DC Studios/Warner Bros.
Supergirl has just been released. But you’ve already seen it. Not “it” in terms of the 1984 film of the same name, or an early screening of the latest effort from James Gunn’s DCU — but in terms of *this type of movie*.
We get it, already — a down-and-out super-powered being with a heart of gold but a life of insecurity about their place in the universe, loneliness from the inability to relate with anyone, and general disinterest if not outright contempt toward being a hero suffers one personal tragedy too many finds it within themself to be the sort of person that are worth the powers they possess.
And that’s not even me describing Supergirl. That’s Spider-Man. The Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy. Thor. Captain America — except in his case, and what made him such a reliable cinematic anchor, is that his heroism *was* his superpower. Getting all ripped and handsome from a super soldier serum was just the tool he needed in order to fill the shoes of his potential for good.
Supergirl didn’t fail because it’s bad — it failed because it’s familiar
When audiences are familiar with a formula the purest trick that cinema can pull, surprise, becomes dulled. Have you ever walked into a Marvel movie worried your favorite hero was going to ultimately lose, whether it be the battle of their emotional arc or their literal life? Why would you — you’ve been programmed to expect the opposite and are constantly provided with reassurance of that truth.
And when they do deviate from that norm, like they did with Avengers: Infinity War, it elevates beyond its genre and becomes a pop cultural touchstone: memes proliferated, reports feature on morning talk shows, quotes are added to the lexicon — “Perfectly balanced, as all things should be…”, “The hardest choices require the strongest wills,” and so on.
That leaves the studio with only two routes toward maintaining immovable status within the culture it achieved, let alone a continued upward trajectory: improve on the margins or create something new entirely.
The issue the art form faces, though is that its overlords are in direct opposition to reinvention. Reinvention invites risks, and risks don’t belong on spreadsheets. And that leaves improve on the margins as the only way forward.
Occasionally, they do. The Batman is one of the best and creatively rich blockbusters of the century. But that’s Batman, and even he couldn’t crack a billion dollars on his latest go. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 improved on its predecessor. But it certainly didn’t innovate. Thunderbolts was well-regarded but wound up being one of the MCU’s lowest grossing films of all time. Last year’s Superman succeeded on being competent, thematically pleasant and being the first true solo film starring the character since 2013, and the first not-self serious iteration of the Man of Steel arguably since Christopher Reeve’s portrayal. The rot has even spread to the Star Wars franchise, with The Mandalorian & Grogu face-planting amid accusations of merely being a retrofitted mish-mash of the TV series.
The problem isn’t necessarily that Supergirl is bad — though by most accounts, it is, and would be faring far better if its word-of-mouth was strong. The problem is that even if it were good, it wouldn’t be anything new. The genre’s consistent failure to surprise, challenge, or genuinely risk anything has conditioned viewers to show up out of obligation rather than excitement. And obligation is a terrible foundation for a $170 million investment.
What made the original wave of Marvel films work wasn’t the formula — it was the novelty of the formula. Iron Man didn’t feel like a superhero movie because audiences hadn’t seen that version of one yet. The first Avengers was a genuine cultural event because nothing like it had ever been assembled before. Infinity War and Endgame were a culmination of that phenomenon. That novelty is gone, and no amount of tinkering on the margins recapture that magic.
The studios know this. The audience knows this. The critics know this. And yet the machine keeps moving because stopping it is more expensive than continuing it. The gap between what these films cost to make and market and what they actually earn has been quietly narrowing for years, and Supergirl‘s $38 million opening weekend — against a $170 million budget, before marketing — is the loudest alarm bell yet.
At some point the spreadsheet stops being a shield and starts being an indictment. Comic book movies had a run that no genre in Hollywood history has matched. The question now isn’t whether that run is over — it’s whether anyone with the power to do something about it is willing to admit it.