Brightburn (2019)

The trailer for the Disney fire-then-hire survivor James Gunn’s Brightburn conveyed more sin than his tweets from a decade ago. Brightburn‘s advertisement spoils the plot for the movie; don’t expect a big twist: you’ve been served Superman’s evil alternative universe, or Carrie if she were an angry white boy, one thousand times stronger. When Elizabeth Banks and David Denman find an alien baby, they never expect years later they’ll be screaming through an ultraviolet, megalomaniac explosion in his preteens. The film’s predictability outweighs even the show-me-everything from the trailer—Couldn’t we have a brutal death scene not spoiled for us?—where each note of the parent’s journey of “oh not my boy” to “oh no, my boy!” has already been done from The Omen to The Omen remake. Gore and superhero fans may be delighted, but it just made me look away from shattered jaws, dismembered bodies, and impaled eyes. I can’t believe this is already the fifth superhero movie this year; please let Spider-Man be better.


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