Film Review — "Brightburn"

One of Brandon Breyer’s otherworldly talents is super speed. At the flick of a wrist, he can go from spying through your bedroom window to popping up in the middle of the woods, miles away. Brightburn, the story of his life, also has a penchant for rapidity—to its detriment. The film simply has too much to accomplish in the span of 90 minutes, and the character work suffers because of it. 

I feel like a bit of a hypocrite for saying that. On the whole, I think most movies are a smidge too long. And now I’ve got a movie that clocks in at exactly an hour and a half—the perfect length—and I’m griping about it.

But here’s why. Brightburn has a ton of beats. There’s quite some world-building involved, if you think about it. Sure, it takes place on Earth, but Brandon Breyer is not from this planet; that’s evident early when he angrily flings a lawnmower across a field. “Imagine if baby Superman had crash-landed in Kansas and became a villain instead of a hero” would make an easy pitch for this movie.

Cool concept, right? Right. Could’ve been an awesome character study. And it sort of is. The bones are there. But that’s mostly it. Bones. Dramatically speaking there’s hardly any flesh, fat, or muscle. You see, Brightburn is so preoccupied with being pithy that it barely breathes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Brian Gunn and Mark Gunn’s script was originally juicier. I also wouldn’t be surprised if producers gave the picture an aggressive shave, thinking that’s what it needed. 

But nope. We needed to be in these characters’ heads more. We needed to really feel their every decision, to understand why they were making their choices, or living in denial, or delusional. There’s a scene where Elizabeth Banks, who plays Brandon’s mother, makes it clear that her son isn’t an animal—then in the very next scene, the mother of a peer Brandon has hurt with his super strength specifically calls him an animal, and we get a reaction shot so quick it only narrowly registers. 

The pace needed to especially take its time with Brandon’s development. He’s an outcast. Tormented relentlessly at school for who he is. So it would make sense how a person with his troubles would turn to revenge and violence once he begins to harness his powers and the tables turn. It’d have been nice to see an incremental descent into evil. But, again, this movie is so go-go-go…

The evil, though, is fantastic. There’s more gore than I was expecting, which is always welcome. My favorite bit involves a disembodied jaw. Not only is the gag visually disturbing, the sound-effect is downright revolting! The part that made my partner squirm the most, however, has to do with a character who must remove a sliver of glass from her eye. And after it’s out, the camera employs a neat POV trick, which—while probably not medically accurate—is pretty fun and got a snicker out of me.

Some of the design choices are also interesting. Brandon’s DIY crimson costume, for instance, is rad as hell and perfect for villainy. It paints a vivid portrait of where he is internally and aptly illustrates his alienness. 

The designers also use visual elements to draw parallels between the past and the present. In a homevideo montage we see innocent baby Brandon in coveralls. And what’s Elizabeth Banks wearing when she’s at her peak of denial? You guessed it. Also, Elizabeth Banks has vibrant purple highlights in her hair on the night Brandon’s vessel crashes on Kansas soil. Later, in the present, the girl of Brandon’s affection (also obsession) has faint purple coloring in her hair. What connection is being made? It’s obviously up for interpretation, but I assure you that wasn’t by accident. 

That’s something else I needed this movie to explore: how Brandon’s evildoing fuels his toxicity—or would it be vice versa? Caitlyn, the classmate with purple highlights, pays Brandon a compliment after some bullies mock him, and it boosts his spirits. But then she rejects his advances. And his mental state deteriorates. So, he uses his powers to stalk, scare, and hurt Caitlyn and her family. All because the boy couldn’t handle a no—when he was never entitled to a yes anyway, mind you. Talk about toxic masculinity. 

If Brightburn had just been willing to take its time—to really explore these themes and give its characters room to breathe between beats—it could have amounted to something really great. Unfortunately it doesn’t quite live up to its awesome concept. Because who doesn’t want a magnificent Superman origin story with a horror slant?

I sure as hell know I do! I love watching social rejects—ahem, queer theme—unleash bloody vengeance upon their abusers. In movies, I mean.

Maybe there’s a (better) director’s cut out there somewhere…