James Gunn’s Superman is so much better than it needs to be. The film navigates a rumbling war in a fictional conflict zone, walks the tightrope of being pro-America without dipping into hegemony, and teases a surprisingly transparent relationship between Superman and his love Lois Lane. The film flirts with sexual tension, brushes up against military politics, and touches on racial tensions. But what sets this Superman apart is that this Man of Steel has a kink — and it’s edging.

The sense of restraint pulses through nearly every scene: steady buildups, will-they-won’t-they energy, and battles that push Superman nearly to the brink of death before pulling him back to life just in time for another round.

From its very first moments, Superman plays with anticipation: a world-building history spooled out in factors of three, followed by scenes that tease consequences but rarely deliver them all at once. The rhythmic holding back of the script and its skilled cast keeps the audience engaged and wanting more.

Rachel Brosnahan borrows the wisecracking mid-century mannerisms that defined her title role in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel to her version of Lois Lane. This punk-loving reporter knows Clark (David Corenswet) is a superhero, and yet somehow their relationship — their every interaction — remains perched on a ledge, always about to leap but never quite diving in. Meanwhile, Corenswet brings surprising nuance to a sometimes simplistic character, keeping his relationship grounded and avoiding the trap of Superman becoming a one-note caricature.

Gunn shows the pair at home twice, but the tension never builds into a love scene. Traditionally, our superhero is called away to battle right before the deed can be done, but here he exits on his own accord — once after a mild tiff, then again after they share a chaste kiss.

Is there anything more American, more Hollywood studio-era coded, than a hero whose girlfriend always keeps two feet on the ground when they’re kissing — unless he’s safely flying her, fully clothed, into the sky?

This Lois can’t decide if she wants to be in a relationship with the Man of Steel who keeps rescuing her and the world. The two of them are in an extended tease, and the film adds fuel to their dynamic with flashes of kink subtle enough not to offend either children or the prudes at the MPAA, but recognizable to those paying close enough attention.

Superman’s classic commitment to costume play is well-documented (this is, after all, a man who wears his underwear outside a pair of tights and flies around with a cape). Here Gunn ratchets it up a notch, throwing Superman into a threesome with two computer enhanced Lex Luthor cronies who restrain him with pixelated whips, techno-masks, and some light choking play as they barrel into the upper atmosphere.

The movie throws a few more new characters into his orbit: a super dog that loves roleplay and capes as much as his master, a Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion) who is into fisting, a few robots Superman built who must have warmed up lonely nights in the icy tumescence of the Fortress of Solitude, and a domineering shapeshifter named Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan) who keeps the breath play going by pinning Superman to the floor of a clear-walled dungeon with a fist of kryptonite. As a party trick after he switches teams, Metamorpho gleefully whirls through a pocket universe as a flaming head, looking like a techno Jambi from Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, that’s glad to be done with his dominatrix days.

With so much delayed gratification, it’s hard to grasp when Superman will ever be allowed to go all the way. But, as always, the restraint of the first two acts builds to a climax of good overcoming evil in Act III. After defeating the ultimate foil — himself — Superman finally lets loose, launching into the sky and spraying his red hot eye beams across the heavens in a great big laser vision money shot.

Who knew that 2025’s Superman would dominate the box office with more delayed gratification and kinkier power dynamics than 50 Shades of Grey? 

Meghan Graham is a writer/editor in NY who knows that when a subway car becomes someone’s Fortress of Solitude, it’s best to just catch the next train.