I’ve been rewatching Man of Steel and Superman (2025) back to back, interspersed with re-readings of JMS’ Superman: Earth One. Following on those stories’ heels, I’ve been kind of wondering how I’d write an Ultimate Marvel-style Superman. The juxtaposition of a bright, hopeful guy-who-wants-to-do-good versus a fundamentally cynical setting just tickles my brain in the right way.
In light of that, the Superman I picture in my head wears a Reeve-esque outfit (red trunks and all), projecting an outwardly zen and comforting persona akin to Corenswet. But inwardly and in his most private moments, he’s brooding and melancholic in a way reminiscent of Cavill’s take. The outward persona is a deliberately constructed mask on the latter’s part, incapable of psychologically passing himself off as a human in the mirror. There is an undercurrent of anxiety in him— a desire to do good not just for the sake of it, but also to prove how well he’s assimilated, at how he’s not a threat and should be accepted. The Superman persona wears trunks on his outfit and doesn’t swear as a deliberate way to look and appear non-intimidating, to call to mind both circus strongmen and aid workers. And akin to Gene Luen Yang’s version in Superman Smashes the Klan, this anxiety cuts into his powers, restraining him from using them to their fullest potential. He can’t fly yet, only capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, out of a subconscious desire to be less terrifying to humanity. In terms of power level, at the start this Superman’s basically Golden Age Superman, but only somewhat more durable.
To extrapolate from the Day of the Dead scene in BvS: I imagine Superman smiling as he carries a child safely from a burning building. As he lands, the eager mob crowd around him, trying to touch him to see if he’s real, to get his attention, to be part of the miracle. In the limbo of his super-speed, Superman’s face contorts through a series of rage, denial, fear, and reluctant acceptance. But the cameras and the mob never catch it. All they see is a smiling Superman, who raises his hands reassuringly and says that he’s nothing special— that anyone with his powers would do the same thing he did. It’s all obviously rehearsed and they don’t really believe him, but the crowd humors his optimism. He leans down and pats the child’s head, making sure they’re alright yet again. Then, before anyone can respond, he leaps away into the night.
In the dark of his apartment, Clark Kent opens the window and flops onto the sofa, screaming into a pillow and passing out. When he wakes up, he turns on his laptop and immediately begins writing a critique of Superman’s latest proposal to ship grain to Qurac and Pokolistan. His superhero-critical articles have earned him no friends at the Daily Planet outside of Jimmy, and he can’t go a day without arguing with Lois if Superman’s been a net good for the world or not. He sighs, and puts on his glasses and suit, making plans to interview the Quraci immigrant population in Metropolis, gauging their thoughts on the hero’s latest intervention. As he leaves his apartment, his super-hearing picks up the broadcasts on his neighbors’ televisions, the endless debates of countless politicians, talk show hosts, scientists, and philosophers. Something churns within his gut. He needs to know— does the world really need Superman?
