Directed by: Craig Gillespie
Written by: Ana Nogueira
James Gunn’s new DC Universe continues with Supergirl, inspired by the acclaimed Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow storyline. While Superman successfully established the heart and optimism of this new universe, Supergirl takes a darker, more personal approach by pairing Kara Zor-El with Ruthye Marye Knoll, a young girl consumed by revenge after witnessing Krem brutally murder her family. Milly Alcock delivers an outstanding performance as Kara, and visually, the film captures much of the cosmic-western aesthetic that made Tom King’s source material so memorable. Unfortunately, once again, DC overlooks one of the most important ingredients of great storytelling—fully developing the supporting characters whose emotional journeys are meant to carry the audience along with the hero. Ruthye’s story should have been every bit as compelling and emotionally satisfying as Kara’s. Instead, she’s too often reduced to someone waiting to be rescued rather than someone actively shaping her own destiny.
Here come the spoilers…
Ruthye’s motivation is established immediately and couldn’t be clearer. She watches her family murdered by Krem, takes possession of her family’s sword, and dedicates herself to hunting him across the galaxy. It’s a classic revenge story that instantly earns the audience’s sympathy. On paper, she has all the ingredients of an unforgettable supporting character—a tragic backstory, a deeply personal mission, and a constant internal struggle between justice and vengeance. Yet despite spending nearly the entire film beside Supergirl, she rarely evolves beyond being the character who needs saving. The audience is constantly reminded of what she has lost, but almost never shown what she is capable of becoming.
What makes this particularly frustrating is that the screenplay already contains everything necessary to give Ruthye one of the film’s most satisfying character arcs. Her father wasn’t simply a victim—he was a master sword maker, and the family sword becomes one of the story’s most important symbols. Naturally, audiences begin to assume that a craftsman whose livelihood revolved around forging blades would also have taught his daughter how to wield one. It feels like setup for a payoff that never comes. Instead, the sword becomes more of a keepsake than an extension of the family legacy it represents.
Imagine the climactic battle playing out just a little differently.
The Brigands surround Ruthye as the wind begins swirling dust around the battlefield. Krem watches confidently, believing the frightened young girl has finally run out of options. Slowly, Ruthye reaches for her father’s sword. For just a moment, everything goes quiet.
Then she attacks.
Not as some invincible warrior capable of defeating an entire army, but as someone whose parents prepared her for the day they hoped would never come. As she fights, the film intercuts brief flashbacks of her childhood—her father teaching her balance, her mother correcting her stance, family moments that suddenly take on heartbreaking significance. Every strike becomes another memory. Every defensive move becomes another lesson her parents left behind. She isn’t simply fighting for revenge anymore; she’s fighting with everything her family gave her before they were taken away.
Meanwhile, Supergirl races toward the battlefield after freeing the imprisoned children, convinced she’s arriving too late to save Ruthye once again. As Kara lands, the dust slowly settles. Instead of finding Ruthye helplessly waiting for rescue, she discovers several Brigands already lying defeated around her. Krem, equally stunned, realizes he completely underestimated the girl whose family he destroyed. For the first time in the film, Ruthye becomes the hero of her own story rather than merely supporting someone else’s.
Only then does a second wave of Brigands charge into the fight.
Now Supergirl gets the massive action sequence audiences came to see. Kara still has her triumphant superhero moment and still saves the day against overwhelming numbers and impossible odds. But Ruthye has already earned her moment first. Both characters receive meaningful victories, each reinforcing the other’s journey rather than competing for the spotlight. Instead, the film skips the most important step in Ruthye’s evolution. Her revenge story never truly belongs to her, and by the time the credits roll, she’s changed surprisingly little despite everything she’s endured.
Ironically, the screenplay already understands that revenge alone cannot heal loss. The ending asks whether vengeance actually brings peace or simply extends the cycle of pain, and that’s an interesting theme. But for that message to land with its full emotional weight, Ruthye first needed the opportunity to prove herself. She needed to stand on her own, to honor her parents through action instead of grief, and to demonstrate that they left her with more than sorrow—they left her with courage, discipline, and strength. Without that payoff, the emotional lesson feels incomplete because the audience never sees the person Ruthye was capable of becoming.
This has become one of DC’s recurring storytelling shortcomings. Time after time, films introduce supporting characters with extraordinary emotional potential, only to leave them underdeveloped while larger action sequences take priority. Great action doesn’t elevate weak characters; great characters elevate action. When audiences genuinely care about the people involved, every punch lands harder, every sacrifice means more, and every victory becomes unforgettable. Character development isn’t what happens between action scenes—it is the action when it’s written well.
Supergirl remains an ‘okay’ film. Milly Alcock proves she is more than capable of carrying this franchise forward; the visuals are spectacular, and the world-building continues James Gunn’s promising vision for the new DC Universe. But with one carefully crafted sequence giving Ruthye the character arc she deserved, this film could have been something truly, truly special. Sometimes the difference between an okay movie and a great one isn’t another visual effect or another fight scene, it’s giving every important character the opportunity to become the hero of their own story.
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