I’m angry.

I realize that’s probably not the most sophisticated way to begin a discussion about the latest corporate restructuring in Hollywood, but I’m having trouble coming up with a more appropriate response. Yesterday, news broke that James Gunn and Peter Safran were stepping down as the co-CEOs of DC Studios. Jeremy Latcham, a former Marvel Studios executive, would be taking over as president and chief creative officer beginning December 1.

The official announcement made everything sound relatively amicable. Gunn and Safran had spent four years rebuilding DC Studios, and now they were ready to return to their creative passions. Gunn even released a statement expressing relief at the prospect of getting back to filmmaking without all the corporate responsibilities.

I was confused. Disappointed, certainly. But I could understand that explanation. Then came today’s reporting.

According to TheWrap and The Hollywood Reporter, Gunn and Safran didn’t simply decide to leave. They were pushed out by the new leadership at Skydance, the enormous entertainment company created following the merger of Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery. A merger that, as far as I can tell, absolutely nobody outside a corporate boardroom was sitting around hoping would happen.

And apparently, the people who had previously assured Gunn and Safran that their positions were safe had other plans. Wonderful. Because if there’s one thing DC desperately needed after years of uncertainty, abandoned plans, and creative interference, it was another leadership shakeup.

Haven’t We Been Through This Already?

I want to make something clear before going any further. I didn’t hate Zack Snyder’s vision for the DC Extended Universe. Was it darker than I generally prefer my superhero stories? Absolutely. I like my Superman to inspire hope, and Snyder’s interpretation often seemed more interested in examining what happens when the world doesn’t know how to respond to someone like Superman. But I was interested. I wanted to see where Snyder was going with his larger story.

Unfortunately, Warner Bros. had other ideas. The studio was desperate to compete with Marvel, which had spent years carefully establishing its cinematic universe before bringing its heroes together in The Avengers. DC seemed determined to skip some of those foundational steps and get to its own massive crossover as quickly as possible.

Then, when the results weren’t what executives wanted, the course corrections began. Creative directions shifted. Projects changed. Plans were announced and abandoned. The continuity became increasingly difficult to follow, and the whole thing eventually collapsed under the weight of its own uncertainty. The studio’s attempts to fix the franchise became part of the problem.

And that’s why I was genuinely excited when James Gunn and Peter Safran took over DC Studios in 2022. I knew what Gunn could do. I’d loved his work on the Guardians of the Galaxy movies. He’d demonstrated an extraordinary ability to take characters that mainstream audiences barely knew and turn them into people we cared about. He understood humor, but he also understood heart.

Then came The Suicide Squad, which showed what he could accomplish when given the opportunity to play in DC’s sandbox. And the first season of Peacemaker demonstrated that he could take a ridiculous character and build an entertaining, surprisingly emotional television series around him.

For the first time in years, I was optimistic about DC’s cinematic future. There was a plan. There was someone in charge who understood these characters. And, perhaps most importantly, there seemed to be an opportunity to let that creative vision develop. Apparently, I should have known better.

A Superman Worth Believing In

I loved Superman. I know the movie wasn’t universally adored, and that’s fine. No movie is going to work for everyone. But for me, Gunn delivered exactly the kind of Superman story I’d been hoping to see. It was fun. It was heartfelt. It understood that Superman could be powerful without becoming emotionally distant. David Corenswet brought something wonderful to Clark Kent, and I was excited to see where his version of the character would go. As a lifelong Superman fan, that meant something to me.

I also enjoyed Supergirl. I don’t think it was as good as Superman, but I thought it was a decent movie that deserved a better reception than it received. And I can’t help wondering how much of its disappointing performance was influenced by the increasingly exhausting culture surrounding popular entertainment.

It often feels as though certain corners of the internet decide a movie is terrible before anybody has actually seen it, particularly when a major franchise dares to center a female protagonist. Then the movie arrives, and every perceived flaw becomes confirmation of an opinion that was already firmly established.

I’m not suggesting that everyone who disliked Supergirl was motivated by sexism. That would be unfair. People can have legitimate criticisms of a movie, and the box office doesn’t come with a convenient explanation for why audiences stayed home. But I do think online negativity can influence expectations. And I think confirmation bias plays a larger role in our entertainment conversations than many people are willing to acknowledge.

Meanwhile, Peacemaker continued to be a delight. Lanterns became one of my favorite HBO Max experiences since It: Welcome to Derry. And Clayface was a phenomenal example of how DC could explore horror without abandoning its larger cinematic universe.

That’s what I was enjoying most about this new direction. These projects didn’t all feel like the same movie wearing different costumes. We had a hopeful Superman adventure, a darker Supergirl story, an outrageous superhero comedy, a grounded Green Lantern mystery, and a horror film built around one of Batman’s most disturbing villains.

Different genres. Different tones. Different creative approaches. All occupying the same larger universe. That was exciting. And now we’re supposed to accept that the people responsible for establishing that direction needed to be replaced?

The Corporate Art of Breaking Promises

Let’s talk about the merger. Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery coming together under Skydance represents another enormous consolidation of entertainment companies. We’re talking about a staggering collection of intellectual property, production facilities, distribution networks, and media platforms under increasingly concentrated corporate control.

I’m sure the executives involved can provide lengthy explanations about financial efficiencies, competitive positioning, and maximizing shareholder value. I can practically hear the PowerPoint presentation. But what does any of that mean for the people who actually enjoy watching movies and television?

Were audiences demanding fewer independent major studios? Were filmmakers begging for another layer of corporate oversight? Was anyone genuinely concerned that Hollywood didn’t have enough executives making decisions about which stories deserve to exist? I somehow doubt it.

What makes this particular situation especially infuriating is the apparent reversal of assurances made to Gunn and Safran. When the merger closed in October, Gunn was identified as part of the new company’s leadership structure. The expectation was that he and Safran would continue guiding DC Studios.

Now, barely a month later, they’re out. TheWrap reports that discussions about replacing them had begun before the merger was even finalized. Sources also describe the pair as having been caught off guard by the decision, although accounts differ about precisely when they were informed. If that reporting is accurate, it’s difficult not to see the public reassurances as hollow.

David Ellison and Ynon Kreiz, the executives at the top of this enormous corporate operation, apparently decided that they knew better than the people who had spent four years rebuilding DC’s creative foundation. I suppose it’s nice that they reportedly delivered the news personally. Nothing says thoughtful leadership quite like descending from the corporate ivory tower to tell someone that the future you’ve spent years constructing will now be managed by somebody else. And I’m sure everyone will be expected to smile politely and describe the whole thing as an exciting new chapter.

Four Years Sounds Like a Long Time Until You Remember How Movies Work

Here’s something that seems to be getting lost in the conversation. Gunn and Safran were appointed in 2022. Their first theatrical film in the rebooted DC Universe, Superman, didn’t arrive until 2025. That means their actual cinematic universe has barely had time to establish itself.

Movies take years to develop. Scripts have to be written. Directors and actors have to be hired. Productions have to be scheduled. Visual effects have to be completed. Release dates have to be coordinated. Building an interconnected cinematic universe takes even longer.

Marvel didn’t become a cultural phenomenon overnight. The first Iron Man arrived in 2008. The original Avengers didn’t assemble until 2012. And the massive culmination of the Infinity Saga didn’t arrive until 2019. Imagine if Marvel’s leadership had decided to start over after The Incredible Hulk failed to become a blockbuster sensation. Or if someone had decided that Thor wasn’t successful enough to justify continuing the larger plan. Would we ever have gotten to The Avengers?

Gunn and Safran were attempting to establish a foundation that could support DC storytelling for years to come. Judging that entire effort after such a short theatrical run seems extraordinarily shortsighted. Now, I understand that Hollywood is a business. Superman earned more than $618 million worldwide. Supergirl brought in approximately $126 million against a reported production budget of around $170 million. Those are very different financial outcomes, and I understand why the latter would concern the people responsible for the studio’s finances. But Clayface has also earned more than $100 million worldwide on a considerably smaller budget, demonstrating that a DC movie doesn’t necessarily need a massive blockbuster investment to find an audience.

Financial results matter. Of course they do. So does patience. You cannot reasonably demand a carefully constructed long-term franchise and then panic whenever an individual installment doesn’t meet expectations. Well, apparently you can. But that doesn’t make it a particularly intelligent strategy.

I Don’t Know Jeremy Latcham. And That’s Not His Fault.

I’ll admit that before yesterday, I’d never heard of Jeremy Latcham. Since the announcement, I’ve learned that he was part of Marvel Studios during the early development of the MCU. His credits include Iron Man, The Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Spider-Man: Homecoming. That’s an impressive résumé. But let’s not pretend that he single-handedly created the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

For my money, the original Iron Man succeeded because Jon Favreau understood how to make that character work on screen and Robert Downey Jr. made Tony Stark believable, entertaining, and unexpectedly human. Those were essential building blocks. Kevin Feige and the larger Marvel team deserve tremendous credit for the interconnected universe that followed, and Latcham was part of that effort. But successful filmmaking is collaborative, and the MCU wasn’t the accomplishment of any one executive.

I’m willing to give Latcham a chance. Eventually. Right now, I’m still angry about how we got here. And I have concerns about what his appointment might mean for DC.

One of my longstanding criticisms of Marvel is that many of its movies feel remarkably similar. I enjoy plenty of them, but the house style can become so familiar that different characters sometimes seem to be participating in variations of the same adventure. DC had finally begun demonstrating that a shared universe didn’t have to mean a shared tone. I don’t want to lose that.

I don’t want every movie to become a brightly colored action comedy with a predetermined number of jokes and a climactic battle against something enormous in the sky. I want Superman to feel like Superman. I want the Green Lanterns to inhabit their own corner of the universe. I want filmmakers to be able to make something as unusual as Clayface without worrying that it doesn’t fit a standardized corporate formula.

Maybe Latcham understands that. Maybe he’ll preserve the existing creative diversity and build upon what Gunn and Safran started. I sincerely hope so. But if his arrival means recasting established characters, canceling projects, and preparing another complete reboot, I think I might finally be done. And that’s difficult for me to say.

How Many Times Can You Ask Fans to Start Over?

I like David Corenswet as Superman. I like Milly Alcock as Supergirl. I like Aaron Pierre as John Stewart. I like Nathan Fillion as Guy Gardner. I was excited about these characters and the possibilities ahead of them. More importantly, I trusted that there was someone guiding the larger story.

I didn’t need to know every detail of the plan. I didn’t need a release schedule stretching into the next decade. I simply wanted to believe that the people making these movies knew where they wanted to go and would be given the opportunity to get there. That’s a reasonable expectation, isn’t it? Apparently, in modern Hollywood, it might be asking too much.

I’ve been a Superman fan for as long as I can remember. These characters have been part of my life for decades. I’ve watched their stories told through movies, television, animation, and comics. I’ve celebrated the successes and endured the disappointments. I’m accustomed to different interpretations. That’s part of what makes these characters enduring.

But I’m tired of the constant instability. I’m tired of being told that this time there’s a plan, only to watch that plan disintegrate when a new executive takes control. I’m tired of studios asking audiences to invest in characters and stories while refusing to demonstrate the same commitment themselves. And I’m especially tired of watching creative decisions become collateral damage in corporate power struggles.

If Latcham arrives and continues the existing DCU, I’ll give him a fighting chance. If the announced projects proceed, the actors remain, and the universe continues developing, perhaps this transition won’t be the disaster I’m currently imagining. But if we’re suddenly discussing another reboot, another Superman, and another attempt to figure out what DC should be? I don’t know how much enthusiasm I have left to offer.

Maybe the Best Stories Are Happening Somewhere Else

There’s another reason this whole situation bothers me. While the major studios continue consolidating, restructuring, and chasing the next enormous franchise, some of the most interesting cinematic experiences are coming from smaller productions. Movies like Obsession and Backrooms have reminded me how exciting storytelling can be when filmmakers are allowed to pursue distinctive ideas without having to support an entire corporate entertainment strategy.

I love blockbuster movies. I love superheroes. I love the experience of seeing iconic characters brought to life on the biggest possible screen. But I also love movies that surprise me. And sometimes those surprises come from filmmakers who aren’t working within the machinery of a massive interconnected franchise.

I’m not suggesting that smaller productions are automatically better or that big studios are incapable of producing great art. Obviously, that’s not true. But there’s something refreshing about a movie that exists because someone had a compelling story to tell rather than because a corporation needs another installment to fill a particular quarter on its financial calendar. And the more Hollywood consolidates, the more concerned I become about how much room will remain for those distinctive voices.

A healthy entertainment industry needs variety. It needs big-budget spectacles and intimate character studies. It needs established franchises and original stories. It needs filmmakers willing to take risks, even when those risks don’t guarantee enormous financial returns. I worry about what happens when fewer people have the power to decide which stories get told. Especially when those people seem so eager to replace creative leadership before the results of a long-term plan can fully emerge.

What About James Gunn?

I want to return to Gunn himself for a moment. His public statement about leaving DC Studios leadership expressed relief at the prospect of returning to filmmaking. And I believe that relief could be genuine. Running an entire studio has to be exhausting. Managing creative teams, negotiating corporate expectations, navigating budgets, and dealing with the endless politics of Hollywood doesn’t sound particularly enjoyable. Especially for someone whose greatest strengths involve writing and directing.

If Gunn is genuinely happy to step away from those responsibilities, I’m happy for him. I hope he gets to spend more time doing what he loves. I also hope his statement reflects his actual feelings rather than an understandable effort to remain diplomatic with the company that still controls projects he’s working on. Because he’s not completely leaving DC. He’s continuing his work on Man of Tomorrow, and the existing production pipeline will carry his influence forward for some time. That gives me some comfort.

But it doesn’t erase my frustration with the circumstances surrounding his departure. Gunn can be relieved to leave the executive responsibilities behind while fans remain angry that the larger creative vision he helped establish may now be in jeopardy. Both things can be true. And I hope he gets the opportunity to finish telling the stories he wants to tell.

Please, Just Let Something Grow

I don’t know what DC Studios will look like a year from now. Maybe Jeremy Latcham will surprise me. Maybe he’ll preserve the existing universe, respect the work that’s already been done, and help deliver some extraordinary movies and television series. I’d love that. I’d genuinely love to be wrong about where this is heading.

And I recognize that there are fans who never embraced Gunn’s vision in the first place. Some preferred Snyder’s interpretation. Others disliked the casting, the tone, or the decision to reboot at all. Those opinions are legitimate. But I can’t help feeling that a portion of the audience had already decided Gunn’s DCU was a failure before it had a chance to demonstrate what it could become. And now the studio appears to be making its own premature judgment.

The difference is that disappointed fans can complain online. Corporate executives can dismantle the entire operation. For years, DC has struggled to establish the kind of cinematic consistency Marvel enjoyed during its most successful period. Gunn and Safran finally offered something that looked like a coherent direction. They gave me hope. And I know I’m not the only fan who felt that way.

Now we’re being asked to trust another leadership team, another corporate vision, and another promise that the future of DC is in good hands. Forgive me if I’m not particularly enthusiastic about taking their word for it. I’m angry about the apparent broken assurances. I’m angry about the merger. I’m angry about the possibility of another creative reset. And I’m disappointed that a cinematic universe I was genuinely excited to follow has suddenly been thrown into uncertainty.

But underneath all that anger is something simpler. I love these characters. I want to see them succeed. I want to see their stories told well. And I want the people entrusted with bringing them to life to have enough time to build something meaningful. For once, I’d like Hollywood to understand that the most valuable thing about Superman isn’t the corporate logo attached to his next movie. It’s the hope he represents. And right now, Hollywood seems determined to make that hope awfully difficult to hold on to.