Supergirl vs. Voicemails for Isabelle

A two-and-a-half-star rating. That’s the official verdict for Supergirl, and frankly, it’s the only number that matters here.

The rest is just noise about time dilation and intergalactic troublemakers.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a housing development story. It’s a cultural one, but it hits the same nerve. We’re discussing a film that looks good on paper but collapses under its own weight. Milly Alcock is pitch-perfect as Kara Zor-El. Jason Momoa is fun as Lobo. If the script had been half as interesting as the leads, we’d be discussing a blockbuster. Instead, we’re discussing a film that feels wildly imbalanced. Matthias Schoenaerts tries his hardest as the villain, but he can’t make the role register. The result is a movie that’s fun, sure, but flawed. Deeply, structurally flawed.

Then there’s Voicemails for Isabelle. This one’s on Netflix. It’s about grief. It’s about love. It’s about a prep cook named Jill (Zoey Deutch) who leaves voicemails for her dead sister, Isabelle, and a real estate shark named Wes (Nick Robinson) who falls for her voice. The plot is a classic trope, sure. But the emotion? That’s genuine. Deutch nails the grief. Robinson conquers his character’s unethical nature on paper. It’s a different kind of story, one that doesn’t rely on explosions but on the ache of loss.

Why does this matter to us, here on the Western Slope? Because entertainment is a reflection of what we value. And right now, we’re valuing surface-level spectacle over substance. Supergirl is the spectacle. It’s the big sets, the big stars, the big promise. But the promise is broken. The plot development fails. The center doesn’t hold. It’s a setting that can’t live up to the jewel at its core.

Voicemails for Isabelle is the substance. It’s about connection. It’s about how we remember those we’ve lost. It’s about the strange, engaging springboard of a sister’s death leading to a romance. It’s not just a love story; it’s a fusion of two different kinds of love. The central romance and the bond between Jill and Isabelle. The sister dies early, but the movie doesn’t. It digs deeper. It makes Jill’s grief achingly believable.

This isn’t just about movies. It’s about how we process the world around us. We live in a place where the landscape is vast and often indifferent. We deal with our own versions of time dilation, of loss, of finding our way back to ourselves. Supergirl offers a quick fix. A two-and-a-half-star distraction. It’s fun, but it’s not deep. It’s not the kind of story that stays with you when the credits roll.

Voicemails for Isabelle offers something else. It offers a mirror. It shows us that grief is messy. That love is complicated. That a real estate shark can be unethical but still fall in love. That a prep cook can be determined and funny and broken. It’s not a perfect movie. It’s anchored in classic tropes. But the emotion turns it into something more. Something real.

The contrast is stark. One movie is a failure of plot. The other is a triumph of character. One is a big-budget mistake. The other is a small-screen success. Which one do you want to invest your time in?

The bottom line? You get what you pay for. And in this case, the price is your attention. Supergirl costs you two and a half stars. Voicemails for Isabelle costs you a few hours of your evening and leaves you with a heavier heart. That’s the trade-off. That’s the reality. Choose wisely.