Category: 2025

Superman

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Light Restored: David Corenswet’s Superman Shines

I went to the first-night late showing of Superman with zero expectations—especially not expecting anything from star David Corenswet. But from the very opening, the film radiates light in a way Henry Cavill’s brooding take simply never did. Cavill’s Superman was relentless, vicious, bleak—more dark Batman than hopeful beacon. Corenswet, on the other hand, embodies everything good Superman should be: optimism, warmth, light.

From the start, the film introduces Superman at his most vulnerable—hurt, uncertain—and brings in Krypto, his loyal super‑dog, at just the right moment. Krypto’s entrance is delightful: “the canine sidekick steals the show, and his goofy interactions with Superman will resonate with anyone who loves dogs”. It was a moment that brought me—and, I suspect, dog lovers everywhere—to tears of joy.

Corenswet as Clark Kent / Superman reminds us of a young Christopher Reeve: dimpled, earnest, charming. He truly “soars as the Man of Steel”  , balancing vulnerability with heroism, sunlit goodness with real human emotion. As one review put it: “David Corenswet is just right for the dual role”.

Nicholas Hoult as Lex Luthor brings a modern tech‑tycoon je ne sais quoi—smart, menacing, magnetic. Many critics praised his turn, though some felt his performance didn’t match Gene Hackman’s classic menace.

The supporting cast includes: Rachel Brosnahan as Lois Lane: vibrant, sharp, independent. Critics say their chemistry is one of the best since Margot Kidder. Jimmy Olsen – Skyler Gisondo. Guy Gardner / Green Lantern – Nathan Fillion – is always a pleasure to watch. I couldn’t help remember him in Firefly. He’s back to his forté. Hawkgirl – Isabela Merced – brought in that element of darkness whereas Mister Terrific – Edi Gathegi – was indeed terrific. I liked the inclusion of Metamorpho (substance-shifter) – Anthony Carrigan – it brought in someone we hadn’t seen in the DC verse so far. These characters, dubbed the “Justice Gang” in a nod to the Justice League, provide depth and interactivity— and though some critics found the ensemble slightly overloaded – for me, it was just right. 

Director James Gunn steers Superman away from darkness. Thankfully! The film bursts with colour, lightheartedness, and earnest hope—exactly what the genre needed, described as a “colourful, breezy reinvention”. One critic noted the tone rejects “grim and gritty” in favour of “empathy… a radical tenderness over traditional machismo”.

The story skips a long origin arc and jumps into Clark’s life as a reporter and a hero. The film is tight, fast-paced, and brings back the classic John Williams–inspired trumpet theme—rejuvenating that sense of nostalgia I felt as a child growing up with Reeve.

Yes, there are a few hiccups: Some plot lines feel overcrowded—global politics, misinformation, and pocket-dimension mayhem. And let’s not forget the white man protecting the brown population from imperialists is an age old-trope that doesn’t sit well with me but even the CGI quality varies, especially in later action scenes.

Despite the missteps, Superman is an earnest, uplifting ride. It’s a heartfelt tribute to the Christopher Reeve era—sunlit, moral, full of hope. As one critic said: “I went into ‘Superman’ with low expectations… this reboot… is infused with heart, humour and a fresh optimism that the franchise desperately needed”.

So, if you’re longing for the Superman of light and goodness—not darkness and cynicism—this Superman is your film. It wants us to believe again—and it succeeds. This Superman is light reborn: hopeful, sincere, and undeniably fun. If you’re tired of the brooding, Nolan‑style heroes, let Corenswet’s Superman carry you back into the sun.

Another Life Lost

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Earlier this week in Mumbai, Raj, a 32-year-old chartered accountant, died by suicide after enduring eighteen months of harassment and blackmail over a private video. The police confirmed that two individuals extorted over ₹3 crore from him by threatening to circulate this video. He was made to steal from his company and deplete his personal savings. His sister later revealed that the blackmailers humiliated him repeatedly, questioned his sexuality, and used threats to break him down emotionally. They even forced him to bear the burden of an SUV registered in his name, demanding EMI payments. The mental torture pushed him to a point where he could no longer carry on.

What the news report fails to mention — and what is so often left unsaid — is that the “private video” was of homosexual sex. Raj was not just blackmailed. He was targeted for his sexuality. He wasn’t just defrauded financially. He was hunted emotionally. And despite having made three complaints, the police failed to act.

This is not a new story. It’s an old one, a painful one, and an increasingly familiar one. I have heard it too many times in too many ways. Gay men being blackmailed for being in the closet. For wanting intimacy. For trusting someone. Sometimes it’s the hookup itself. Sometimes it’s someone pretending to be an ally. Sometimes it’s a calculated setup involving the local authorities, with “sting” operations meant to trap and extort. Always it ends in shame, silence, or something worse.

Before Section 377 was read down in 2018, the law was a weapon used to blackmail closeted queer people. After 2018, society simply adapted its weapons. The fear remains. The shame remains. The vulnerability remains. The closet has become a trap — not a refuge. You go into it to feel safe, and someone finds a way to reach in and destroy your life.

Our society demands silence from gay people. Families force their sons into marriages to preserve reputation and lineage. Parents say, “Have a child, and everything will be fine.” They don’t care that someone else — often a woman — is being lied to. They don’t care about the happiness of their own child either, as long as he conforms. The pressure is relentless. And so people remain in the closet. And those in the closet become easy prey.

I have seen my friends suffer. Some have been assaulted. Some emotionally manipulated by men who disappeared after sex, leaving behind guilt and self-hatred. Some took their lives. Loneliness is the most silent killer in the queer community. As we grow older, it intensifies. And when loneliness meets blackmail and social shame, it often ends in tragedy.

I was brave enough — if one can call it that — to have come out at sixteen, with some family support. Not everyone gets that chance. Not everyone is believed. Not everyone is safe.

We keep asking: why do we need Pride marches? This is why. We need Pride because Raj is no longer alive. We need Pride because someone, somewhere, is being threatened tonight for just being who they are. We need Pride because even today, seven years after Section 377 was scrapped, queer people are still being criminalised — not by the law, but by society.

We need authorities to stop being complicit through inaction. We need them to do their job. If a person files three complaints and nothing is done, who is responsible for the outcome?

This has to end. I wish — deeply wish — that every queer person finds the strength to be proud, to live truthfully. But I also understand the fear. The shame isn’t theirs — it belongs to a society that hasn’t learnt how to love its own children for who and what they are.

Until that day comes, we must keep fighting. For visibility. For justice. For those who didn’t survive. For those still too scared to speak. For Raj.

Inheritance

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I grew up with addiction. My father was an alcoholic—brilliant, complex, deeply flawed. He didn’t just drink; he unravelled. And in the process, he unravelled others. My mother. His siblings. His children. But mostly, himself. He was an intelligent man who became something of a cautionary tale: how talent can wither under the weight of addiction.

My family feared I would follow in his footsteps. That the bottle would become my comfort too. But I stayed away. I didn’t touch alcohol until my late thirties, and even then, only socially, at a club or an occasion. I don’t like the taste. I don’t like the heaviness in my head. I don’t like the feeling of losing control. I found other things that gave me a high—music, dance, art, movement, silence. I didn’t need a drink. Or so I thought.

But lately, I’ve been asking myself: does addiction have to look like a bottle?

I’ve spent hours on my PS5. Not minutes. Hours. I get neck pain, shoulder aches, stiff fingers. But I can’t stop. Not when I’m in it. It calms my anxiety. It silences the noise in my head. I disappear into it. Just like I used to disappear into drawing. Or writing. Or love. Intense, obsessive, all-consuming love. I don’t do things lightly. I either devour or avoid.

It makes me wonder—does addiction always have to be substance-based? Or can it be a pattern of seeking refuge? A hunger to escape, to feel something more—or feel nothing at all?

Science says that addiction is not just about substances—it’s also about behaviour. Gambling, gaming, sex, even food and love can activate the same reward circuits in the brain that alcohol or narcotics do. The dopamine hits, the compulsion, the repetition—it’s all there. Genetics play a part, yes, but so does trauma. And childhood trauma, especially in cases of parental addiction or abuse, is strongly linked to addictive tendencies later in life. Not always the same addiction. But the same ache.

Being a Gemini, I do move on. These phases pass. But when I’m in them, they feel endless. I get completely immersed, and sometimes that immersion costs me—relationships, sleep, health, time. It’s hard to tell where passion ends and compulsion begins.

I don’t know if I inherited addiction. But I know I inherited pain. I know I carry anxiety that feels older than me. And maybe this need to run, to dive headfirst into something, anything, is part of it.

When I find myself vanishing into something, I’ve started asking: Is this a passion? Or a hiding place?

Not everything that feels good is good for me. And not everything I inherited has to be my fate.

I can break patterns. I can stay conscious. I can love without losing myself.

Because healing, too, can be obsessive. And maybe that’s the one addiction I’ll allow.