Why Supergirl Deserved the Superman Treatment - And Why It Didn’t Get It

When the new cinematic DC Universe officially launched its flagship hero back into the sky, the world looked up in awe. Superman was exactly what audiences and critics had been begging for over the last decade: a pitch-perfect execution of the classic superhero mythos. It deserved every single ounce of the hype it received. It was a triumph of modern blockbuster filmmaking that knew precisely what it was. But less than a year later, the skies have darkened over Metropolis.

With the release of Supergirl, we were given a cinematic achievement of a completely different calibre. It is an emotionally resonant and brutally beautiful space-western that pushes the boundaries of what a superhero film can be. Yet, the reception has been chillingly divisive. Audiences have been fiercely polarised, critics have sharpened their knives over stylistic choices, and the box office narrative has been hijacked by conversations that have very little to do with the titular character.

The glaring disparity between the universal adoration of Superman and the turbulent reception of Supergirl is not a reflection of the films' respective qualities. Rather, it is an uncomfortable reflection of the deeply ingrained misogyny that still poisons modern pop culture fandoms, and our collective refusal to let a female superhero be anything less than a smiling saint.

The Golden Boy and the Impossible Bar

To understand the tragedy of how Supergirl is being treated, we first have to look at the shadow she is flying in. Superman was a monumental success, and rightfully so. It delivered a Clark Kent who was wholesome and comforting, a film that operated on a frequency of pure optimism. When Superman saved a cat from a tree, or shielded citizens from falling debris, he did so with a boy-scout grin that assured us everything was going to be all right.

Critics deemed it a “return to the light,” praising the film for its straightforward morality. Clark Kent is allowed to be the ultimate ideal, the standard by which all other heroes are measured. But in setting that standard, the culture implicitly agreed on a very narrow definition of what a Kryptonian hero should act like.

When Supergirl hit cinemas, it was immediately graded on the Superman curve. But Kara Zor-El is not Clark Kent. Clark grew up in the sun-drenched fields of Smallville, raised by loving parents in a world that, for all its flaws, embraced him. Kara grew up on a dying chunk of Krypton, floating in the cosmic void. She is deeply traumatised and profoundly angry.

When critics approached Supergirl expecting another two hours of sunny, moral perfection, they were blindsided by a protagonist who drinks, makes reckless decisions, and operates in a murky grey area. Instead of adjusting their expectations to meet the film on its own terms, they penalised it. They called her unlikeable. They called her too aggressive. It is a familiar pattern in Hollywood: male heroes are allowed to be gritty and flawed (think of the universal praise for Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine or Robert Pattinson’s Batman), but the moment a female hero exhibits that same messiness, she is deemed out of character or problematic.

The Premiere: A Sidelined Star in Her Own Orbit

This disparity isn’t just a phenomenon that exists on internet forums; it is palpable in the real world. I know this because I was there.

I had the privilege of attending the premiere of Supergirl, and it was, quite simply, a beautiful evening. The atmosphere was electric, and having the opportunity to speak with and photograph the cast was an experience I will never forget. But even amid the celebration of this monumental female-led feature, a sour undertone permeated the blue carpet.

Milly Alcock is our Supergirl. She carries the entire emotional weight of this massive, sweeping space epic on her shoulders. Her performance captures both the alien isolation and the fierce, protective rage of Kara Zor-El with real precision. Yet the energy on the press line and among the crowds gathered outside was disproportionately directed elsewhere.

When Jason Momoa arrived, the atmosphere shifted from respectful celebration to chaotic frenzy. Yes, Momoa is a charismatic, magnetic screen presence. Yes, his highly anticipated debut as the intergalactic bounty hunter Lobo is a genuinely exciting addition to the new DC Universe. But the sheer volume of questions, the flashing cameras, and the roaring crowd made it feel like we were attending the premiere of Lobo: Featuring a Guest Appearance by Supergirl.

This was Milly’s night, her film, and her triumph. Yet the pull of a male co-star was allowed to overshadow her moment.

Marketing a Maiden by Selling a Bounty Hunter

This overshadowing wasn’t just an accident of the red carpet. It felt like a deliberate, and deeply frustrating, choice by the studio’s marketing department.

Look back at the trailers, the television spots, and the promotional posters for Supergirl, and a troubling pattern emerges. The marketing leaned heavily on Jason Momoa’s Lobo, a bizarre choice for a film that is fundamentally a female-led, sci-fi coming-of-age story about trauma and justice.

Why would a studio take a beautifully crafted film about Supergirl and market it as a buddy-cop actioner starring Momoa? The answer, unfortunately, is fear.

There is a cowardly belief in modern Hollywood that a female-led superhero film cannot survive on its own merits without a prominent male anchor to draw in the “core demographic.” We are living in an era where female-driven comic book films face an uphill battle against highly organised, bad-faith internet campaigns before a single frame of footage is even released. We have seen it happen repeatedly. The studios, hyper-aware of this toxic subset of fandom, panic. Instead of standing firmly behind their female lead, they hedge their bets.

By pushing Lobo to the forefront of the marketing campaign, the studio signalled a lack of faith in Kara’s ability to sell her own story. It sent a subliminal message to the audience: Don’t worry, this isn’t just a film about girls and feelings, Lobo is here to break things!

This does a massive disservice to Milly Alcock, and it sets false expectations for the audience. People bought tickets expecting a relentless, testosterone-fuelled Lobo film, and when they were instead presented with a lyrical, character-driven epic about two young women navigating the galaxy, they revolted.

The Right to Be Messy: Kara Zor-El’s Vengeance

If the marketing obscured the heart of the film, the critical discourse has entirely missed its soul. At its core, Supergirl is a story about the pursuit of justice in a universe that doesn’t care about fairness.

The plot follows Kara being hired by Ruthye, a young alien girl, to hunt down Krem of the Yellow Hills, the man who murdered Ruthye’s family. Along the way, Krem commits the cardinal sin of shooting Krypto the Superdog. The internet and some critics have wildly reduced the film’s plot to “John Wick in space,” mocking the idea that Supergirl would tear across the cosmos on a rampage just because someone hurt her dog.

Yes, she is doing it for the dog (and honestly, who among us wouldn’t), but to reduce the narrative to that singular incident is to ignore the horrifying reality of the villain she is hunting. Krem is not some misunderstood anti-hero or a cosmic conqueror with grand philosophical ambitions. He is, quite simply, a monster who preys on the vulnerable.

The fact that people are completely glossing over the fact that Kara is hunting down a pedophilic rapist and murderer is baffling. Krem represents the darkest, most disgusting aspects of the universe. Kara is acting as the sword for a victimised child who she refuses to let wield one herself.

This is where the film shines brightest, and where audiences seem most uncomfortable. Kara demonstrates that superheroes do not have to be pitch-perfect, sanitised paragons of virtue at every waking moment. They can be messy. They can be driven by anger. They can cross lines that the Boy Scout in Metropolis wouldn’t approach. Kara is dealing with the scum of the universe on their own turf, far from the adoring cameras of the Daily Planet. She is allowed to be flawed.

The backlash against her characterisation reveals a deep-seated double standard. We applaud male anti-heroes for doing what needs to be done, for getting their hands dirty in the name of a greater good. But when a female superhero exhibits that same ruthless pragmatism, she is labelled unhinged. Supergirl asks why a woman with god-like power must always restrain herself with a polite smile, especially when confronted with the worst evils the universe has to offer.

The Kryptonite of Modern Cinema: Fandom Misogyny

Ultimately, the divergent paths of Superman and Supergirl lead us to an uncomfortable truth about the current state of pop culture cinema. Misogyny in superhero fandoms is not a relic of the past, much as one might wish it were.

When a male-led superhero film fails, the blame is placed on the director, the script, the CGI, or the studio executives. When a female-led superhero film is even perceived to stumble, or when it dares to take a stylistic risk that alienates traditional fanboys, the blame is placed squarely on the concept of female-led films as a whole. The knives come out faster, and they cut much deeper.

Superman was allowed to be great because the world desperately wanted it to be great. Supergirl was forced to justify its own existence at every turn. It had to battle a marketing campaign that didn’t trust it, an audience that demanded it mimic a male-centric tone, and a critical establishment that refused to engage with its unique narrative framing.

The tragedy here is not that Supergirl is a bad film. The tragedy is that it is a spectacular film: one of the most visually daring, emotionally complex, and richly textured comic book adaptations of the decade. It takes a beloved character and treats her trauma seriously. It gives her a dynamic, fiercely loyal relationship with another young woman. It allows her to be imperfect, violent, compassionate, and ultimately heroic in a way that feels utterly earned.

It is heartbreaking to see a film of this magnitude, one that so perfectly balances the grit of a revenge western with the sweeping majesty of cosmic science fiction, get torn down because it didn’t fit neatly into a preconceived, masculine box.

Milly Alcock has delivered a definitive, generation-defining performance as Kara Zor-El. She has taken a character who has historically been relegated to a secondary, derivative status and forged her into a complex, standalone titan of cinema. She didn't need Jason Momoa’s Lobo to validate her film, just as Kara didn't need Clark Kent to fight her battles.

In time, the dust will settle. The bad-faith internet discourse will fade, the marketing missteps will be forgotten, and the initial wave of cynical reviews will age poorly. When audiences eventually revisit Supergirl on its own merits, they will realise what they missed in theaters.

Edited by Kayla Greer