Superman

I raw dogged this movie and came out more hydrated than when I walked in. Went into Superman with no snacks, no drink, not even a lukewarm sip of water. Just me and the raw power of cinema. And yet… my mouth? Never dry. My thirst? Quenched. David Corenswet? Sir, you are the liquid IV. I don’t know what’s stronger — Clark Kent’s moral compass or my desire to let him throw me into the sun and apologize afterward. He walks on screen and suddenly I’m giggling, kicking my feet, and forgetting how to breathe. This wasn’t a film. This was foreplay with a plot. James Gunn gave us a Superman who’s tender, selfless, heroic — and hot in a way that should be illegal in IMAX. The suit hugs in all the right places. The hair curl is flirting with me. And the way he looks at Lois? Girl I get it. Raw dogged the film. Got emotionally destroyed. Fell in love. Would let Superman punch me through five buildings if it meant he’d cradle my broken body and whisper, “You’re so brave.” This movie didn’t just save the DC cinematic universe— it saved me.