I stayed away from superhero movies for over a decade.
Not because I hated them — I simply moved on.
But now that I understand story structure, and life itself more deeply, I’ve come back — curious, observant, ready to see what I once missed.
And as I watch Superman (2025), I can’t deny what I feel.
Beneath the color, the humor, the heroism — there’s a quiet sensation.
A whisper that says: You’re not as powerful as this world you’re watching.
It’s subtle, almost hidden, but it’s there.
And I tell it as it is, because truth lives in small impressions too.
One might argue that if such an idea ever fell into the wrong hands —
the idea that stories can shape how powerful we feel —
then the power-hungry could use it deliberately.
They could push tales of unreachable greatness,
layered with spectacle and CGI,
to keep the audience in awe,
but quietly subdued.
To make us feel small — not because we are,
but because we might start believing it.
And we see it already:
Superhero fatigue spreading,
yet the movies keep coming —
each one louder, bigger, more inflated than the last.
It’s as if, when meaning fades, they turn up the volume,
hoping the noise will fill the silence.
I say this because I know:
There is as much light as darkness in this world.
And the devil, too, has the mind of God —
a cunning that can twist the beautiful into the binding.
What begins as inspiration can, in the wrong hands, become conditioning.
So whether it’s intentional or not —
even if only one film is shaped that way —
the point is not to accuse, but to awaken.
To stay vigilant.
To notice when a story plants a feeling of smallness within us —
and to reject it.
Because the truth is,
we are not small.
We never were.
No screen can contain the power that lives quietly inside the human heart.
Thanks,
Ira