What would happen if the child sent to save us all decided, instead, to kill us all? That's what Brightburn proposes, presenting us with a balls-out assault on the flood of superhero movies in the last decade. It just doesn't deliver on its promises, which makes it burn out quickly, less bright than slight.
Little more than a demented twist of the Superman origin story, Brightburn begins with Tori and Kyle Breyer working on having a child before a spacecraft carrying one crashes onto their farm. They adopt little Brandon and hide the ship that brought him. He seems a normal child until he approaches puberty, and he exhibits superhuman strength among other unusual behaviors. We're never quite sure if his downward spiral toward violence is innate or learned, if it's a product of his alien genes or the trials of becoming a young man. But we also don't really care.
The film doesn't invite us to care about Brandon much at all. From the ominously glowing red and black spaceship to the way Brandon creepily appears and vanishes, the film drips with tongue-in-cheek dark humor. It's by not meant to be surprising; it's meant to be a pleasantly icky walk down a "what if" scenario for folks getting tired of the superhero shtick. And as a concept, it's brilliant. I especially found its bleak ending enjoyable, along with the mid-credits scene that slyly suggests a minor franchise in the works, turning several other heroes into villains (including, I suspect, Aquaman and Wonder Woman knockoffs).
Alas that what sounds brilliant can so easily fall short of itself in execution. For me, the trouble is that the film often feels more like an Omen re-imagining than a Man of Steel ripoff. Brandon hears alien whispers in his head -- are they controlling him, seducing him, annoying him? Who knows? -- and seems to struggle initially with the revelation of his powers. As he begins to do bad things, he appears conflicted, and severe close-ups on his face indicate mortal internal warfare. But then, almost instantly, he starts to enjoy being wicked. With this comes a flair for the dramatic, most clearly indicated by his grotesque mask and cape, especially when in this regalia he floats outside a window or door waiting to pounce.
The horror is mostly effective and surprisingly gruesome. In fact, other than Elizabeth Banks's performance, it's only worth watching for a couple of the "action" scenes. My favorite (or, I don't know, anti-favorite?) scene takes place in a diner, when Brandon takes revenge on his wannabe girlfriend's mother. Stalking her and terrorizing her, he suddenly causes a light fixture to bust over her head; a shard of glass embeds itself deep into her eyeball. We see it in extreme close-up, and continue to watch as she pulls it out. It's an ungodly moment that had me squirming and sweating, and I still shudder to remember it.
There's not a moment when you don't know Brandon is evil, and though the heart of the film lies in his mother's efforts to change him or love him regardless, his purely devilish characterization turns her not into a saint but a martyr. The climax of the film consists of Brandon killing his family, ending with his mother; in his rage, he flies through the house, shattering it and terrorizing his mother as she attempts to find a way to stop him. It's mostly all shock-value thrills, which is fine until it begins to feel like a postmodern haunted house with a wrecking ball smashing its way through everything (actually, that would be awesome in real life, a sort of meta-attraction in which the haunted house is destroyed around you).
But when a pubescent Superman is your villain, surely jump scares and body horror aren't the only tactics you can use to make your audience scream.
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