James Gunn finally cements himself as Sam Raimi's heir apparent with Superman

USA Today

11-07-2025

James Gunn was born to make comic book movies. It's his cinematic calling; it's what he's meant to do.
Born on the gleeful grotesquerie of Troma and transformed from indie provocateur to empathetic protector during his days making movies in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Gunn makes comic book movies with the kind of artistic integrity, auteuristic vision and wacky mastery of genre that pioneers like Tim Burton, Sam Raimi, Ang Lee, Guillermo del Toro and yes, Zack Snyder, forged before him.
Like most all of those filmmakers, Gunn sharpened his teeth in the horror space, where directors can let their freak flags fly and learn the schematic power of grabbing those basic emotions that bind us all together. In a horror movie, you want to invoke fear. Once you learn that, you learn to find organic ways to other emotions.
Raimi in particular translated his days in the horror/comedy space into basically inventing the modern template for superhero films with his Spider-Man movies. As much as Christopher Nolan willed the dark and gritty shadows of so many unsuccessful imitators, Raimi's Spider-Man films represented the other side of the coin. You could take Nolan's path, one really only he walked with total success in all of his three outings in Gotham City, but Raimi showed the other path, one where the pages of the comic book bled on the screen.
Raimi's revolution, building on the stalled momentum from Burton's Batman films, wasn't a cheap trick. He found a way to marry a deep love of the craft, allowing the filmmaker's distinct personality to shine through without shame, with a deep love of the page. Raimi wasn't afraid that comic books could be weird, dorky, sentimental, ham-fisted, predictable. He wasn't afraid to let his unique vision, one where viewers could drop their jaws at the sight of a man in a spider costume flying through the streets of New York and hide-watch through their fingers as mechanical claws plow through unsuspecting doctors like a scene out a slasher flick.
Raimi's approach was unapologetic with his Spider-Man films. He wasn't afraid to tug at your heartstrings and send shivers up your spine, and he brought the boom with his imagination behind the camera. You knew when you sat down to watch one of Raimi's films that they were totally his. Blemishes never mattered; there was a comforting expectation that he wasn't going to conform to the sameness around him. He was going to respect the material while still respecting himself and his audience in the process. It's why his films have endured while so many other superhero movies from that era and this one have already faded into the background.
Gunn is Raimi's heir apparent, and he's dedicated himself to the game in a way that none of his peers really have. Eventually, the pioneers in the space like Raimi, Burton and Nolan moved on to other projects. Gunn has stuck to his guns with the comic book movie, which is why his oversight of DC Studios is just so gosh darn exciting. As much as you admire what Kevin Feige built at Marvel Studios, his cinematic universe has fallen asleep and fallen out of cineplex dominance through oversaturation and streamlined production.
Outside of what Ryan Coogler achieved with the Black Panther films, no filmmaker quite found themselves and their true purpose in the profession like Gunn did with the Guardians of the Galaxy films. Even back during its heyday, Marvel always ran the risk of widespread Russo-ification. Building an episodic cinematic universe was an impressive feat, but it also allowed Marvel to play into its worst impulses more and more as time went on. Gunn's Guardians gave the MCU an unexpected jolt and a new bar to clear, one made with real love and boundless mischief.
The Guardians movies kept Gunn from fully indulging his edge lord impulses established with Troma, Slither and Super. As fun as as nastier work could be, he tapped into his emotional maturity through Guardian of the Galaxy's quest for found family. The rag-tag outcasts banning together for something greater than themselves fit into Gunn's true ethos better than probably anyone expected, perfect for the comic book movie template. He didn't have to let go of his stranger darlings because the comic book movie is the natural home for them outside of straight-up horror and exploitation-friendly schlock. Like Raimi, he cracked the code his way.
His three Guardians films taught him restraint and resonance, and it's hard not to become overwhelmed with emotion watching all three. He earned his emotional payoffs with striking pop. The Suicide Squad let him give into some of his bloodier, naughtier angels with an R-rating, but his strengths remained wonderfully intact.
Gunn taking on Superman felt like a different beast entirely, particularly a Supes movie that also represented the launching point for his entire DC cinematic universe. Courting Clark Kent was an even bigger risk than Gunn taking the Guardians from relative obscurity to A-list Marvel prominence. Because he stayed true to himself, Gunn nailed it. Superman is a vibrant, heartfelt joy ride with real teeth. He found a way to highlight the character's good heart and civic duty while staying true to his kaleidoscopic wackadoodle comic energy. The Guardians and the Suicide Squad are such far-flung characters in the comic cannon; Gunn really needed to nail a household name like Superman to establish himself as Raimi's heir apparent. He's done so masterfully.
Sure, he's not perfect, but he's as close to a consistent auteur in the space as we've gotten in the last 15 years. Gunn is voicey in his writing, he's got a knack for taking unknown comic book characters and fitting them in seamlessly with all-star brand heroes and he's never, ever towing the corporate line to deny his vision. Part of the reason the comic book movie has come under so much fire from critics and even loyal audiences is because of the way those films fully embody shameless product. The superhero film is one of the easiest places to shovel mindless garbage into the auditorium for the masses to consume; studios take for granted the built-in desire for folks to see X hero fight X villain and take the cheapest, most cynical route to completion.
Through all of his comic book work, Gunn has taken enormous leaps to ensure his final products remain proudly in the family. He never phones it in, and he never runs from the material. If it needs to be corny, let's be corny and mean it. If we need to get metaphysical, let's do it with some flair. If we need to jerk this thing into hyperdrive to underscore evil or reaffirm love, then we're going to hammer down the gas while we're at it.
As easy as it is to be deeply pessimistic about the future of Marvel, Gunn's lordship over DC makes that side of the comic book fence look pretty enticing. Perhaps Marvel will figure it out and hearken back to the days of Raimi's whimsy and wonder, or even find a new Gunn who can make standalone films with irresistible practical effects and genuine humanity found in the most unexpected of places. Gunn has DC on the right path; his cinematic universe feels open and inviting, ready for even the most casual viewer to hop in and walk around.
If Gunn maintains his magic with an entire brand, perhaps the comic book movie won't remain a general eyesore on the cinematic calendar, even when he's not in the director's chair. Perhaps, like we did during the best moments of the 2000s, we can enjoy superheroes without checking our taste at the door. If Gunn is the one wearing the cape and saving the day, maybe superhero movies can always feel like real movies, too.