It’s been fascinating to watch as Hollywood gradually catches up to where comic books have been for decades. Most of the timeless superhero tropes have now been popularized and solidified on the big screen, and only now do filmmakers seem to have the freedom to explore, to transform and to play. So although it’s been 55 years since DC introduced an evil version of Superman in the pages of Justice League of America – not just another Kryptonian, but a despicable alternate version of the hero himself – a film like Brightburn, which more-or-less tackles the same premise, still feels relatively fresh and exciting.

Brightburn isn’t technically a Superman movie. It comes from a different company and all the characters have different names. But tell me if this sounds familiar: it’s the story of a man and a woman who cannot have children, who find an alien spaceship on their farm with an infant inside. They raise the child as their own until, one day, the boy develops superhuman strength, speed, the power of flight, and laser vision, and starts flying around in a red cape.

The twist is that, in Brightburn, the boy with an alliterative name isn’t a paragon of virtue. He’s a burgeoning serial killer. When Brandon Breyer (Jackson A. Dunn) isn’t stalking the girl he likes, flying into her room in the middle of the night and escaping without a trace when she becomes terrified, he’s hoarding pornography under the bed. Except it’s not just pictures of scantily clad models. It’s pictures of human entrails as well.

Brandon’s adoptive parents, Tori (Elizabeth Banks) and Kyle (David Denman), are like any others. They love their son and they’re all too eager to overlook his obvious red flags. Even as the mysterious disappearances, injuries and deaths pile up, they still think Brandon is a good kid.

But since this is a horror movie we know that they’re wrong, and we’re waiting in uneasy suspense for them to catch up with the audience, hopefully before it’s too late. But there isn’t much hope in Brightburn. It’s a movie that subverts an almost universally accepted symbol of decency and transforms it into an ultraviolent monster. Like many films in the horror genre, it’s about imagining the worst case scenario and running wild with it. And the novelty, the spooky cinematography, and the sharp direction make it incredibly thrilling.

As directed by David Yarovesky, Brightburn is an exceedingly clever genre mash-up, twisting blockbuster tropes into total nightmare territory. Yarovesky and his VFX team have taken a familiar power set and discovered, within the realm of R-rated horror cinema, new and frightening ways to use them. The laser vision that looks so cool when it’s blasting into bad guys who are nigh invulnerable becomes an instrument of absolute terror when it’s unleashed, gradually, on a human being. And that’s just one gross example in an exceptionally gross movie, where the gore is ambitious and inventive, and absolutely vital. Without seeing what Brandon can do with his powers, and just how sadistic he is, it would be easy to write him off as just another comic book “bad guy” whose evil was purely academic.

Brightburn doesn’t do anything by halves. It’s an all-in superhero homage and an all-in, ultraviolent slasher movie about a monster with godlike powers. It’s bound to appeal to horror fans and comic book fans with an interest in the diabolical. The real test may be how people who don’t follow comics respond. So much of Brightburn is full of direct references to pre-existing tropes that it’s hard to imagine the movie functioning for an audience member who hasn’t done the required reading first.

What’s more, there’s so much emphasis on cynically reinterpreting that old, optimistic material that the film’s humanity – i.e. Brandon’s parents and/or victims – struggle to make an impression. Brightburn may be an ironic commentary on superhero stories for the audience, but for the characters it’s their real lives, and their lives don’t feel quite “real” enough for their deaths to feel tragic, because every aspect of their life is a pop culture reference. As a movie, Yarovesky’s film seems a little smarter than it is genuine.

It falls mostly to Banks and Denman to infuse this film with humanity, a sense of love and loss that makes Brightburn more than just a calculated genre exercise. They do their jobs admirably. Banks is a genuinely good mother who is repeatedly baffled by the way her son’s life is, for lack of a better word, going off-script. And Denman, as a father who keys into Brandon’s dark side just a little sooner than Banks, believably sells us on a conflicted father living through his own version of hell.

But the connection to reality in Brightburn goes beyond the characters and the murders. The film focuses almost entirely on subverting comic book expectations, but the baggage that comes along with Superman and his ilk infuses the film with unmistakable commentary. But since the film never takes a moral stand one way or the other, audiences are going to be able to pick and choose what they want to get out of it.

Brightburn could easily be an indictment of “grim ’n’ gritty” superhero storytelling, arguing that if Superman wasn’t virtuous he’d be the most frightening creature on the planet. Ipso facto, the virtuous version is the one we should be rooting for. The film also explores the entitlement of a young boy who believes he’s innately superior to others, with all the ugly and violent fallout that comes along with that mentality, which is sadly always topical.

Then again, there’s a particularly troubling interpretation of Brightburn that focuses on the “all-American” couple who adopt an immigrant and as a result, because the child’s “other” nature is more powerful than nurture in this universe, they expose their whole community to mortal peril. After all, Superman is often considered a positive symbol of the American immigrant experience, so what can Brightburn be if not the polar opposite?

That reading is extremely gross, and not in the good “using horror to explore society’s fears” way, but in a potentially unhealthy “using horror to affirm society’s xenophobia” way. So it may be a serious turn-off for certain audience members who have strong feelings about Superman, immigration and the positive and negative social impacts of superhero storytelling.

By not sticking to a specific thematic stance, Brightburn opens itself up to scrutiny. Maybe too much. The film is, in the end, mostly just an ambitious slasher movie about a monster modeled loosely on Superman, and on that level it’s certainly a success. David Yarovesky makes an impressive impression with a film that walks a fine line between wry pop culture commentary and genuine terror, the cast is great and – perhaps most important of all – it leaves you wanting more. Much more. Sequels and sequels after sequels.

There’s a lot of world left for Brightburn to explore, and burn. Bring it on.