Batgirl, the DC Comics hero, was conjured into life for reasons not of equality but of tangential homophobia. Batman and Robin had been fighting crime together for slightly too long, and suspicions were aroused about their sexuality. This was the early 1950s, after all, an era whose moral codes were almost unrecognisable from this distance – until 2017, of course, when grown men such as Mike Pence, who won’t eat meals with women other than their wives, suddenly find themselves in high office.

Anyway, to safeguard Batman’s reputation, Batwoman was made; Batgirl appeared as a love interest for Robin. They were both Batbeards, and were toxic to the brand, as Batman and Batwoman assumed a parental aspect, Batgirl and Robin the role of big children, Bat-pet and Bat-some-other-thing arrived and the noble codes of the superhero were diluted into something more like a sitcom. It all just went to show how obstructive to the punishment of evil is the stable relationship.

Nevertheless, a desperate world clinging to crumbs could quite easily take a character of retrogressive beginnings and repurpose her as a feminist icon. Look at Theresa May. But that isn’t what’s exciting about the forthcoming Batgirl movie, which was announced at the end of last week. All the world knows about it, so far, is that it will be directed by Joss Whedon. That is all the world needs to know.

If you are unfamiliar with Whedon’s seminal work, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you need to watch it right now, starting with the musical episode in series six and then going back to the beginning. It will take a long time, but you will be a better person by the end of it.

The show was a breakthrough for the boxset and a miraculous alchemy for a young cast who, individually, couldn’t act at all but in ensemble could wow themselves off the screen. But its critical importance is that it was and remains an inquiry into adolescent sexuality, maturation and identity quite unlike any of the patronising or moralising goo that surrounded it.

If Whedon could beat a path through that territory, avoiding the cliches that stud it like landmines, impossible to skirt even for the best-intentioned, then he can do something for the superhero. Yes, he tried already with the Avengers franchise, and no, I wasn’t blown away. But Batgirl has another female hero at its heart, which raises hopes of Whedon repeating his Buffy magic.

‘Joss Whedon’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer was an inquiry into adolescent sexuality, maturation and identity quite unlike any of the moralising goo that surrounded it.’ Photograph: Sky One

Hollywood needs help with its superhero category, which is both enormous and relentlessly conservative. It is a paradox of the film industry that, when they gather to give each other awards, they are exceedingly progressive, openly despising their new government and bemoaning the state of the world, then they trudge back to the office on Monday morning, ready to make more cultural matter in praise of authority. This isn’t the case with television, whose series have the space and sophistication to make political points of daunting complexity (the writer James Meek once did a public sector-private sector analysis of Breaking Bad – Hank was the state, Walter was the market – of such insight and intricacy that it would colour your view, not just of the series, but of all theories of government since Adam Smith). Yet the big screen dances to the beat of one drum.

What are the problems with the genre that Whedon needs to solve? It has a cosmetic lead over the action sector, in which baddies have been Muslim for so long that it’s become a radical act to imagine a bad guy not motivated by Allah. Superheroes are often fighting corporate evil – the CEO who wants to destroy Earth to generate demand for his flights to Mars, or pollute the world’s water supply for the infinite profitability of unquenchable thirst.

It sounds like a liberal message – superhero good, business evil – but it actually normalises profit as a respectable drive that only tips into evil where it bisects a desire to kill everyone. It makes the casual corporate sociopathy of the real world seem pretty benign, and its high priests look broadly OK. I mean, what’s Donald Trump done really, to sow discord and despair? He only wants to criminalise 1.6 billion people, and build walls between nations who were formerly quite cordial. It’s not as if he’s dipped anyone in acid or burned through any buildings using only his eyes.

Ideally, in order to progress the genre, I’d like to see Batgirl’s nemesis as an entity more like Amazon: no big plans to destroy the planet, just – you know, harsh work conditions and a nefarious expansionism. The more pressing problem with superhero movies is the unavoidable creed of hyper-individualism; there’s not much you can do to help a hero (though standing next to them saying “ah” sometimes appears to boost their morale). Consequently, there’s not much you can do to alleviate your own suffering. The moment your doom is averted leaves you infantilised, which colours all your actions. You notice in superhero films that the imperilled crowds never complain much, even when they can plainly see all their stuff being blown up. They are essentially babies in the narrative: they can only whine, they cannot resist. The loss of sovereignty is such a big thing in rightwing rhetoric, but really, those guys love losing their sovereignty; to give it over to a guy in a cape is their idea of a Saturday night.

Batgirl therefore needs to share the fight for justice and – I know, I know – it’s hard to see how she does this without turning into some kind of democratic entity, like, say, a politician. What I’ve just suggested is a film in which a mighty politician clashes with an internet shop, and while it’s hard to see that being very exciting, that’s exactly where Joss Whedon comes in.