Kara Zor’El joins forces with an unlikely companion on an interstellar journey of vengeance in Craig Gillespie’s Supergirl.

Superman is a fixed point: virtuous, hopeful, and unwaveringly heroic. Creators can shade those qualities, but the core never changes. Supergirl has been reinvented so often that she is far more flexible, a character whose identity shifts depending on the story being told. Her name and costume guarantee constant comparison to her cousin, which means she is often defined by how she complements or contradicts him. That can still be fertile ground, a woman living in the shadow of a more famous relative who is trying to carve out a purpose that belongs to her alone.

The film leans into this idea, although not always with a clear sense of what it wants to say. Kara Zor’El (Milly Alcock) is introduced as someone who resists purpose. She spends her time travelling to planets under a red sun so that her yellow sun powers don’t apply, allowing her to drink and actually feel the alcohol. It’s immediately clear that she is avoiding something painful, staying in motion and drinking heavily to keep her emotions at a distance. She travels with her ship and her loyal superdog Krypto and has convinced herself that she needs nothing else. Her routine collapses when Krypto is poisoned, which sends her on a revenge mission to find an antidote and punish the one responsible. She’s joined by Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a young girl who is pursuing her own form of justice.

Supergirl is straightforward in narrative terms. It follows a revenge quest that sends Kara across different planets in pursuit of the villainous Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts). The broad motivation invites comparison to John Wick, since both stories hinge on a personal loss that drives the protagonist forward.

The film structures itself around each new planet, introduced with on-screen text that identifies the colour of the sun so the viewer knows whether Kara will have her powers. It’s an efficient device that avoids repeated exposition. The film establishes early that she is powerless under a red sun and fully capable under a yellow one. A late introduction of a green sun complicates that clarity, but for most of the runtime the rules are easy to follow.

As for the planets, they aren’t especially distinctive. Most locations amount to variations on dimly lit bars and isolated outposts that look similar from world to world. The environments have a convincing lived in texture, full of clutter, rust and the marks of countless spilled drinks, but the limited variety leaves the film visually bland.

The costume and makeup work is a clear strength. The alien designs are imaginative and detailed, with outfits that match the film’s rough, lived in aesthetic. The attention to how each species looks and moves helps the worlds feel inhabited, and it makes sense that Kara and Ruthye would stand out because they don’t fit the visual language of the places they visit. The ships and vehicles show the same level of care. There is real variety in the designs, and everything looks functional and well used.

A straightforward narrative puts the focus on character, and Supergirl is strongest when it explores its two leads. Milly Alcock gives a compelling performance as Kara, showing real range as the character moves from guarded and detached to driven by revenge and eventually more open. Early in the film it’s clear that she carries a great deal she refuses to acknowledge, and her gradual shift toward vulnerability feels earned even if the script doesn’t always give her the support it should. A constant edge remains in her performance, even when she wears the red and blue, and it suggests that Alcock’s version of the character will stay more volatile than her more measured cousin.

Defining Kara in relation to Clark is limiting, yet the film makes that comparison part of her arc. Superman (David Corenswet) appears in video calls and in an extended flashback that underlines how different they are, and a conversation about their Earth names makes the contrast even clearer. He’s known as Superman and she’s known as Supergirl, and the film openly questions and mocks the imbalance in those labels. Kara wants distance from the title because she doesn’t want to be defined by it. She insists that she doesn’t care what others think, but her aloofness works as a defence that hides her frustration at living in someone else’s shadow.

A key exchange captures the difference between them. Clark sees the good in people, while Kara sees the truth. The film avoids framing this as naivety on his part and instead presents it as the result of different life experience. Kara has endured far more tragedy, so her view of the universe is naturally more cynical. The criminals and killers she encounters reinforce that perspective. Flashbacks to her escape from her dying world give her cynicism weight, grounding it in the trauma of being torn from her people to survive alone.

The film aims to define Kara on her own terms, but it never fully succeeds. She appears to reject the costume her cousin gives her because she doesn’t see how it relates to her, and the story seems to be setting up a moment where she chooses the symbol for her own reasons. That moment never arrives. She simply goes from not wearing the costume to wearing it proudly, with no beat that explains the change. The film gestures toward a justification through her mother’s advice about the importance of being good, and that being good doesn’t mean being nice, and through a brief comment from Superman about the colourful costume helping her show that goodness, but the choice never feels like it belongs to Kara.

Where the film is more successful is in showing how much she cares about Krypto. Her desire to save him is entirely justified, and it becomes the emotional core of the story. She says that anywhere with Krypto is home, and the film makes it clear that he represents the last piece of her past. Losing him would mean losing the final connection to where she came from.

The handling of Ruthye is strong. Eve Ridley holds her own opposite Milly Alcock, and her motivation is clear from the outset. The film hints at a richer idea, the notion that she reminds Kara of who she was before the universe hardened her, and this idea fuels a key moment near the end. It is present, but not developed strongly enough for the evolution of their partnership to feel entirely earned.

What makes Ruthye compelling is the balance between innocence and a faint edge. She moves through harsh environments without being broken by them, yet there is a sense that the universe could shape her in the same way it shaped Kara if she is pushed far enough. She still believes that justice is possible, even if the justice she seeks is narrow and personal.

Lobo appears throughout the film as if he is meant to be a major presence, but he contributes very little. His scenes are built around snark, swagger and a loose moral code that he follows when it suits him. It’s clear that the film is positioning him for future appearances, yet his role here could be removed with almost no impact on the story. Several moments suggest that he might become an active ally to either Kara or Ruthye, but none of these hints lead anywhere.

Jason Momoa clearly enjoys playing the character, and his enthusiasm is obvious, but the performance doesn’t add much beyond that energy. He occupies screen time that could have been used to deepen the characters who actually drive the narrative.

The film falters when it comes to its villain. Krem has no real personality beyond cruelty, defined by harming animals and abducting women for breeding. As a target for Kara and Ruthye to pursue he functions well enough, but there is nothing memorable about him, so his downfall carries no weight or catharsis. He is simply an obstacle rather than a character.

There was room for something more meaningful. Kara could have found a sense of purpose in freeing the captured women, which would have suited her arc even if it risked feeling familiar. Instead, their rescue is an incidental by-product of her revenge rather than a moment of clarity or growth.

One of the film’s biggest problems is its struggle to establish a distinct identity within a crowded genre. Everything it attempts has been done more effectively elsewhere. The climax is a CGI heavy brawl that leaves little impression and is weakened by Kara’s invincibility. Earlier scenes show how inventive the action can be when she’s depowered, with dynamic direction and clever choreography, but nothing in the final act challenges her in a meaningful way. A hero can be tested without having their life endangered, yet the film never finds an alternative form of conflict.

The result is a finale that is competent and makes full use of Kara’s abilities, especially when she stops holding back, but it still fails to stand out. It becomes a clear example of a film that spends so much time trying to define what it isn’t that it never fully defines what it is.

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Verdict

A scattered film that thrives on its central performances and lived‑in design even as the wider story never quite comes together.

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