even when its visuals fall short of wonder.

The narrative stays engaging largely thanks to Milly Alcock’s charismatic turn. She gives Kara a pleasingly unruly edge—balancing sarcasm, hurt, and impatience without sanding her down into generic nobility. Alcock makes the heroine feel young, defensive, and still in the process of becoming. Her preparation shows: she learned five comic‑book languages and trained daily, and that commitment reads on screen. Rising British newcomer Eve Ridley is equally compelling as Ruthye, grounding the role with conviction and plainspoken force rather than letting it slip into mere plot device.

Matthias Schoenaerts brings a quiet, brutal certainty to Krem, though his menace occasionally tips into one‑note territory. Still, he holds the screen. In smaller roles, David Krumholtz and Emily Beecham leave a decent impression, while David Corenswet makes the most of limited screen time, as likable as ever.

Jason Momoa injects manic, Beetlejuice‑like energy into his brief scenes as Lobo. Outfitted with makeup and small fangs, he channels the sarcasm and intensity of the comics with gusto. Yet his presence feels interchangeable—swap him for any DC antihero, and the story would remain largely unchanged. On the whole, ‘Supergirl‘ is a lively but uneven cosmic detour anchored by Milly Alcock’s committed performance and flashes of emotional resonance.